Writing, Writing, Writing, Writing, Writing

Fiorella's wonderful nephew and his wife visited her for THREE hours on Sunday, during which twe all exchanged life stories, solved the problems of the world, and ate Klondike Bars. Nephew also gave her information about publishing possibilities for her unpublished, and books in chapter form, something she has been considering lately. Yes, the ol' writing bug is biting her again, and that vampire story she wrote centuries ago is the one with the fangs.
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Of course, Fio also wants to put all her poems together in book form too, which will be difficult because she's been spouting the stuff since forever. and she comes up with new twists and turns on a daily basis. Most of her earlier stuff is forever lost, like her first short story, written when she was in her early teens--Mother, who loved reading, was uneasy with writing.
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Do not give me sorrow
Or I'll beat you up tomorrow
Not with my fists, but with my pen
And you'll never give me sorrow again
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Speaking of writing, Fio dropped in at our local biblioteca today to research Yury Buida and the Rusyns in general, and she's brought home about fifty pages the librarian printed off in Russian with no translation. Fiorella's hoping her two years of roosky yahzeek many, many moons ago, will be able to turn the trick.
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Is there somewhere in the world
Where people are at peace
With themselves and with each other?
Where children grow up in love
Not violence, hate, and fear?
Where life is not a constant battle
Between right and wrong? 
     Please, God, give me strength,
     The strength to battle on