I had a fierce Grandmother on my father’s side.  She immigrated from Ireland on a boat that was one boat before the Titanic… by herself.

When she was about 50 years old, she wrote a book.  It was a story that she must have heard growing up in Ireland.  I was given a copy of it a few years ago and was very excited to read it.

The story was of a fairy tree that apparently grew near where she grew up. The rule was to never, ever, cause harm, or even so much as touch the fairy tree or your life would be cursed as the fairies would seek revenge.  Well, of course, someone had to tamper with the tree, or there would have been no story.  Rack and ruin fell upon the perpetrator, and then there were the side stories of unrequited love, etc. 

The story had ‘good bones’, it was very well written, but…

Man it was boring.

I remain the only member of my family who has read the book in its entirety.   I read it out of respect for her.  She wrote it, she submitted it to publishers; it meant something to her. 

I write about it here because I admire the creative courage she must have had to complete her work. Now, I don’t know, but I am guessing  that after the book was rejected for publication, her creative courage failed her.  She did not re-write the book, or as far as I know, attempt another one.  For all her indomitable spirit, she let that one rejection letter dampen her creative spirit.  Or so it seems.

Creativity should not be dependent on the opinion of others to exist.  Creative works exist regardless of critics, or publishers or art dealers.  So go ahead.  Create, regardless of the outcome.

Created and posted is this week’s scenario at  Contentment is for Cows.

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