I wrote this poem for my little sister several years ago, when my infant niece, her baby daughter, was killed in a terrible firearms accident. Another child got ahold of a misplaced handgun, and it discharged when he accidentally dropped it. The bullet passed through my niece’s brain and tore her from our lives. It was an event that completely changed my perspective on gun ownership.
writing
I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m afraid for the future. But I’m excited as well. And I’ll be damned if I’m the reason why I don’t leave my mark.
She’d laugh, and she’d be right to laugh.
There are a thousand questions to ask and answer as I force this idea to take shape into drama. I’m making something from nothing, and it’s exciting. And scary.
I’ve got my eye on Polaris and an engine full of steam.
My ultimate hope is that one day, I–and others–can look back at this and think, “wow, what an interesting journey to ‘success.'”
One Writer's Journey 