A Party
I went to a party one night. I sat at the table, looking around at the people having so much fun, enjoying each other's company. Some who hadn't seen each other in a long while, embracing, bumping arms, laughing, talking, and going on their way to another familiar face. I thought about how many stories I could write just by observing their interactions. This is where I get my inspiration. I explore, observe, and imagine characters and situations, and create all kinds of stories. It all started when I was a child. I attribute my vast imagination to growing up in a small town with not much to do but roam the streets. As early as seven or eight years old, I saw some interesting “characters,” and when I grew older and recalled their stories, I was fascinated by their trials. Some were brilliant yet lacked the chance to shine; others had so much talent to offer but no place to showcase it. I also remember the lessons I learned from them - the virtuous, the unscrupulous, and the simple ones that just made me smile. I remember this old lady, Miss Ella. My sister and I would visit her on occasion. She lived in a big old two-story house, across the street from the shotgun house our family rented from Mr. Gantt. Miss Ella's home was sparsely furnished with antique furniture. We played with her porcelain dolls, some dressed in lace bridal gowns, some with broken faces, while listening to her stories about living in the Big Apple. There were many other young and old people from my past who intermittently popped into my head. Some I’ve written about in short stories, but the ones in my book of elegies and poems, Flat Shoes II, have helped me stay grounded. I am grateful for my meager upbringing on those streets of my childhood and for the people who had very little but gave so much!