My Writing Life

Talking to a friend on the way home from a women’s conference in St Louis this past weekend, I was discussing my lifelong reticence to write personally from the heart. 

Thought-Catalog

I had never wanted to be anything but a writer and certainly wrote my way around this kind of writing. Working in newspaper advertising, doing PR for non-profits, and then finally being a small town journalist eased the itch but not the nagging voice that kept telling me this was not what I was supposed to be doing.  

In the late 1990’s and early 2000, I took on more personal writing…sort of. My first born was very ill, the result of drug addiction. With his early recovery, he had wanted to try to help others by sharing his story. I was certainly ready to step up, sharpen my pencil and write his. Problem was, I quickly discovered that it would be almost impossible to truthfully share his without having to give out a little of mine.  To do that gave me the shivers and some near nausea.

As I hit 65, the nagging voice got louder and more persistent. “Hey, girl. You have plenty of time to help others by doing this thing. You just don’t have a lot of time to waste waltzing around it anymore.”

You know that still small voice we Christians often refer to? Well, mine was getting loud and demanding so I started talking back. “Do you remember how old I am?”  “I’m supposed to be retired. Isn’t that something about little cocktails with tiny umbrellas and beaches with big ones?” “What if someone actually reads it!?!”

Arguing doesn’t work. If God has something he wants you to do, just do it. Eventually,  you run out of excuses and it is just too hard to run.

So, at 67 I am starting. I have gone in circles long enough. I teach journaling for heaven’s sake! I’m going to write for me. Maybe you might like to listen in.

 

Talking to a friend on the way home from a women’s conference in St Louis this past weekend, I was discussing my lifelong reticence to write personally from the heart. 

Thought-Catalog

I had never wanted to be anything but a writer and certainly wrote my way around this kind of writing. Working in newspaper advertising, doing PR for non-profits, and then finally being a small town journalist eased the itch but not the nagging voice that kept telling me this was not what I was supposed to be doing.  

In the late 1990’s and early 2000, I took on more personal writing…sort of. My first born was very ill, the result of drug addiction. With his early recovery, he had wanted to try to help others by sharing his story. I was certainly ready to step up, sharpen my pencil and write his. Problem was, I quickly discovered that it would be almost impossible to truthfully share his without having to give out a little of mine.  To do that gave me the shivers and some near nausea.

As I hit 65, the nagging voice got louder and more persistent. “Hey, girl. You have plenty of time to help others by doing this thing. You just don’t have a lot of time to waste waltzing around it anymore.”

You know that still small voice we Christians often refer to? Well, mine was getting loud and demanding so I started talking back. “Do you remember how old I am?”  “I’m supposed to be retired. Isn’t that something about little cocktails with tiny umbrellas and beaches with big ones?” “What if someone actually reads it!?!”

Arguing doesn’t work. If God has something he wants you to do, just do it. Eventually,  you run out of excuses and it is just too hard to run.

So, at 67 I am starting. I have gone in circles long enough. I teach journaling for heaven’s sake! I’m going to write for me. Maybe you might like to listen in.

 

About

I was born, August 10, 1950 in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. At the age of six-months I was adopted by a couple living in Windsor, Ontario. When I was 45, I met my birth mother and a year later, met my three incredible brothers and three beautiful sisters. 

 In 2002, I married my patient and long-suffering husband, Phil Hempel, and moved to Buchanan, MI, where we live with our two dogs; a 10-year-old rescue, Bailey, and a year-old terror, Mr. Muggles.

After a catastrophic car accident in 2010, beekeeper Phil, spent several years recovering from a shattered leg, among other injuries. Eventually, we closed the family business, Blossomland Supply, which Phil had operated since 1989, and in 2016 , at 68 Phil decided to return to work driving patients to medical appointments.

I am the mother of three grown sons who live in Ontario, Canada.  As a speaker, I took the story of my first-born’s struggle with addiction to schools in hopes of deterring other children from poor life choices and to church congregations as a tale of how faith can keep you strong even when what you thought would kill you didn’t. The Story of Bernie is still very close to my heart.

As a freelance writer, I designed and wrote brochures and pamphlets for non-profits and wrote advertising copy and copy for other people’s websites. As a journalist, I wrote for local newspapers and wrote a couple of columns. Following Phil’s near tragic accident and his return to work outside of the home, I decided it was finally time to share some personal writing. This site and my blog While Life Goes On are the results of that decision.

A member of Lamb’s Chapel in Laporte, IN, I am forever grateful to fellow writer and my pastor Jay Loucks for his encouragement and the space at Lamb’s where I now write two to three days a week.

What has been an incredibly, blessed journey continues. 

 

Blog

Contact

Reach me through my email at writeon1950@gmail.com and by interacting with the blog posts at While Life Goes On.

I welcome your thoughts and comments and hope to hear from you soon.

We are all in this together.

God bless,

Kathie