Imagine you are trapped in a space craft doomed in all practical purposes, all the thoughts that run through your head are read in real time by those who cared to on earth, that was this tale.
As far back as I could remember, writing was easy for me. By age nine, I was earning a dollar here and two dollars there submitting articles to Children's Sections in Chinese Dailies. At thirteen I was an up and coming writer in a teen literary Chinese magazine. In 1981 I chose to attend a women's college well known for creative writing. I took exactly two courses in the English Department. In expository writing, a second level course, I wrote a term paper featuring the life of my maternal grandmother. The following year, I took an Independent Study which is a third year course and produced eight Chinese folktales.
Over the years, I taught English, brought up children and dabbled in special education. On the side, I continued to write. Once my children are grown, I started blogging. Over 36 years, I decided not to publish. That was until I faced death in the hospital. Once I recovered, I overcome the fear of revealing myself through my writing. Of course I still use a pen name and avoided using a current photo in my books.
Why? It just seemed a waste that if I had died, no one would bother about publishing whatever I have written and left behind. At that point of time, I no longer fear publicity. I no longer am bothered by the fear of not being accepted or liked. In fact, the feared attack did come. I was chastised for publishing folk tales written before I became a Christian. Nothing can take away my ethnic heritage. After I chose Jesus, does it make me less of a Chinese? I don't think so. Thank God I could just skip town and change church. Here in my second lease of life, I am an old woman minding my own business, living quietly and still writing.
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