A Writer’s Journey ~ Come On, Write With Me

September is slipping away, and I know I haven’t posted in several weeks. My journey this month included a treasured trip to New York City with my daughter. We enjoyed a whirlwind of activities as we breathed in all the amazing sights and sounds that define NYC. We were also blessed with cool, comfortable days that were a very welcome relief after the one hundred plus temperatures we’d left behind in Texas. Memories created, impressions left behind… I know that someday the many vivid faces and places that we encountered in NYC will eventually find their way onto the pages of one of my manuscripts.

“Memories are made of this… Stir carefully through the days, see how the flavor stays,
these are the dreams you’ll savor…” Miller, Frank / Dehr, Richard / Gilkyson, Terry

The words of this song awaken memories, moments, fragments of my life, which have been eternally etched in my mind. Why some memories stick around and follow us through our days while others don’t, I just don’t know. Yet, inside each of us remain the memories of moments when we experienced joy, grief, anger, happiness, laughter, or tears. Writing should evoke these emotions in the reader.

How many times have the words “Do you remember the time…” crossed your lips? For me, simple everyday happenings can cause an outpouring of memories from my childhood, raising my own family, or even memories as new as yesterday’s. This particular memory I’m sharing with you is simple, sensory, and totally abstract. Although it is a mere moment, it’s a feeling that envelops me in happiness even now. I hope that as a writer, I can leave you with the sensation that you are actually experiencing this moment in time with me.

Memories are made of this… On a warm, summer night, tired out from playing all day and freshly scrubbed from a warm bubble bath,  I run down the long hallway, climb up into my bed, and say my prayers as my mother kisses me goodnight. Then the lights are turned off, and I inhale the fragrance of freshly, washed sheets, which have hung on the backyard clothesline all afternoon. Sheets washed and hung out to dry early in the day, swaying in the breeze, drying to a fresh, soft, crispness in the hot, afternoon sun. I am intoxicated by the smell of sweet, summer grasses, fresh clean, country air, and a hint of fragrant flowers, which still lingered on the cotton sheets. I snuggle down into my well-worn, feather-stuffed mattress as I feel a soft, summer breeze drifting over me through the open windows. The comforting, summer sound of crickets chirping and the wind whispering through the trees surrounds me.

Then comes that perfect moment just before I allow myself to drift off to sleep. I grasp the edges of the top sheet firmly in my hands, whip the sheet up over me so it opens like a parachute. Then I close my eyes in sweet satisfaction as the crisp, soft sheet settles slowly over me, wrapping me in “its” arms as I drift off to dreamland.

Yes, simple though they may be… memories are made of this.