I grew up on Ficlets. There, the writer inside me had a home. I'm a teacher now, and a 4th grader who reminds me so much of myself asked, "Why don't you share your writing with us?" So, I come tentatively, searching for a place to stretch my writing muscles again.

It feels like hatching.

Closing my eyes and letting the words flow from my fingers like they once did is terrifying, but some part of me is starving and certain that the alternative means death. My creativity is at stake.

I'm answering the call of a 9-year-old.

"Why don't you ever share your writing with us?"

With the desperation of a chick that's eaten its last morsel within the shell, I want her to feel that she has beautiful things to share with the world. She does. I can see them shining behind her eyes.

I cannot bear the truth, that I don't write anymore because I no longer feel the beautiful things behind my own shining eyes.

The world hardened me, and too often, I have let my words be crushed in the process.

For the sake of Bella, for the sake of her words, and for the sake of my own, I slam myself against the walls of the shell.


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Comments (2 so far!)

Average reader rating 5.00/5



Good to have you, Storyteller.

It's part narrative, part fact, and as true as the reader needs it to be - as is all good writing.

  • #1227 Posted 7 years ago
  • 0


The shining in your eyes will help you find your stories again, friend, I'm sure they're still waiting for you, and only you, to discover them.

  • #1231 Posted 7 years ago
  • 0
  • 5 out of 5


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  • Published 7 years ago.
  • Story viewed 12 times and rated 1 times.

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