The Stories We Could Tell

The stories we could tell (39 of 1)

I found these little shoes…forgotten…just after daybreak, at the beach.

Worn,torn,faded and dusted with sand, they’ve obviously covered lots of ground on the feet of their long-lost owner.

They’ve lost their golden luster but I find them enchanting. I look at them and wonder what their story is.

I imagine them with tiny dancing feet slipped into them.

I imagine them helping tiny feet chase the last of a wave as it races to leave the shore.

I imagine them toasty and warm from the warmth of the sun, wrapped around tiny feet and hugging them close.

I imagine them missing those tiny feet, now that they’ve gone and I imagine those tiny feet missing them.

I’ll put them in a tiny frame and keep them close, in honor of the stories they could tell.


all rights reserved.
all rights reserved.

Yep…the image is all blurry. But it doesn’t have to be in focus…it’s that way to give me inspiration. I’m almost finished with the first draft of my first novel. Ooooooooooooohh…exciting times.

I like the image because you can see that they’re real people, but they’re not easy to see…you have to stare at the image and decide for yourself just what it is you’re looking at. I’m not going to keep you hanging and you’ve probably already figured it out, but the woman in white is a bride. A bride on the bow of a boat…the imagination takes flight! This is my round about way of getting to the subject of this post. Not too long after I started writing, someone asked me if the characters in the book felt real to me. They didn’t. They were like the people in the image. There, but somehow, not there.

My heroine was a mystery who took me by the hand and waded into the unknown with me. I was watching her, judging her, wondering about her. The question of whether she seemed real to me kept surfacing. When would she seem real? Should she start to feel real? Would I suddenly start to miss her when I wasn’t writing? Would I wish that she would ring the doorbell and ask me to go to Starbucks with her? (I’d have to pass on that gives me palpitations…) Would we show up at a party wearing the same outfit?

I gave up wondering about the reality of it all. I wrote about my heroine and since I didn’t want this to be a book with just one character, I added more. The funny thing is, I started to like all of these people. I looked forward to what they would do next and I started to SEE them. They weren’t blurry like the bride on the bow of the boat and they had personality…the bride just kind of stood around and looked “bridal”.

So why am I writing this? Just because I’m so close to the end of the first draft that I can smell it and the people in the book?…Well it’s like some kind of magic happened, because…….THEY SEEM REAL TO ME!