in the beginning

As evidenced by this sweetly innocent piece my Mom forwarded to me recently, it turns out I have always loved writing. I’m guessing I was about 10 or 12 at the time, already a hard-core reader and just starting to dabble in creative writing. This poem, handwritten in my childish, round-lettered printing (which hasn’t changed much in 40 years), captures the beginning of a journey that I still walk today – a journey of observation, contemplation, distillation and execution.

I remember submitting a seriously angsty short story titled “Fate is Reality” (hahahaha) to a children’s magazine called Stone Soup when I was about this age, and how it felt to suffer through the sharp sting of that first rejection letter: Thank you for your submission. It is not suitable for our publication. Keep writing… or some similar ego-crushing BS. Still, the “today me” is pretty proud of the “young me” for at least stepping up to the plate and taking a swing. I guess, in the end, isn’t that what life is ALL ABOUT?

Ps. I still draw ridiculous boxes around specific things in my notebook that are urgent or significant, and … that little Anne McGee was quite a visionary soul.

Snow.
How happy I was to see it outside my window this morning.
Falling, falling, falling.
Covering the land in a blanket of purity only to be violated by the passing morning.
Trudging through the deep powder.
White angels dancing ’round your body, swaying till slowly falling to the waiting ground.
The school is full of excitement and happiness even though some complain of cold feet.
Dozens run outside to play child[ish] games that we still love.
The air tingles with electric life and brisk air.
Our breath makes magical clouds that evaporate as soon as they appear.
The land stands quiet, accepting the covering of sanctity and peace.
No angry words can find depth on such a beautiful day.
The familiar Christmas music sings gloriously from every image I see.

Anne McGee approx. 10-12 years old

plus:
Love is like a giant sliver
You can dig it out
But a little always stays behind
Under your skin and hurts

authour unknown, ? ag Bryant