Hatching a Story

After these many months of posting here, hinting about writing a book, I finally have a storyline. I will divulge nothing about the plot. However, if any of my readers know of good resources about the Big Thicket during the first half of the last century, please send me the link, title, writer.  I want to supplement my second hand lore and childhood impressions with other sources.

I did tell my daughter about the plot and the inspiration. She immediately told me of my responsibility to paint a vivid picture of my protagonist.  I will have to demonstrate the character through realistic scenes to make her believable.  Otherwise she will seem too extraordinary and not inspire empathy or sympathy.

I purchased a couple of notebooks to start the first draft. I type these posts on the keyboard.   It is not my favorite method.  I prefer to write in my journal.  I use approximately 5×7 size unlined hardbound sketchbooks for my journal.  I keep a similar size spiral for lists and temporary notes. In view of these preferences, I purchase similar sized spiral tablets.  They will feel familiar.  They are lined pages.  I don’t think that will make a difference.

Time to write. I don’t want to waste time trying to figure out the opening line.  In fact, the story may start in the middle and I will need to work on the beginning after I see where it goes nearer the end.

I picked up a tablet to work on the non-fiction piece I have in mind. It may be more a series of short essays with some recipes and “how we used to do it” descriptions.  That will be fine.  It is the kind of book I like to read.  I don’t want to lose all of the heritage from my mother and grandmothers. I already have forgotten things that a photograph or something brings to mind. I don’t know if I will recall clearly.  No doubt others near me will recall more clearly.  But, they can write their own book if they don’t like mine.

I am slowly but surely eliminating the excuses. Now to push aside the fear.  A phrase I have on a card.  “Keep feeling along the wall for the gap.  When you find it, just go on through. Even if you drown.” I wrote this after I awoke from a dream seeking a gap in a cliff wall.  I did find it, go through and woke up as the water rushed around me.  But, that was better than standing at the blank stone wall, waiting to die slowly.   Powerful images for powerful feelings.  I intend to use those very feelings to get the letters into words into sentences into paragraphs into chapters into a story.

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The Feeling of Freedom

One of the loveliest sites to me is an expanse of lush green lawn.  Neatly manicured and surrounded by a jungle of vegetation.  I like my flower beds and borders, but I love my lawn.  We have almost completely cleared up the area where the oak tree was removed.  The turf is damaged and of course the ground is bare where it’s shade and leaves restricted growth of grass.  It is still early enough in the season to recover the damaged areas.

 

I did change my plans about the flower bed at the front of the house.  I will restrict everything to the area nearest the house.  I will keep things along the fences and along the house.  I want to reduce the edges to maintain.  And again I want to keep the green expanse unbroken as much as possible.

 

Deep breaths of air.  The open area feels like deep breaths of air.  I feel the same when I am on the lake or at the sea shore.  A far horizon.  Even if it is only a few yards across the front yard.  Freedom.

 

What is freedom?  It is as personal in definition as terms like success or failure.  For some freedom means not being physically locked in chains.  For some freedom means no relationships to interfere with choices.  For some freedom means being able to walk without assistance.  No one is every truly free unless they are completely without confinement or relationships.  I have been reading the Tarzan series.  Even then, there is a law of survival that restricts him.  If one has a conscience, one is never free.  One is bound by honor, duty, integrity, love to respond with others than themselves considered.

 

But, one can still have a feeling of freedom.  Whether I stand on the lawn and breathe or float on the lake in the sunshine.  Or perhaps if I gaze into the eyes of one I love, I can feel the essence of freedom.  Freedom to love and be loved.

 

And freedom to love and accept myself.  Freedom to choose what to do with time not already committed.  Freedom to eat what I want, wear what I want, sleep when I want, where I want, read what I want, watch what movie I want, pray how I want, say what I want.  Simple freedoms.  Precious.  Blood bought.  Soldiers and sailors and Savior.  Blood bought freedom is mine.

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Our lush green lawn, watered with the blood of patriots and adventurers. Warriors and pioneers.  Deep breaths of freedom as I look over the open expanse.