It's hard to believe it's only been a year, and yet, it seems like a lifetime ago. I've made some incredible friends, and I've grown, not only as a writer but a person. Thank you so much for the support, the encouragement, and the friendship.
Without further adieu, my first post entitled Walking Naked.
Over the past year I've discovered that writing is alot like singing. Both require courage, creativity, and expression.
As most of you know, I'm a singer by trade. I'll never forget my first voice lesson. Mrs. V., a fiesty little Italian, stood by the piano exuding poise and grace. I hesitated at the door, my heart in my throat. Here I was, nineteen, never having so much as a chirped a note in front of anyone, and now I had the bright idea to take voice lessons.
Her dark eyes twinkled as she motioned for me to stand next to the baby grand. She took her seat behind the keys. A simple arpeggio sounded in the room.
"Sing," she said.
I froze. My eyes never made it past the edge of the Steinway. She smiled, stood, and led me to the corner.
"Small steps, little one. Sing to the wall until you find your voice," she patted my shoulder and walked away. The arpeggio sounded once more. I focused on a chip missing from concrete and took a deep breath, my voice not making it past my ears.
For several months I sang to the corner. I'm amazed that Mrs. V. never grew discouraged, that she never doubted my abilities. Finally, one day I found the courage to turn and face her.
"Molto bene," she said, her pride apparent.
"I feel like I'm walking naked." I admitted, blushing at her laughter.
"This is a good thing. Embrace these feelings, for in them we learn to express, to grow."
It wasn't until I watched the UPS truck driving away, the very first copy of Asteria still wrapped in its package, that the feeling of walking naked resurfaced. The strength of it was a little unsettling, and I realized that for over a year now I've been staring at a different wall, yet again gathering strength to share my voice with the world.