Epiphany

It’s 2020, a new year, another chance to rally our thoughts and achieve clarity for the coming months. I am lucky to belong to a writers group, who meet monthly in my local library. It was a prompt as a homework exercise from December 2019 that gives me today’s post.

I had a choice of two prompts. Epiphany or A Resolution Gone Wrong.

I had a month’s grace to come up with something and, normally I would present something on the day of our meeting. Except, I couldn’t this time.

So what you read below is my offering to my fellow writing friends at the January meeting. It was written two hours before the meeting, while having my grey hairs coloured at the hairdressers.

I really couldn’t turn up with no homework. But I was totally at a loss this time. Read on, and be gentle with your comments. Interestingly, as I wrote this piece/poem, I was not aware it fell under the heading of one of the prompts. It was after I had scribbled the piece down, it struck me, I had, had an epiphany.

Epiphany

I could do it, I told myself.

I could spit them out and not blink an eye.

Tumbling on to the page, filling the white paper with rhythm and tales of now, past and future.

Sentences put together that when read, were music for the soul of those who soaked in them. Inspiring minds dulled by the technology of screens, and those who say they can’t switch off.

I’m their magic button. Forcing some to press time out and enter the worlds I create.

Chapters for them to pore over and, cry, laugh, blaspheme or praise whatever it is I tickle within them.

Books they read and then go ahh… closing the covers on pages of another place and time.

Giving choices.

Making decisions.

Was it good or condemn it to hell in a waste basket and rant over the twelve euro they spent?

But when I sit to toss and tumble word after word out, birthing new life from my mind, it is blank.

Empty.

Barren.

No longer overflowing.

I need to switch off.

Read others words, and bathe in their magic. Fuelling my run down bank of inspiration.

So I shall sit, and listen, and read, and be a part of the world of others.

*****

There you have it, we all need to switch off, give ourselves time to recharge and not feel guilty for doing so.

Happy 2020 and make it a year you enjoy at your pace and calling.

Mary, xx

Author: marytbradford

Mary T Bradford has been writing mainly short stories for several years now and has enjoyed success with her fiction in magazines, newspapers, and anthologies both in Ireland and abroad, in Germany, India, and the US. her stories have been placed and both short/long listed in various competitions. It was because of this success, Mary took the plunge and self-published her first collection of stories titled, A Baker’s Dozen (2012). She decided to tackle a novel when one of her stories kept getting longer and the word count continued to climb and so ended up with her first published novel, My Husband's Sin. The follow up to this, Don't Call Me Mum, is available now too. Mary continues to write novels and short stories. Her books can be found on Amazon. She has dabbled too in writing plays and has seen her work shortlisted and performed. In 2019, Mary attended the University of Limerick and studied for a MA in Creative Writing. In August 2020, she submitted her thesis for evaluation. When taking a break from writing and reading Mary loves to crochet or cross-stitch. Living in County Cork, Ireland, she is married and is a mother of four children. Having overcome open heart surgery in 2008, Mary made the decision to dedicate more time to her writing. Her children were almost raised by then and were starting to spread their wings. Family is important to her and her writing reflects the ups and downs of life, relationships, and all that people go through daily.

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