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I always wanted to write. When I was a kid books were my happy place, and I wanted to make more of that for other people. But I didn't have a lot to write about, being a kid and knowing nothing.
I remember wanting to capture the walk down my road - the broken tarmac hot under my bare feet in front of my own home (a sprawling farmhouse wrapped protectively around a scraggly dirt South facing yard with a huge tree stump in the middle) and past the compact two-story house with it's perfect green lawn where my father's childhood friend lived, and finally hitting some shade, so my feet no longer were cooking, under the stately elms that lined the road on both sides as it ran past the imposing Hart house. Open sky above again in front of the little servant's home just downhill from the Hart house, where the old couple who did for Mrs. Hart lived. He kept the lawns perfectly mowed and bushes trimmed on both sides of the road around the big house and his wife cooked and cleaned. A little beyond their house the trees closed out the sky in a cool, green arch and the road turned to cool, brown dirt, hard and smooth where the tires ran, sweet on my soles. There the road became what I thought a road should be - mysterious, surrounded by trees where anything could be. I looked up at the edge, bright sky and branches and thought, "I wish I had an alien pen-pal I could write to about boring things, Earth things."
It didn't occur to me until later that journalizing could be approached that way. Nor, until just the past few years, that most probably my grandmother would have loved to hear about my impressions of the world. I loved the letters she sent me, full of observations about her surroundings.
Anyway, here it is November again, and I'm not doing NaNo, but I'm stealing a trick from Eor, inspired by his stories. I probably won't do as well as he by a long shot, but I'll try to write more. ;)
I remember wanting to capture the walk down my road - the broken tarmac hot under my bare feet in front of my own home (a sprawling farmhouse wrapped protectively around a scraggly dirt South facing yard with a huge tree stump in the middle) and past the compact two-story house with it's perfect green lawn where my father's childhood friend lived, and finally hitting some shade, so my feet no longer were cooking, under the stately elms that lined the road on both sides as it ran past the imposing Hart house. Open sky above again in front of the little servant's home just downhill from the Hart house, where the old couple who did for Mrs. Hart lived. He kept the lawns perfectly mowed and bushes trimmed on both sides of the road around the big house and his wife cooked and cleaned. A little beyond their house the trees closed out the sky in a cool, green arch and the road turned to cool, brown dirt, hard and smooth where the tires ran, sweet on my soles. There the road became what I thought a road should be - mysterious, surrounded by trees where anything could be. I looked up at the edge, bright sky and branches and thought, "I wish I had an alien pen-pal I could write to about boring things, Earth things."
It didn't occur to me until later that journalizing could be approached that way. Nor, until just the past few years, that most probably my grandmother would have loved to hear about my impressions of the world. I loved the letters she sent me, full of observations about her surroundings.
Anyway, here it is November again, and I'm not doing NaNo, but I'm stealing a trick from Eor, inspired by his stories. I probably won't do as well as he by a long shot, but I'll try to write more. ;)
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