Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
For those of you who might have missed the riveting previous installment of Broken Winged Buzzard Dreams, here’s the link. Broken Winged Buzzard Dreams Part l Be sure and watch the Starburst commercial, it’s kind of disclaimer in case I start boring you to death. (Or boring you back to death, as the case may be. I’m not sure who or what all reads these posts.)
We ended Part l with the unfortunate demise of my first characters, Rory and Kate. They ended up in the trash can of my writing dreams because I married Gramps when I was sixteen and barely out of diapers. (He wasn’t called Gramps then or I might not’ve had sense enough to marry him. Sixteen-year-old girls can be so shallow.)
At any rate, he was (and still is) my dashing soul mate and we happily dove off the cliff of love into the rapids of experience.
A year later, we two added a little child to make three and most of the writing I did went like this:
Dear Grandma, Thank you for the baby stroller and the twenty dollars…Dear Electric and Gas Company, We will have the money by the end of the week, please don’t shut us off…
A couple years after that, I wrote my name on a line with Gramps’ and we bought our first little mountain rancho, ten acres and a house from which sheep had been evicted. Son #3 promptly made his appearance. A few months later, I rocked my twenty-first birthday with my three little kids–aged three and under–aided by koolaid and party hats.
Live a real life
All that while, I did almost no writing, but Gramps and I lived a real life while we traveled around and he made money to pay for our rancho. And while I tried to keep my babies and toddlers from self-destruction, I read.
I inhaled books like air, reading most genres except horror–although the book Treblinka about the Nazi death camp certainly qualifies–and cereal boxes. I read my Bible whenever I got a quiet minute. All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot while rocking a baby in Colorado. Ernest Hemingway’s For whom the Bell Tolls while rocking a baby in North Carolina. I even slogged through Tolstoy’s War and Peace a few hours at a time from a curb beside a playground in Illinois.
And, unbeknownst even to myself, my next characters had begun to stir in the womb of my brains…
Finally, I’m not qualified to give writing instruction, but this is my advice to anyone who desires to write:
- Read voraciously.
- Get out there and live a real life. Live a life you don’t need to be ashamed of when you’re dyin’, but take chances. Do things. Don’t live a virtual reality through your electronics else you might not have much to write about. We’ve all got electronics. None of us have your particular experiences.
- Consider homeschooling your kids. By the time you complete each grade four times, or fifteen–depending on the number of offspring–you will have a good grasp of the english language. That helps with the grammar and sentence structure. As you can see. By my sentence fragments.
- And last, but not least, learn to laugh at yourself first. If you don’t, somebody’ll beat you to it.
Anyway, if you got this far, God bless you for your endurance and now just sit back and enjoy The Isaacs doin’ The Lowest Valley.
*These artists don’t necessarily endorse my blog, I just like ’em.