I WRITE


I WRITE
A STORY FOR EVERYTHING


Everything has a story. Every person. Every place. Every single moment. From our family ancestry to a rusty nail found wedged between the slats of an old barn floor.

A faint wisp of tobacco smoke permeates our senses as Grandpa recollects tales of swimming the wild Snake River to steal watermelons from the farm on the other side. In his minds eye, he sees himself as that mischievous young man with a melon under each arm, floating back to shore; victorious in his daring.

Story's of our Grandmothers brave and often harrowing journey across the great plains by wagon.
Oregon or Bust. Each step a story in itself; stitched together like the tattered rings of a wedding quilt.

What of the story's that go untold: like that of the nail nestled between the slats? How did it get
there? Where did it originally belong and whose strong arm held the hammer that drove it? If that nail
could talk, what story's might it tell? Perhaps stories of the sounds of livestock trodding to and from the barn to labor in the fields.

It might have been the very nail that faithfully secured the barn door to it's hinge. The same door that stood as a barrier between a newborn filly struggling to stand for the first time – and the brutal wind of an early spring blizzard.

I believe all stories deserve to be told. From the rivers he swam, to the weary trails she tread – to the
shoes they wore down to the very buckles of those shoes; all have a narrative. Whether that story gets recounted is something else. That is where I like to think my job begins...in the telling of  stories that might otherwise be neglected.

Am I a writer? I don't consider myself one. I think of writers as people with names like Twain,
Hemingway, Austin and Rowling. Me...I write. That's it. I don't write of profound things. My writing is not likely to change the world...good or bad. I write for the same reason I blink – it just happens. I don't think about it anymore than I think about breathing. I just know that when I stop – I turn all shades of blue and find myself gasping for words begging to be released on paper. I am not a verbal person. Prone to stutter and with a brain that overruns my mouth on most occasions...writing is my medium of necessity.

I write...therefor I am.


2 comments:

  1. You are a writer. I ran across your mule story and signed up for notify's. I never fail to take away something after reading. Sometimes it's a smile, other times a laugh, joy at your recovery of your Dad's knife or a belly laugh at either your predicament of the moment or the descriptions you give the people you meet along the way. Keep it up. You bring much to others.

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