I am numb. I am stuck. I am sad. I am worried. For nearly six decades, writing has been my happy place; whenever I am challenged by life’s obstacles, I’ve turned to writing. Through a troubled adolescence, bedrest during three pregnancies, raising a family, losing loved ones, and three cancer diagnoses, I always trusted how writing brought me to a special healing place. Whether I was writing books, articles, or poems to express my own feelings or help others deal with theirs, I loved everything about the writing process.
My grandmother was also a writer, so the passion is already embossed on my DNA. My own passion for writing began at an early age. I was a ten-year-old only child when my grandmother and caretaker died by suicide in our home. To help me cope with this tragedy, my mother handed me a Khalil Gibran journal and told me to pour my love, grief, and feelings onto the pages of that journal. For hours on end I would sit on the floor of my walk-in closet, with clothes hanging in my face, writing by the light of its lone bulb. I learned that writing was healing and transformative. I still call myself a writer. I also love teaching and sharing my passion with others.
Because of my history with writing, I knew it could always help save me in what was a chaotic world. I also write because writing is my calling. I have boxes of completed journals, each one having served over time as my confidant and best friend. On their pages, I jotted down feelings, emotions, dreams, and hopes. There weren’t many times when I wasn’t writing.
The sad part is that much of my writing stalled about six months ago when I was diagnosed with my third cancer in 20 years. I might have jotted a poem here or there, or an article idea, but I was unable to sustain the enthusiasm for any length of time. Sometimes illness does this, when our minds and bodies are focused on healing. I’ve learned to be very patient with myself during times like this.
I started to read a little more which inspired some writing. However, I felt another shift occurring about the same time. The media was starting to talk more and more about the emergence of AI and its uses. The platform where I often submit articles rewrote their guidelines: “We do not accept AI-generated work.” In my evolution as a writer, this was a shocking comment to witness. I…
