Before and After

I think I can honestly say without hesitation, pause, or doubt that I didn't always want to be a writer.  I can't imagine my young self thinking, "I want to write for the rest of my life," because then, writing was schoolwork.  I used to cry over little assignments and whine about the work.  But somehow, I made it through that rough spot and conquered the feeling of disgust towards that foul writing!

I looked back through my folders of old school assignments that I kept to look back on, and I found one that I really liked.  I was nine years old at the time, still in that stage of, 'I don't like writing.' This is a poem about what Blue is.  I wish that I could share my little childish drawings, because, though I am a bit biased, I think they are rather cute.  However, I will do my best to share it with you as accurately as it is written, right down to my spelling, punctuation, and grammar rules.

Blue

Looks like a flower in a meadow,

Smells like a fresh blue berrie pie, 

It tastes like cotton candy

it sounds like a baby boys coo

and it feels like my Jamies so new

I'm older now, and I love to write, for it is the music to my soul and it fuels me.  One of my first blog posts was a poem about what I thought Blue was, and I think that I may have improved slightly:

What is Blue?

Written by Janelle Spiers 

Inspired by Mary O'Neill

Blue is a sapphire

Concealed well in a stone

A treasure forgotten

All alone.

Blue is a breaking heart’s moan.

Blue is cold,

A biting wind, sharp and cold.

Blue is a song

Blue is a car,

A lake, a clear sky,

A dying star.

The sound of blue is 

“Dong! Dong! Dong!”

A death knell rings

A mourning song.

Blue is bliss –

A gentle day,

Without a care

Happy and gay.

Blue are berries

And a pair of jeans,

The banner of rich kings and queens

Blue is a feeling 

Bitter and sweet

So melancholy

You feel defeat.

Blue is eye color

And watching the news

Blue is a risk

Win or lose.

Blue is lost

Beauty to be found

A peacock plume

Lying on the ground.

Think of what picnics

And rainbows can’t do

Bright parties, rolling waves

If they couldn’t glow bright with

Blue…

I wanted to reflect on the change I have seen in myself and I found it amusing and pleasing.  It's like a before and after picture: Before I wanted to write and did it because I had no choice on the matter, and After when I desire to write without stopping, and feel sad when I have to stop, because I have no choice on the matter.  What kinds of things did you dislike when you were little and now love them so much, and have you any proof to look back on?