When I was small, Grand Father called me silent moccasins. I adored it. As a teenager, I turned my back on who I was, and where I came from. Now, I embrace my blood. Silent moccasins lives on, honoring him.
I yearn to be a serious writer, a fiction writer. My blog includes a number of my stories. I also write about some of my learning experiences. Unlike many writers, I have no Masters in Fine Arts. In fact, during my brief tenure in college, I never took a writing class. I have taught myself whatever writing skills I have.
I adore fantasy. My current favorites are JRR Tolkien and Robert Jordan. But, I am not sure about magic or dragons. Part of my journey is a search for my genre. Perhaps it includes magic or dragons, but not yet. Mostly, it includes a girl with straight black hair, brown eyes, and darker skin.
Grand Mother and Grand Father raised me, for the most part. Grand Mother never gave up hope for me. She must have worn out a dozen sets of rosary beads. While she will never say it, I know she rejoiced when I finally put aside the mistakes my mother made.
Grand Father is hard. He makes a stone seem soft, but he never stopped loving me. When I was in college, the illusion of freedom seduced me. I became one of those girls. I went on a cross-country jaunt with the boyfriend of the time. Grand Father traveled a long way, to another state, to bail me out. He never questioned me, never stopped loving me.
Loving though they were, they insisted on changes. Through time, I softened. I stopped trying to be someone else, and I accepted who I am.
My husband, my knight in shining armor, is the most important person in my life. He was not born into the People, but most have accepted him. We are more practical than the New Ones. If someone wants to belong, we welcome them. One day we will have a little one, and she will proudly carry the name of her Father.
One day, Grand Father will be gone. I will tell my little ones of silent moccasins. Perhaps one of them will walk as I walk.