Warm welcomes all around!
My name is Coralee. I am a wife, a mother and a recently outed writer.
There, I said it.
I like to write.
For years it has been a well-kept secret. An affair that took place privately, hidden in the mountains of half-finished journals tucked away inside my night stands. Shared with only a select few expert secret-keepers.
Occasionally I would slip, blurt out to some unsuspicious friend, “Want to see something?” Then as they took the piece from my fingers a heavy sense of embarrassment would wash over me, inevitably forcing me to leave as they read my words.
It’s a funny thing approval. I received praise, shocked looks of proud disbelief and publication, yet with every positive reaction/achievement, I still felt as though I was letting a precious secret slowly bleed out of me.
Being a writer was weird.
Creating art with words is not like painting where people can see your creation and immediately form their opinion. It is not like photography, my other love, which produced immediate results. With my writing, I was asking people to commit their precious time all the way to the end of my words before they could see the whole picture. But, I couldn’t help myself, words were my heart’s work.
Deep down I always knew.
It’s as if from the moment I learned to read, I began a love affair with the sound of syllables across my tongue, an unending passion for the fluid movement of sentences. I was in grade six the first time I broached the possibility that I may be a writer. I thrust a copy of a short story into the hands of a visiting author at our school. I cannot remember her name, but she had shiny brown hair and a non condescending smile. She read it.
Right there on the back exit steps. (It was a very short story)
“I think you should write about what you know.” Her words hung in the air between us and drew not only the breath out of my chest, but the hope out of my young dreams. Then she smiled. “Keep writing. I think you’ve got something.”
I am sure this young author has no recollection of a conversation with that twelve-year-old army brat me, standing in the hall of a school that has since been demolished in favor of a strip mall.
But I do.
Then, years later, (very recently) a young cashier asked me what my fake tattoo said. (yes fake at the time, don’t judge.)
“Tell me a story.” I answered.
“Are you a writer?”
I stumbled on my reply. “Yes.”
And there it was.
I had spoken my truth.
Musefully Mendaciloquent is a blog which I hope will connect writers. It is a window into my journey with my writing goals, one you can peek through whenever you get the fancy. Wipe the dirt from the pane and watch me learn and share and make mistakes as I go along.
In the end, I hope to inspire you, to find your writer’s voice and to tell your story. We are all striving for the same goal, to create, to be heard and to ponder the art of lying.
I can’t wait to hear your voice along the way.
Write on, be passionate, find your inspiration.