I was rearranging some things on my bookshelf the other day and I discovered my writing portfolio from the Creative Writing class I took in College. I had been extremely nervous for that class. On my first day, I discovered I was the only one out of the 30 students who wasn't an English Major or Minor. I was extremely intimidated.
But, I took the class anyway, determined to walk away a better writer. It was an interesting experience for me. Because I lacked confidence in my writing ability, I tried harder than anyone else in the class. The rest just coasted through it. For them, it was just another stop along the way to getting their degree.
It meant so much more to me. I had never wanted to be a writer, but I was honestly curious about whether or not I could actually do it. My Dad writes and would love to be published someday, if he can ever find the time to finish the book he's been working on since I was a little girl. I wanted to know if it was in my blood.
That was a truly fun Semester for me. I walked away feeling proud of what I had learned and what I had been able to write throughout the three months.
As I read through it all this morning, I decided it would be fun to share a bit of what I've written. I'll post little bits, here and there, just to shake things up.
This first piece was inspired by my fear of having kids. My twin sister always wanted to be a Mommy growing up, but I wanted to be a nurse. I dreaded babysitting jobs and the idea of being responsible for another human being was terrifying to me. And so, a short story was born.
"Revelation"
As the hair stands up on the back of my neck I turn. Over my shoulder I see
the squished, dirty, turned up nose of IT. IT's staring at me. ITs small eyes are deep and penetrating as it tries to force the question [what is your problem?] into my mind. I ponder about this without any serious motivation. How dare IT try to make me feel guilty; to make me hate myself. But that's just it, isn't it? I do hate myself. I look at IT again, but this time I'm not afraid. I tame the hairs on the back of my neck by breathing deep, slow breaths. As I peer over my shoulder I stare, I analyze. But its' not enough. I must face IT. I turn, placing my back to my only escape, the gate leading out of the park. I stand there, my hands at my side and I watch. IT stares back at me, ITs hands covered in dirt. If this were a cowboy movie, we'd both be waiting to draw our pistols, but instead I'm waiting to see IT differently. I don't know what IT's waiting for.
The minutes are slowly ticking away and still we stare. This is just a game to IT, but I need to understand. My eyes begin to move as I examine IT a piece at a time, starting at the ground. ITs shoes are untied and one of ITs socks is pulled up to the center of ITs calf while the other is buried deep within the shoe. IT's wearing jean shorts that are caked in dust brought up from the dry, summer heat. ITs shirt is green and it's tucked into the front of ITs shorts while hanging out at he back. ITs neck is long, like a giraffe, making ITs head appear small, disproportionate. Dirt is smeared across ITs face and ITs eyes are still staring at me, never leaving my own. It's been attempting to make eye contact this whole time, bit I wasn't ready. I think I'm ready. My eyes shift to the left and they meet ITs eyes within seconds. The park continues to be alive around us as we're trapped in our own unique embrace. As I stare I realize this is nothing to be scared of. Almost as if to drive my point home IT smiles at me, showing me two missing front teeth, and then IT says, "Hi, I'm Tommy."
The sounds of his voice hits me with so much force I actually lose my balance and stumble. Tommy, his name is Tommy. For the first time in my life I see him for what he is, a little boy. I'm at a loss for words and all I can do is give a slight smile, a wave, and then leave.
It will also be located under my new page "Sample Work" located directly under my header.
