I’ve just become a better writer. I didn’t attend a writing conference, finish a book of prompts, or get a piece published. In fact, strictly speaking, I didn’t do anything.
Life happened. As a result of this particular occasion, words, concepts and ideas matured to a level previously censored by inexperience. We had a baby, a new pendulum swung. Love, loss, and lineage make for fine writing, and I’ve finally collected on the trifecta.
I’ve written from love and loss, before, and now I can write from a place I had only pictured (from friends and family, not so much from “I Didn’t Know I was Pregnant” on TLC, which really only taught me one thing: to avoid having a baby skip the bath). Family, love, fear, exhaustion, fatherhood, marriage, and joy (to name just a few, for instance I left out meconium) now have entirely different meanings to me, and as a result, something tells me my writing just got a whole lot better (where I started from, is a different story. Hey, everything is relative).
Welcome to the world, Luca Caesar Giuliani.