Creative writing is sort of like painting a picture with words
For years I like to write creative stories and poetry until I started having migraines. They caused me to have mini-strokes, which robbed me of my words. In reality, it was my graduate professor who's specialized in TBI (traumatic brain injuries) that discovered the problem. After my car accident, she observed a deterioration in my writing and suggested I tell my dr. about it. MRI's showed I had indeed suffered from strokes, which explain many of the problems I was having, but wasn't telling anyone about. I recognized the faces of people, but couldn't remember their names even though I had worked with them for years. (still happens today) I couldn't remember the paper order of my IEP's, and I couldn't find words in my head when I wanted to write...most of the time still can't. Same goes for my own spelling and punctuation, though I can edit other's work. Weird I know.
Anyway, with the advent of emails, I would write about events in my life to my friends...no fear when you write among friends, at least for me anyway...and it was my BF who dubbed my emails "Bedtime Stories" because I usually found myself up late at night writing them. And that's how they began.
Living away from my son challenges me to finds way to stay connected to him, and it was during this past summer that I decided to write short stories about objects or events that had shaped my life...short little funny or not so funny snip-its that he could have as a keep-sake. My friends have been encouraging me to do this for years, and I half suspect they'd like to see their names in "lights" so to speak. Anyway I began keeping a list of things to write about.
As I mentioned earlier, My Razor will be one of the first stories I write...for me, it is the first object that took me from a young girl to becoming a woman. Hilarious, I hope, as I had sneak to buy it...there were 2 pharmacies in my town and I bought my razor at the far end from my home. I was too afraid that the owners of the pharmacy we used, and who were good friend of my parents, might tell them of my purchase. For years I hid the fact I was shaving my legs from my mom...like she really didn't know...yeah right...and kept it covered up under a wash-cloth when she would come in to talk to me while I was in the tub.
The challenge will be to keep the stories short...no more than two pages with hopes that I don't get too exhausted scouring my brain for words. And for the first time, I have my own office where I can close the door to the outside world and escape into mine. We shall see what happens. To date, I already have 2 stories written..I'm off to a good start.