Sweatshirt. Yes, I am wearing a sweatshirt. A comfortable, fuzzy, deep red one. And I’m sitting on my writing chair, listening to birds singing out side my open window, plus my music. And I’m happy. This is September. This. Is. September.
I was thinking about it yesterday, and I realized that I actually started writing in September. I’m pretty sure I’ve posted it on here, but I’m in a nostalgic mood, so I’ll recount it briefly.
On the 13th it will have been seven years ago. I was on the threshold of turning fourteen, and I was in love with the country. My grandma was in a hospital and my mom was staying nearby in a hotel. After the first week of staying alone, Mom decided to take me with her the next week. So I went to the big city. I mean, it was huge. The hospital itself was so enormous that it was like half a mile from the time we got inside it until we even got to the right elevator to take us up to Grandma’s floor.
I freaked out quite completely, and since I’d pretty much only be staying in the waiting room anyway, Mom let me hang out in the hotel room after that. She actually wasn’t in the hospital much, because she could only visit Grandma a few hours each day. When she was there though, I worked on my school. We were doing BJU Homesat, and my teacher that year in English/Reading was Mrs. Vick. I loved it. (I know, y’all are wondering about this time if I’ve ever looked up the meaning to the word ‘brief’, I’ll hurry it up here!)
Anyway, as y’all probably know, Mrs. Vick was talking about writing a short story, choosing a setting, a main character, a problem, etc… And she told us it was a bonus assignment and we didn’t have to do it if we didn’t want to, but we could write a short story if we so desired.
Of course I ‘so desired’ and so I did. Only, it didn’t turn out short. I’m not sure how long it ended up being, but it took me until April to finish it. I learned an incredible amount about spelling, grammar, and writing during those months. I also learned how to type. So even though the story was lame and horrible (as I’m guessing most first stories are), it was well, well worth it!
(Note: I had written before, but only short things.)
My method for choosing names was quite fun. Actually, the names Travis and Annah came to me quite quickly, but I had to search for a little bit to come up with the ‘bad guy’s’ name. The ‘bad guy’ was actually Annah’s seventeen-year-old sister. Wandering around the hotel room searching for a name brought me to the little fridge. Looking inside I saw a bottle of vitamin juice called Mangosteen. And since the juice was rather nasty, and so was the character, I thought it fit perfectly. Only I got the spelling wrong and it somehow evolved into Magasteen. I figured after she had her great revelation and turned nice, everyone could call her Meg. That would have worked, except by the time I reached that part of the story, I had begun liking the name Magasteen.
Anyway, I’ll finish with that. Just thought it would be fun to share a few memories with y’all!
What about you? Do you have a special autumn memory?