I Am a Writer

The last six weeks have been quite difficult for some close friends and family. One of my dearest colleagues is watching his daughter battle leukaemia, and while her long-term prognosis is excellent, her current quality of life is horrendous because the myriad of drugs floating in her system have caused her pain and nausea. At the same time, a close cousin of mine is battling two cancers at once, an old online friend died last week, and today, I watched a good friend bury his father. While none of this is happening to me, the world has become quite dark recently for people that I care about, and it has affected me greatly. I love them dearly and just want the best for them, and yet feel like a helpless by-stander.

Until yesterday, that is. I got the sweetest email from someone who has been having recent difficulties, and I just wanted that person to know that they really made my day. Apparently, some of the fiction I wrote helped this person work through some personal issues, just because of the way certain characters very working through their own problems. My initial reaction was to be humbled and touched that something I invented could have such an effect on someone. Last night, I went to bed thinking, I am a writer. Thank you for the email, dear reader and friend. It made me remember that sometimes we are able to do something, even if we don't realise it at all in the moment of creation.