Wednesday, 22 August 2012

Success or What

From the time I read my first book ("The Boxcar Children"), I had a dream.  The original "Boxcar Children"  was  an orange-coloured hardcover book like an adult novel-type book, with no pictures.  Last year, when I heard it was still in print, I looked for it but found it was only available on loan from another library.  Of course I ordered it immediately.  I could hardly wait to see the book that had inspired me so much almost sixty-five years ago.  Alas, when I got it, it was not the book I was expecting, but a children's picture book revised for children.  I think even the wording was more child-like, but perhaps my memory is exaggerating that part. Naturally, I was disappointed. I shouldn't have been, nor should I have been surprised.   Children's picture books were not "in vogue" those days and perhaps my childhood mind may have conjured up a glorified picture of that "adult" book also, though I can vividly picture the orange hard cover with the black title on it.

 As a child, I hated "Literature" as a "subject" until I actually went teaching myself.  I didn't want to "dissect" the stories.  I just wanted to enjoy them.  I probably read every book in that small Kulish library. They made me want to write my own books someday.  Now in retirement, I have finally achieved that goal to a small degree.  I have  published two memoir books, one children's picture book and am hoping to have a novel published by Christmas. I am now working on two more books.  Now I realize that to many people, this is a mere drop in the ocean.  And so it is.  But to me it is

The Fulfilment of a Dream

I used to dream a wistful dream.
Fulfilment I would find
In a vague goal not yet complete
A silent wish not yet defined

A haunting dream, persistent
Of a goal that once was bated
By authors, poets, sonnets
That thirst that must be sated

The simplest hint of glory
Success of late achieved
A victory in minute doses
My yearning soul relieved

I'm grateful for this blessing
The fulfilment of this dream
It may not be a monument
But 'tis my own sunbeam!

My books are at

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