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But I Don’t Want to Write Again

by Clinton Miller
But I Don’t Want to Write Again

Two nights ago I was at my parents home for their semi-annual post-priesthood session dessert night. My step-brother asked me if I was still writing. I said I don’t feel like ever writing another book in my life. Secret Speakers? I did it. I wanted to create something good out of my life, and I feel like I did. That is enough.

Then today, the doorbell rang. It was my husband’s racing pigeon buddy, Joe Namelka. I saw his truck idling at the end of the driveway, crates of pigeons in the back, and an attached trailer. The first

words out of his mouth were, “Are you still writing?” We chatted on the front porch and I told him nothing came of Secret Speakers. He said, “Sure it did. You did it.”

That cheered me. Aside from wanting to create something out of my life that was good, I’d other reasons. I’d written it for my children. On the darker side, I had a different, hidden expectation.