I hated writing in school. My teachers said I sucked – in so many words – and my understanding at the time was they were the experts; so I believed them. In college, I managed to conquer research papers only because I tossed out most of the rules for writing essays so I could actually enjoy myself in the process. Essays on roller coasters and mythology managed to squeak into my science and history papers. One of my influences at the time was a boyfriend who made it his goal to insert a Pink Floyd lyric into every college paper, and I believe he graduated with some sort of honors. This became my basic education on how playing with words can be fun.
Now, writing is an everyday adventure. My adult analytical skills and my childhood imagination swirl together spawning short stories I hope Ray Bradbury would be proud of.
My current project is more long form in the shape of a historical fiction novel, based on Zoro Gardens, a nudist colony part of the 1935-1936 Exposition in Balboa Park. The first draft has been written and now comes the editing. The whole experience has been a learning process for me as I tend to write in bursts, more conducive to short form, but I have found the spirit of the ordeal exciting like watching my small child grow into a person. We shall see how it matures.
Below are a couple examples of my short story work including the topic/suggestion from which the story derived:
The young girl pulled another pair of pants from the pile of laundry. Between the hot black iron and the fireplace, it was stifling in the small kitchen. The only relief she could hope for was a small breeze coming from the window overlooking the distant waves. Her arm started moving methodically once again and, just as she started to fantasize about a forbidden swim, the iron stopped at a bump in the pocket…
From her lap, his shiny black eyes stared up at her as she admired his permanent red smile. Fingering his tiny overalls, she pictured the little ones’ faces, pressed against the icy window panes, waiting for her to arrive with another basket of her lifelike, homemade gifts. The last strand of hair was finally in place. As she gently inserted the needle to tie a knot, he lurched in her hand and a high-pitched voice said…
For more stories, use the drop down menu to the right under CATEGORIES and click on WORDS.
