I Wrote From a Broken Heart and This is What Happened

Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash

This is a guest post contribution by Anne Peterson. She is a writer and the published author of 14 books. Today she shares her story of how writing from a broken heart opened new doors of opportunity for her.

How I got my poetry into stores…

“You have to do something with this,” my friend Arlyce said, hearing me recite one of my poems.

“Why don’t you take some of your poetry and put Mike’s art with it?”

Arlyce knew my husband was an artist. She also knew I loved to write.

I stood there, taking in her words, something that never occurred to me.

A couple of weeks later, Mike and I stood in a small print shop waiting.

We watched as our first piece of poetry art come eased out of the printer. We beamed at our creation.

And when I showed the finished pieces to our friends, they got excited too.

At that time, I was a returning student. Off to school, I’d go with books and a framed poetry piece under my arm.
Sometimes I came home with books and a check.

My English instructor loved my work.

An invitation to share

“Anne, I wonder if you’d be open to coming to my house and sharing your work with some of my friends?”

Was she kidding? I would love to do something like that.

And poetry parties were born.

I created invitations she mailed to her friends. Her house made the perfect intimate setting. I could sure learn to love this. And I did.

At the poetry parties, I sat, sharing my life experiences which led to the poems. People connected and then they’d buy the pieces.

Another open door

Another friend said, “I’d like to have an open house for you. I’ll take care of the guest list, you just come and share.

And so I did. It was a great time of connection and five women all bought copies of my one poem, I’d Marry You Again. At that time, I offered about a dozen or so different poems with different illustrations.

At the bottom of that piece was Mike’s drawing of our hands. A piece he drew while we held hands.

My friend, Nancy told me, “I’m going to show this to my boss, Lynn.”

“That’s fine,” I answered. But inside, my mind had been made up. I wanted to write, but I didn’t really want to write for anyone else.

Two days later Lynn Parker, owner of Creative Calligraphy wanted to meet with me.

“I have a proposal for you,” Lynn told me. I half-listened. It’s hard when we make up our minds and then close them.

After looking at our pieces they made an offer. They would pay me monthly for the use of my poetry. And later it would revert to royalties.

“Mike, I feel funny. Like I’m abandoning you,” I shared with him.

“I think it’s great they are interested, I think you should do it,” he responded.

And so I became one of the writers for a company. I did what I thought I would never do. I stretched my metal mind.

More than just a show

One fall, my friend Jenny called me, “Are you going to be in the craft show? There will be so many people there.”

It was true, Sycamore was the pumpkin town. Everyone came to the Pumpkin Fest. But the money was so tight.

“No. I don’t have the money,” I answered, as my face warmed with embarrassment.

“You have to be in it, Anne,” Jenny insisted. “I’d be glad to pay your fee.”

And so I agreed. Mike and I worked long hours, matting the pieces, putting them in sleeves and even framing some of them. A woven basket held our matted pieces. A friend made me tablecloths that went to the floor making my display look great.

Another good friend offered us a display unit to use, as well as their van for transporting.

I was tired after the two-day show. I sold $350.00 worth of poetry. And heard such words of encouragement. Had I found my niche?

[bctt tweet=”When you follow your passion, people will show up to be part of the journey.” username=”https://twitter.com/CoriWriterBWP”]

You never know

A couple of days later, in the mail, I received a card with a handwritten note in it.

“You don’t know me, my name is John Larson. My mother-in-law recently saw your work at a craft show in Sycamore. She told me, ‘You gotta see this woman’s work.’ And I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to meet me.

A couple of days later I received a call. Scared, but curious, I agreed to meet with John. He owned a large gift company, Dexsa, which produced poetry on plaques. I still remember how I felt when John left our house with my notebook of poetry.

What are you doing? You don’t even know this guy and now he has your work.

Sometimes our thoughts can plague us. And sometimes we listen and we don’t take chances.

My visit with John resulted in another opportunity to earn money with my poetry.

One time, Mike and I were in a Hallmark store when Mike spotted one of my pieces. He picked it up and walked to the cashier, smiling big. “My wife wrote this.”

I just melted inside.

More movement

Sometimes when good things happen, they bring other good things along with them.

John introduced me to a sister company. The James Lawrence Company. A company I also wrote for, in fact, still write for.

I remember doing a paper when I was in college. I called it, To Publish or not to Publish; a Poet’s Dilemma.

My research was discouraging. It said a poet cannot expect to make money writing poetry.

In my stubbornness, I thought, just watch me.

Creatives often find others who are less than encouraging with their decision to follow their passion.

You’ll need a side job.

You’ll never make it.

Comments such as these echo in your ears, sometimes making it hard to continue on.

But I knew going in, I might not make it big with writing poetry. I had another reason I was doing it. I wanted my words to make a difference for others.

And I was fortunate enough to see this happen over and over again. But that will be another post.

One poem

My telephone rang. I didn’t recognize the voice, “Is this Anne Peterson? I was told you might know where I could get a copy of the poem, I Have These Holes.”

“I wrote that poem in 1994,” I started.

“Wait,” he interrupted, I’m talking to the author?”

“May I ask you, where you saw my poem?” I asked.

“In a funeral home.”

I had one more question. “May I ask, who did you lose?”

“My son.” He responded quietly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. When did you lose him?”

His response made me catch my breath.“Just a few days ago and then I saw your poem and I cannot get it out of my mind.”

Our words can touch others. They can slip into those places where nothing else can go.

That’s why it’s important to share our work, even it if comes from our own broken hearts.

Call to Action

What is your passion?
What obstacles are keeping you from pursuing it?
I’d love to hear from you.

Note: This post has been previously published on medium.com and has been used with the permission of its author Anne Peterson.