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I've wanted to be a writer since I was about ten years old.
My oldest daughter discovered her desire to be a writer at an even younger age of seven. She's now eight and has more completed stories than I do!
Last week we found a box of stories from when I was young. I pulled a random one out of the pile. There is no date, but judging from my spelling and grammar, I imagine I was about twelve when I wrote it.
I read it out loud to my daughter as she silently listened.
In the midst of the story, it came to an abrupt end - I must have forgotten to finish it! I jokingly said: "Oh, no! What happens next?!?!"
She looked up at me with her great big green eyes and said in a hushed tone: "Can
I finish it?"
I didn't even hesitate, but handed her the story. She ran off to her room as fast as her feet could carry her. Thirty minutes later she handed me back the story, with an ending.
At the risk of sharing a story with a thousand mistakes, on my twelve-year-old part, I thought I'd present this combined story.
It took twenty-one years to finish - at the hands of two child authors. I can't wait to see where my daughter's dream will take her.
Graveyard Confessions
By Gabrielle VanRisseghem (1992) & E. Meyer (2013)
The
figure sat in the corner of the lonely graveyard. The night was dark and cold.
And the moon gave a good light.
A
widow got up from her dead husband’s grave. Just as she turned to leave her eye
caught sight of the dark figure. She noticed the figure was shaking. The widow
felt sad for the person.
Hesitantly
leaving her spot, she walked over. She could see it was a young woman. Her knees
to her chest and her head hung just enough so you could see her lower chin
quivering. The girl was dressed in rags, from her worn soles on her feet to the
ripped brim of her hat. Her jacket was brown with torn pockets and ripped
sleeves. Her dress was of a deep green velvet, but the hem was torn and the
dress was stained with mud and whatever else the young girl had managed to get
into.
“Child,
child?” The widow said in a wee whisper. She slowly lifted her head. Her deep
green eyes shining up at the lady. Her long brown, fluffy hair pulled back into
a loose twist.
“Yes,”
she managed between sobs.
“I
was wondering. Would you care to come to the restaurant around the corner?” The
widow asked.
The
girl nodded and stood up to leave.
The
two women walked on in silence. The widow felt small compared to the girl.
Coming
into the busy street, lights were everywhere. The widow could see the lovely
features of the girl. She had high cheek bones and her lips were of a perfect
shape. They were parted, slightly. The girl had beautiful green
eyes, which were very large and round. Her hair was brunette and she was at
least five foot seven. She didn’t even have a handkerchief to blow on. She
walked like a proper young woman, but still her frame was shaking with sobs.
“Here
it is. By the way, my name is Mrs. Anna Crasing.”
“My
name is Amanda Lawrence.” The girl spoke in a thick English accent.
The
two picked a spot by a big window.
Now
it was time for Amanda to look over Mrs. Crasing. She was small. With deep
brown eyes and dark brown hair. Her nose was sharp and her lips narrow and
small.
Mrs.
Crasing ordered coffee for them both. “Now dear, Amanda, start from the
beginning.”
Amanda
wiped her eyes and nose a few more times.
“It
all started back in 1898 when my father and mother both died in a bad accident.
My brothers, Benjamin and Samuel, they talked me into coming to America. We
went to New York…”
I
walked off the plat form and Sam, only eighteen, and Benny, only seventeen,
know how to take care of me of sixteen.
“Benny,
where is Sammy taking us to live?” I asked Benny.
“He
said he had written to a man, Karl, Karl something. He said Sammy and I could
work in the thread mill. He asked if there was a job for you. Said he’d talk to
his wife. Never wrote back.”
As
we came off the ship, all the sounds and looks were different. I could see
people everywhere I looked. Since we came from a high society family, each of
us had saved a large amount of money to start us off. We were set.
A
man met us at the gates of the harbor. He brought s to a large building with
many windows. From there we were set up in a large room. It had three beds. It
was large all wood floors, white walls and a new electrical light was hanging
from the ceiling. I was amazed at the light, for England didn’t have electric
lights, yet.
The
following day my brothers left for their work at 6:00 a.m. I got up, put on my
dress of blue cameo. I walked down to the main floor and I found Mrs. Nowlwide.
She was the wife of the man who found my brothers a job.
“Mrs.
Nowlwide?” I called into her office.
“Yes.”
An older woman with gray hair stepped out of a back room.
“Hello,
I’m Amanda Lawrence. I’m living upstairs, your husband said I could find a job
here.”
The
lady gave me a warm smile.
“I
just put a sign in the window for a waitress for the restaurant.” She was
talking of a restaurant in the hotel I was living in.
“Could
I apply for it?” I asked her. She nodded and handed me a form and a pen. I
filled it out. She looked it over.
“Yes,”
she nodded. “This will work. Do you know where the kitchen is?”
I
nodded.
“Good,
go there and ask the head cook, Miss Solonal, for an apron and tell her you’ll
be the new waitress. She’ll show you what to do.” The woman smiled and I left.
(My story ends)
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(My daughter's new ending)
“I
did not notice I’ve seen her in the jailhouse when I was 6 years old. My dad
said that she was a robber then. I went to do my job. A couple hours later I
was robbed, my brothers were kept as slaves and that’s why I was in the
graveyard. They got killed. I thought I could not make it and that’s where you
come in.”
The
widow said, “I lost family, too. Do you want to be my daughter?”
Amanda
didn’t hesitate. She said yes.
A
few months later, Amanda had everything her heart could desire.
The
End.
What about you? If you're a writer, when did you know you wanted to write? If you're not a writer, how old were you when you knew what you wanted to do in life?
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