Copyright 2024 April Towner
In the Beginning…
I first dreamed of writing in kindergarten as I appraised my chicken scratch on my notepad envisioning an audience keen to read. Somehow I imagined that words were important and that I had something important to say with words. Stories and books were constant companions. We always had more books than toys. It has taken me a long while. But I have finally come back to where I began. I am acknowledging the stories within me and those sinuous stories making paths through my life.
My writing has been described as lyrical and vivid. I think this bears the subtle evidence of my beginnings in verse, poetry. Stories captivate me. Like a smith at an anvil, I shape language into memorable and meaningful form.
Story. Voice. Story has forms like matter has states. Writing is sustenance. My voice in words echoes across the landscape of existence raising my hand among creation announcing that I, too, am here in the company of all else. Writing is my individuality and my belonging. Beyond self, I have always hoped and imagined that my words might also speak in whisper, offeringing an accompanying cadence to footfalls traversing routines and yonder.