Have you ever wanted to be a writer?  Even a little bit.  Even when you were very young and the world was full of possibilities and the only limitations were created by your limitless imagination?  I did.  I have written and written and journaled.  But it was all for me, and occasionally a few select others.  I never found my “genre” I suppose.  Or maybe it was lack of effort.  Who knows.  But in an effort to be brave, I’d like to use this space to write a few words I’ve written years and years ago.  Not whole piece.  Just words and pieces of stories I like best.  You don’t have to read them.  You don’t have to like them.  This is just me, writing what’s inside…

My favorite character (mostly because I could see her so clearly):

“Sadie Sarillis.  My favorite alliteration.  She lived a life that most storytellers and poets write about.  I knew her as Ms. Sarillis, English and Drama teacher at our little country school.   I often imagined her to be in the witness protection program because I couldn’t think of any other reason for such an out-of-place persona to settle for this monotony I called home.  She defined eccentricity, which was a word I quickly became fascinated with in my adolescents.  Sadie made eccentricity seem like its own stand alone entity, taking on a life well beyond normal personality descriptions.  Maybe it was her way of reaching beyond small-town boundaries, without actually having to leave.  Leaving was something she found difficult, I imagine, considering she had never, to my knowledge, driven a car.  That is not to say she didn’t own one.  Like everything else in Sadie’s life, her car was the best her money could buy, but a little disheveled and long forgotten as another one of life’s tokens.  The joke around town use to be that Sadie was trying to buy her way into heaven due to multiple indiscretions she had lurking in her past, although what those were, nobody seemed to know.

Her classic, royal blue, roadster sat in her fade white barn, covered by a musty burlap tarp.  Like her car, Sadie preferred to stay in, surround by the mustiness of her life.  She never ventured out to find excitement, instead she embodied it.  She never left the house without every piece of jewelry prominently displayed on her plump hands and a oversized, brightly colored hat perched on her round, meticulously painted face.”

(first draft)

Come to think of it, one of my daughters is a very good artist.  Maybe I’ll give her this description and see if she sketch her into life for me.