Houses Hung With Memories

Change is inevitable, so is death. I try to accept them both with grace.  It’s with a sad sense of acceptance I drive past places that once meant the world to me, realizing memories is all they now hold. Each year there are fewer chairs around the family table and life moves on.

abandoned house

 

Houses hung with memories

Rooms with nothing left to show

Pieces of love left forgotten,

Of a time not so long ago

Emptiness casts a shadow

Over what were once happy times

Stories etched within the wood grain

Some of them yours, some are mine

If these walls could talk

What would they say?

Would they speak of happier days?

Of laughter ringing through the rooms,

Of children out to play

Or would they stand cold and silent?

Holding on to the sadness and the loss

From having been too long in the quiet

Life once thrived within these walls

They held love and tears, sure and true

But new turns to old

And old must die

To make room for the new

Lets not forget the memories here

Of family and friends, never alone

The good old days, when all of us were near

When this empty house was once a home

 

I don’t want to be everyone’s cup of tea.

cup of tea

“To avoid criticism, say nothing, do nothing, be nothing.”  -Aristotle

A few weeks ago, just before Christmas, I was set up selling books in the mall. They were having a weekend thing to support local authors. A lot of us were really spread out and I was set up all by myself in front of Victoria’s Secret. It was very crowded, yet few people stopped to look at books. Most of them knew what they were in there for and didn’t seem to be interested in browsing.

I have to admit it was a little overwhelming. Hundreds of people flooding by, barely noticing me and my little book, no other writers or anyone to make conversation with.  I can’t complain though, I had my computer with me and got a ton of writing done as the hours passed. But I realized something during that time. Artists are brave.

Writer, painters, musicians anyone who makes art, they don’t march into battle with a weapon at their side. But we are brave just the same. We create things from our hearts and put it out to the harsh world where we know it will be judged and ridiculed. Usually having to pull us out of our introverted shells to do so, but we hold onto a deep hope that even one person will enjoy it, will be touched by our creation. We don’t do it for the money, we do it for the passion.

This brings me to a few days ago when I was checking my ranking and reviews on Amazon. I had just received a splendid review the week before so I was pleased I had yet another. Then I saw that the person rated the book with one star. I was a little disappointed of course. She didn’t critique my writing style or grammar. Simply she found the book to be too religious, not enough witchiness. She stopped reading after a few chapters.  This being the first bad thing I had heard about my book I was a little sad. However, I always knew my book wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea and that’s perfectly fine. I’ve received far more good reviews than bad. Although I believe a few people have simply kept their opinions to themselves and that’s ok too.

Writing is my happiness even in the frustrating moments. I don’t care if not everyone likes me. I want to appeal to other people like myself or maybe just open someone’s mind just a crack.