Writing by Patricia Petro

“I will write from my heart . . . and aside from the sheer pleasure of doing it, if people happen to garner inspiration from it, or incentive, or find a new way to love, it would be wonderful.” —Patrick Swayze

From my story, An American Girl

Winter Wonderland

by Patricia Petro

It has always pleased me to look out at
the front yard after a fresh snowfall.

Memories come, clouded memories, 
of once upon a time growing up
in this house and staring 
out the window, mesmerized 
by the beauty of it all—
the morning snow clinging 
to the branches of barren
trees and capping
the evergreens, lying
where it had fallen, 
untouched and pure.... Read more

Copyright © 1983 Patricia Petro
Artwork by Patricia Petro

I love to write. My love affair with writing started early on. When we were children, my mother read stories to us from Grolier’s The Book of Knowledge. I remember Lady of the Lake, The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Little Black Sambo, Hansel and Gretel, and others. The stories fueled my imagination and ignited the first sparks. Lying in bed at night I formed characters in my head and played out scenes, creating stories of my own and telling them to my brother and sister in the darkness of the room we shared. While in high school, I had poems, concert reviews, essays, and articles—with at least one short story—published in various teen magazines. I was part of a loosely-knit group of young free-lance correspondents who worked for peanuts and the prestige of seeing our names in national print every so often. We also had legitimate credentials that got us into press conferences and backstage at rock concerts which made it an even sweeter deal. That was then . . . this is now. I tell people I no longer have time to write. The truth is, I lack the discipline and ambition needed to be $uccessful. I keep a journal and jot stuff down when, and if, I have the urge. When my muse visits, time stands still as characters and scenes fill my head. Sometimes ideas come so quickly, I cannot get them down on paper fast enough before that perfect word or phrase I have in mind evaporates into thin air . . . poof. None of my early, published work has survived; but I have files and notebooks crammed full with ideas, bits and pieces of random chapters from unfinished stories and novels, and poems left hanging. Writing is a release, like turning a faucet on . . . the words flow and slowly fill the blank pages. I may never finish all I have started, but that’s OK. For me, success is not measured by how much money you make nor who or how many people value your talent. It is less tangible—a more personal feeling of satisfaction, contentment, and pride. I write for myself and hope, by sharing, my writing will entertain and inspire others.