Acceptance. A word which brings to mind many images. For this writing I will concentrate on what it means to me as a writer, an author.
When I first learned about authors who write books, I reveled in the world they created for me. It was a few years before it dawned on me I could be a writer and write books like Charlotte’s Web. I had no idea what that entailed. Naturally, it wasn’t an occupation that engendered parental approval. As I grew older and entered the world of higher education where I was encouraged to prepare for the occupation of nursing which garnered the most approval from my parents as well as elders on the reservation, I was actually encouraged to think about writing by my English teachers.
I struggled to find ways to meld these various occupations. And failed utterly at accomplishing any of those ideals and dreams, dashed the hopes of my parents and elders and lived life fairly well. I picked up the urge to write again. Oh, I’d dabbled in bits and pieces of writing off and on since high school. Now I write knowing my mother accepted my desire to be a writer and she encouraged me by giving me a few ideas hoping I could write a story with them. I did write one with her ideas melded with mine. She didn’t live to see the finished product currently in the final stages of revision. Her acceptance fueled my belief in myself.