I am not a writer. I am not an author. I am, however, an artist. My palette holds words and beads. My canvas is either paper in the form of a word processor, or strung on a line. My brush is either my fingers typing or putting beads on a wire.
My foray into the artistic world of words has put me in the company of giants, henceforth called Roses. Into this vase I have placed many and there will be more. Some have been without thorns and others have had very sharp thorns. Both have elevated me from painter to artist. My fellow Roses with thorns have used them to prick me into action at times when I felt my muse departing. I waved good-bye to my muse, I had lost my touch. It looked to me like I had fallen from the bush and landed among the brambles on the ground. It is at these low times in my life that some Roses without thorns come through with words of encouragement. To make sure these words do the most good, some Roses use their thorns to wake me up and then offer bandages for the wounds.
I must, at this time, mention the Rose with the sharpest thorns, the wisest words. This young lady will not let me lie fallow among the weeds. Her name, is Molly. It is time to add a bit of creative water to our vase, and put our fellow Rose, Molly, in with the rest of my Roses. Welcome Molly Swoboda, you have joined the elite in terms of artistic talents and muse verification.