Sunset photo by Grandpa Sharp
When I started writing, (in seventh grade), I wrote a full length book. That wonderfully rich monstrosity took me almost two years to write. It’s only 100 pages long and was hand written. The pink notebook cover has since come off and the tome is now lovingly held together with a rubber band.
It’s not great, the book. It’s barely good. But I adore every last thing about it.
I started several stories after that, book length stories, though they never made it to book length. I was trying to figure out how to write a book then. Hell I was trying to figure out how to WRITE back then. It didn’t bother me that I wasn’t finishing anything, because I was a writer and that’s what you do. I wrote to figure out how I wrote. Of course, at that time I wasn’t telling anyone that I was attempting to write in the first place.
As a writer, I write to make myself feel better. Yes, my fingers have been flying across the keyboard this past week! II love when writing, short stories come out of nowhere and I follow them to their ends. I thought you’d like a little something different today! Continue reading
Here’s a glimpse into how I find stories. Sometimes.
When I was in college, on Thursday nights I would end up sometimes at a bar. I can’t remember thename of the bar as there have been several years placed between me and the times I used to go there and they have changed their name.
So, Thursday nights was ladies night at said bar I can’t remember. Ladies got in free and recieved a free drink as long as you bought one more. So for the price of one beer we could get in and have a decent night. For a starving artist hiding in college this was a great way to spend a Thursday night.
Every thursday the band The Rebecca Scott Decision would play. Headed by, well, you guessed it, Rebecca Scott. She wears a smirk when she plays, short black hair, tall talent. I loved her. There was something about her music when she played live. Kicked my imagination in the very guts. I would fill napkins with imagery from those nights.
(Yes, I was a writer who went to a bar to hang out and ended up in a dark corner scribbling on napkins to make sure I didn’t miss anything.)
The group that gathered were so strange and writeable. There was always the same strange guy who danced awkwardly, never to the beat of the muisc, but his favorite dance move was to slowly punch the air. The table of dolled up girls who had found the bar for the first time and just loved how cute and cozy it was. There were the guys who trolled the bar, predators looking for a lone girl who had separated from the pack. The one girl who came just for the bartender who politely refilled her drinks but didn’t really see her. I loved everything about it, all set to the soundtrack of Rebecca Scott and her music. Continue reading