What Would She Say?
The memory of this photo being taken is long gone. I suppose I was in kindergarten, but I can’t tell if I was having a very bad hair year, or I cut my own hair, which could lead to the same outcome. More likely my fashion sense was the result of what my father referred to as a “bowl” cut, where he would actually put a bowl over our heads and cut around the bottom to make it even. Certainly less expensive than bringing four children to the salon.
I am the youngest of four, so not many pictures exist of my childhood, but one in particular I was hunting for is of me at age four sitting on my Great Aunt Marianne’s lap, as she taught me to read. She was a school teacher in the school house across the road from my Nana’s home, however by the time I knew her she lived in a nursing home and occasionally would visit my Nana. Living next door to my grandparents gave me access to all of the wisdom of my elders, whether I wanted it or not.
The gift of reading, bestowed upon me, by my great aunt was nothing less than gold spun from hay. It opened up worlds beyond my tiny village in New Hampshire, and I quickly went from See spot run to the primary readers and by the time I entered first grade I was reading Nancy Drew. My teachers were friends with amazing people like Trina Schart Hyman, and Katherine Patterson, so I was exposed to artists and authors in the book publishing world before I understood what that meant.
Betty Partridge, my first and second grade teacher would ask us to put our heads on our desks and listen to Peter and the Wolf. After the story was finished and our young minds were primed with music and storytelling she would insist on silence and writing, “whatever came to mind”.
What would this younger version say about where I am now? Would she be surprised that I spent so many years as a social worker instead of writing? Perhaps… but I believe I used the power of storytelling to connect with my clients, my students and my staff over the years. I found creative outlets whenever possible and in 2004 I began to pursue my passion for writing with serious intent.
Two YA novels later (Stone Sisters & Aesop Lake) and I find myself yet again chasing a publishing dream. An unrelenting voice inside continues to demand that I tell another story. As I age, I have developed a love of history, a reconnection with my hometown and a continued passion for fiction, leading me to a young woman named Emma, alive in the late 1800’s making difficult choices and committing her life to her family after her sister is murdered, giving up the love of her life. While many incredible authors have walked this path before me, I find myself excited, albeit a bit overwhelmed with the depth of the research and story that continues to unfold, both in my mind and on the page.
To take a sharp left turn, I was searching for baby pictures of my daughter for her upcoming baby shower. She will be a mom in just a few months, and I have all “the feels” going on. Of course, packed in the same box was this little girl above. She has a whole life ahead of her, and she already knows at the age of four or five that the world is not always a safe place. One of the things I admire most about this little girl, is that she was resourceful. She sought out adults in her life who would help her, she learned to read people’s expressions and body language and this increased her emotional intelligence and empathy. She learned to keep reaching out and seeking a better path, and that is just what I’m doing now.
I applied to a group coaching program for historical fiction writers, and I’ve set aside time to write with my dear writing sisters at the Salty Quill Writing Retreat in May and again in September. I’m still resourceful and I’m still learning to be a good storyteller. I can hear her whispering me to “keep going”…. “you’ve got this”… and I bow my head in thanks for all that she has taught me.