Tag Archives: Childhood Stories

My phase of writing fiction.

2 Sep

Last night while reading The Spirit of Writing: Classic and Contemporary Essays Celebrating The Writing Life, I came across this great quote that seemed to say it all:

Words, like eyes, are windows into a person’s soul, and thus each writer, in some small way, helps to enrich the world. But it takes courage to share one’s life with another, for we live in a world where every sentence penned can be criticized or praised. But it is a risk worth taking, for a greater vision remains: that through our words, be they fiction or fact, we might touch another soul as we share our stories and song. In that moment, however brief, we suspend the walls of separateness that so often cause suffering and pain.

Seven years ago when I was still in my phase of writing fiction, I started writing Silver Drops, the story of a girl who finds an entire new world behind a waterfall. I wrote for days and weeks on end, eventually reaching about 75 handwritten pages before I had to stop. I stopped this particular writing project because I just wasn’t sure where to go with the story anymore. I needed to include something that could push the story forward. However, at the time I didn’t know what that something was.

Since I was stuck regarding the story but I knew that I didn’t want to lose it, I kept the handwritten pages, but I also typed it up and saved it on a cd. I still have all 3 versions somewhere. I remember coming across them when I had to clean out my room before my parents moved up to North Carolina. I smiled when I came across the story, and as I sat on the floor of my childhood bedroom reading what I had written seven years ago, I was amazed at what my 13-year-old mind could come up with. I can only imagine how the story could progress if I added some 20-year-old wisdom to it.

I’ve gotten into the groove of memoir writing lately. Therefore, I don’t know if switching gears would benefit me or not. I loved writing fiction when I was younger. I loved the process of making up stories and creating characters. I loved being able to “spend my time” with people who I only wished could be real. I loved being able to pretend, if only for a minute, that I was a different person who had a completely different life. I wrote fictional stories the way some girls play dress up. I tried to fit all kids of characters into my stories, and I wasn’t satisfied until I had written a character so vividly that he or she was practically sitting in my room across from me saying, “You want to go play?”

Who knows, maybe one of these days I’ll pick back up Silver Drops with the same amount of gusto that started it all. Or maybe I won’t. However, if I know one thing for certain, it’s that I will never ever stop writing. It’s brought me so far already, and therefore, I feel like I need to give something back. So, yes, I need to share my story. I need to allow other people to realize that despite obstacles, setbacks and a world of pain, you can learn to enjoy your life.

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Beyond The Waves by Elizabeth Marek: A Book Review.

6 Jun

During one of my many trips to my favorite used bookstore in Asheville, I came across Beyond The Waves by Elizabeth Marek when looking through the bargain books. After reading the synopsis on the back of the book, it seemed like a book I’d like, but more than that, it seemed like the type of read that I’d pay much more than one dollar for. I’ll take the deals where I can get them though!

Psychologist Abby Cohen is still reeling from the loss of her beloved daughter when another young girl arrives in her life-twelve-year-old Miranda, who appears at Abby’s hospital mute, terrified, and completely alone. In her struggle to connect with this deeply disturbed child and unravel the mystery of her past, Abby must grapple with her own frozen self.

Numbed by grief and on the verge of losing her relationship with both her husband and little boy, Abby finds herself tempted to leave behind what is left of the family she once cherished. But something about Miranda and the bond that has begun to form between them awakens Abby’s capacity to feel, and reminds her of the power-and the limits-of love.

The way the characters of Abby and Miranda came together in order to deal with the demons of their different pasts was moving to me. I was most drawn to the character of Miranda simply because my heart ached for her and the mysterious past that she seemed to be very troubled by. Through much of the book, Miranda was afraid and alone. Though that was heartbreaking for me, it was also a very huge reminder of why I want to be a counselor myself. Psychologist Abby Cohen tries throughout the book to connect to Miranda, despite the fact that Miranda seems very frightened and alone. However, that’s all the more reason that I strive to connect with others. Though my past wasn’t as extreme as it could have been, it wasn’t easy. I spent so many years afraid, in pain, and surrounded by doctors and parents, and yet feeling utterly alone. When I was going through my intense physical therapy and 3 intense surgeries, I wanted someone who understood or at least could be there to remind me that I wasn’t alone through all the pain. Studies show that every person benefits from a strong support system. Though I had support from my parents and other family members, that wasn’t the kind of support I was looking for. Even though at the time there wasn’t a friend who was aching to understand, what I didn’t know at the time was that the support was coming.

My support came during my junior year at Salem Academy when I met my best friend, Skidmore. Skidmore was the very first person I completely opened up to in regards to all the details of my past. Every memory of pain, fear, loneliness….Skidmore knows it. Realizing that I had someone to share everything with was big, but once I began to understand that Skidmore longed to know so that she could understand who I truly was, I practically never stopped talking. I mean, it came out slow (the details of my past), but it felt so good to tell someone. Telling someone about my pain, fear, and loneliness and having them not judge me or feel sorry for me, but just love me….scars and all…that’s what I had been looking for, and I found it. Though I know have other friends who are an equal amount of support, no one knows as much as Skidmore does. Once I said everything single memory in detail once, it seemed like enough. I mean, my other friends know me really well too, but I guess you could say that since Skidmore was the first person who seemed to want to understand me for exactly who I was, that’s what she got: the stories of pain and fear that I carried around for so long without telling anyone. The stories that, though they don’t define me, are the truest form of the difficulties I’ve faced that I can possibly show.