PLANTED SEEDS


“What did your parents do?” questioned an English professor, standing in admiration of the fact I’d been published in a major magazine and had just returned from New York after guest-appearing on a TV talk show. Yet, her pointed inquiry stumped me.

Usually I’d smile with pendulum-moving eyes, while I ran through a litany of events and writers I’d met along the way. (The late Dwayne McDuffie had been the first.)  Never had I considered planted seeds as a contributing factor in my literary endeavors.

As a child, my dad and I fell into a rhythm:  He told me made-up stories and songs about furry critters and I’d listen with anticipation. My youthful mind would delight in the happy endings of each character and I’d feel sad when misfortune hit them.

Not only did the stories stick with me well into adulthood, but they framed my relationship with my father.  After all, isn’t that what writing is about?  Relationships?

My dad’s easy-going spirit oftentimes pressed me to say to him, “I wish I could be more like you!” He usually laughed, but I knew I had a wavering disposition whenever life’s challenges slapped me in the face. I’d question everything, even my love for writing.

“Tssst, tsst, you’re using too many passive sentences,” or “your main character lacks depth.” I’d hear the words and roll them over and over in my head, measuring them against my writing capabilities and shaking my fists to the walls. “Why does this have to be so darn hard?” 

I’ve since nestled comfortably in my love for writing.  I no longer question that fact. My declaration to devote a lifetime to perfecting it is what I focus on.

It’s just “life” really, when I have to regroup and adjust through the difficulties of this crazy writing business.  However, I’m steady in my quest because long ago, planted seeds became deep-rooted in my life and a big harvest is coming  . . . I can feel it.

Did someone plant seeds in your life? 

Comments

Popular Posts