I Am a Published Author

I am a published author.

Not just on the blogging sites I frequent,

or the anthology collection of someone else's dream.

I am holding MY story. MY imagination is in my hands.

The world I've been building and building for half my lifetime,

here in black and white, a cover of purple with a silver moon,

held lightly in my grasp as I wish not to smother it.

Why did it take me this long to get here?

There are people asking me how to become an author,

and I give them the same advice Neil Gaiman gives -- write.

But they still look to me as if I have all the magical answers they seek,

and they dote on my every word, and they ask

"When is the next book coming?"

Pretty soon, the next book comes along, and before I know it

I'm pumping out a story a season.

I become so big for my britches that I purchase a typewriter,

as if I would ever use it for my professional writing.

No. It is merely a decoration.

Pretentious.

But I see it. And it brings me joy.

It takes up space where my laptop should be, on my desk in my office.

The laptop is permanently placed on the dining room table.

I was once told it would be best to work as near the kitchen as possible,

for the kitchen is a place of pure creation.

This is what I do now --

work as close as I can to the kitchen, to bring forth my creative juices.

Because I am a creative. I am a writer.

I am a published author.