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Blog -not for everyone but yes -I talk to myself |
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Why I Write By Tee M. When I was in seventh grade, my teacher, Mrs. Banks, asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. Without hesitation, I said, “I want to be a writer.” She looked at me and said it would never happen. Never. Fast forward. In high school, I became editor of the school newspaper all four years—grades nine through twelve. Later, I earned a full scholarship to college because of my passion for journalism. So why was she so certain I couldn’t do it? Because at the time, my reading comprehension was poor. I couldn’t spell. My grammar was atrocious. But what she didn’t know—what no test score could measure—was that I had a gift for storytelling. I could hold a room captive for hours, spinning tales for friends and family straight from my imagination. That was my superpower. It still is. The best writing advice I’ve ever received was simple: Just tell the story. Write your first draft without worrying about spelling, grammar, or the “small stuff.” If you focus too much on perfection, the story itself gets lost. So that’s what I do. Even with all the modern writing tools available, I still write my stories the same way—heart first. The first draft is just me, telling the story as it comes. It may not be the way everyone writes, but it’s what works for me. Because at the end of the day, I write because I love to tell stories. My journey to becoming a reader was a long one, but now I read everything I can get my hands on. And yes—my favorite stories always end in happily ever after. Someone once told me I must be a hopeless romantic because I’m obsessed with happy endings. They were right. To be a writer, I believe you have to love storytelling. To become a published author—that’s a different journey. Not every story is meant to be shared with the world, but when you write one that is… you feel it deep down. There’s a lot of self-publishing happening these days, but that’s not the part I know. What I know is this: I tell stories. That’s what I do. I also journal and blog—but not about writing. My journals are filled with daydreams, character conversations, and little scraps of future stories. My blog is more of a break—an outlet, a place to learn, explore, and connect. My head is often in the clouds, and I like it that way. I don’t like nightmares. I prefer dreams filled with love, kindness, and a little magic. Because in my world, the story is everything. |
| Stories That Travel Across Generations My grandmother lived to be 104. Every few months she would mail my daughter a little story — always gentle, always a touch magical, always written just for her. It was her way of keeping connection alive across miles and time. I loved that so much I quietly adopted the tradition myself. Now I send my granddaughter a story each month. We only see each other once a year, so these little tales have become our thread — something soft and steady between us. She’s nine now, and she writes back. Her stories are bold and curious: adventures inside video games, mysteries about lost treasures, worlds where kids get to be heroes. This tale is one I wrote for her, shared here with the same hope my grandmother carried — that imagination is a bridge, and love can travel inside a story. ⸻ Windy Beth Wolf and the Visit to Mossy Hollow A Tale of Kindness. In a world few know about, nestled just past the misty thickets of Whispering Pines, lives a kindhearted girl named Windy Beth Wolf. With soft ears like her forest kin and emerald eyes full of wonder, she is part girl, part wolf-spirit, and all heart. By her side trots her loyal companion, Ruffin — a clever, caramel-colored wolf pup with eyes like twilight and a nose that always knows when something’s amiss. Together, they are the heart of their woodland village, loved by creatures great and small. One sunny morning, Windy’s mom was busy baking, filling their tree-home with the scent of honey-cinnamon pies, peanut-butter cookies, and a triple-berry cake so airy it looked kissed by clouds. Windy’s ears twitched with joy as she packed the treats carefully into a woven basket. “Ruffin, it’s time,” she whispered. The pup answered with a joyful bark. Today, they were visiting Mr. and Mrs. Tallowtree, an elderly couple who lived deep in Mossy Hollow, where sunlight trickled through ivy and time moved a little slower. The Tallowtrees had once been herbalists, famous for their healing teas and glowing firefly jam, but age had softened their steps and left their pantry shelves a little lonely. With wind in her braids and purpose in her step, Windy and Ruffin traveled along leaf-dappled trails, across babbling brooks, and beneath arches of blooming foxglove. Along the way, forest creatures waved from branches and burrows, for everyone knew Windy Beth brought light wherever she wandered. At the hollow, Mr. Tallowtree was tending a crooked fence, his back bent, hands trembling. “Oh, my stars,” he chuckled when he spotted them. “It’s the Wolf Girl and her handsome helper!” Mrs. Tallowtree wiped her hands on her apron, eyes glimmering. “You’ve brought sunshine with you, haven’t you?” “We brought goodies!” Windy beamed, setting down the basket. “Mom says love is best shared in crumbs and frosting.” They spent the afternoon sipping gentle herbal tea, listening to old stories, and laughing until the wind turned golden. Windy mended the rickety gate while Ruffin politely rounded up sleepy chickens and nudged them toward their coop. By sunset, the basket was empty, but Windy and Ruffin’s hearts glowed warm as hearth-embers. Because in a world few know about, the smallest acts of kindness ripple the farthest — and Windy Beth Wolf, with Ruffin by her side, was born to make those ripples shine. “Be the heart that helps. Even if it’s just with cookies.” — Windy Beth Wolf |
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