Journey Down This Road With Me
Memories are fluid. The slightest change in your environment can trigger a recollection from years gone by. Last night as I sat listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Born on the Bayou I found myself feeling nostalgic for the days when I ran barefoot through my yard. In my mind I could almost see the swamp John Fogerty was singing about; feel the humidity drenching me in sweat. I smelled the fecundity of the verdant foliage.
Memories such as those are ripe for turning into short stories and novels. When I write, I immerse myself in the tale and find that I am transported into the scene. It might be the dead of winter and the house is a chilly sixty degrees, but if I’m writing about sweltering heat in the middle of summer, I feel hot and sweaty.
The same thing happens when I read an excellent book or watch a movie. For a few hours I am placed in a world far from my reality. I see, feel, smell, and taste every tidbit presented. All too soon the story ends and I am back home.
Do you ever get so involved in a book that you feel as though you are part of the story?
(c) 2016 All rights reserved.
Memories such as those are ripe for turning into short stories and novels. When I write, I immerse myself in the tale and find that I am transported into the scene. It might be the dead of winter and the house is a chilly sixty degrees, but if I’m writing about sweltering heat in the middle of summer, I feel hot and sweaty.
The same thing happens when I read an excellent book or watch a movie. For a few hours I am placed in a world far from my reality. I see, feel, smell, and taste every tidbit presented. All too soon the story ends and I am back home.
Do you ever get so involved in a book that you feel as though you are part of the story?
(c) 2016 All rights reserved.
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