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Ever since I can remember, I have written stuff down. When I was a child my Mother encouraged all of us to write. I recall writing stories down for my youngest brother before he could write himself. They always started, "Once upon a time there was a little dog walking down the street." His stories were not always about a dog, but they always started with that sentence. Our "stuff" wasn't good, it didn't have flow or even a story line. It was just stuff we made up, wrote down, and shared. When I grew older, I was too busy to write a lot. Marriage, work, kids, just life got in the way. Also, I had a fear of anyone reading anything I had written. Would it be "good"? Would my spelling be correct? Would it make any sense at all? Would everyone see how inept I really was at such things? I wrote, but it was my secret, done just for me after the children were in bed and the house had settled for the night. Years later my oldest daughter began to share what she wrote with me and encouraged me to share. She loves LitNet and asked me to check it out. So I registered at and began to look around at what others had written and what everyone had to say about the work. It wasn’t a bad place. Everyone seemed to be so encouraging to everyone else. No matter how anything was written, someone had something nice to say even if it was just, “good effort” or “what if you tried this” or “thanks for sharing”. I felt like I had found a place where I could be at home. This is a good place for anyone wanting to share and learn and participate. It makes me feel like I can do more than just watch.
I am not a writer. I am not a poet. I am a wife and a mother and a granny. There are things I would like to share with my grandchildren about people they never got a chance to know. Today’s world is much different than the world was when I was growing up. Then it seemed that extended families were much closer. I heard stories about the past from my grandparents and aunts and uncles. We were together much more often than we are now. My grandchildren do not know my brothers like I knew my parents’ siblings.
I want to tell them about my memories of my childhood and my parents, both of whom died at early ages. I don’t have the drive to be nor do I ever expect to be published. I just want to leave a part of myself for them and their children to share. This place, and the people who inhabit this place, have given me the encouragement to do that. For this, I am grateful. I thank you all for being so kind and welcoming to this untrained storyteller, and for the opportunity to share.