Devonne Brown

My seven a.m. writing group has been a healing presence for me. I’ve expressed more of myself to that group of people in fact and fiction than I ever have to any relative, friend, or therapist. Because of them, I’ve grown as a writer and a human.

The journey continues to be full. I learn about myself with each word I write, and think about what and how I write all the time. I also think about who and what I am. My fiction and poetry are thinly veiled nonfiction, like legends that hold seeds of truth that I can see with humor instead of pain. Sometimes the pain comes through regardless of intent.

I am thunderstruck by every person in my writing family. I learn from the poetry and prose that seems to flow without effort from each of the writers. I know better though. I see and hear their minds work like magic gears that turn a million different directions to form sentences with sound, glory, and meaning. They are all mentors. I must pay closer attention to their every detail, so I can let go of my ego.

These women, and once in a while a man with whom I meet when I can are better for me than the drugs my shrink gives to me. I listen. I learn. I write. There is no judgement, only praise, something we all need. No judgement, just praise. Healing.