By Pamela Moeng
I woke Sunday morning to find out that Whitney Houston's voice is silenced forever. Her music got me to my feet and dancing in the 80s, and I will be grateful always for the fun and romance she added to my life. Who can forget her and Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard and that poignant rendition of Dolly Parton's I Will Always Love You? Wherever she sings now, I trust Whitney rests in peace.
Her early death made me ask why any single one of us would put off painting that picture, carving that statue, writing that novel or singing that song we've always wanted to paint, carve, write or sing but never seem to have the time.
Maybe the lesson for artists or anyone else for that matter is to grab life by it's throat and wrest every ounce of joy and happiness from it. For an artist what else brings joy but expressing the creative urge, whether you sell a million copies or win awards or you don't?
Whitney began singing back up for her mother and others in her teens. Discovered at 20 she went on to break record after record and became the world's darling.
Seeing her lovely face, hearing her music and knowing she is gone forever made me realise that whether I make a fortune or a name or not, I'm a writer and I'm going to write come hell or high water. No more putting off my blog because the cupboards need tidying, the clothes need washing, the food needs cooking, and another human being needs tending.
I'm tending to my writing like Whitney tended to her music before she got side-tracked by the follies of this world.