Living in an imaginary world can be difficult. Especially when it’s a world that existed in the past. I’m listening to ‘fifties music, watching old black and white movies––and noticing their footwear, by the way. I’m pushing my memories back as far as they’ll go, and trying to remember the sights and the sounds of the era.
It was so much easier writing fantasy, because nothing in that world existed until I created it. I experimented and I had fun. I pulled out dreams and wishes and wove them into my stories. The land and the characters are loosely based on reality.
But that could also be said of my work-in-progress; the historical. The characters are loosely based on people I’ve met. I love their language, because it brings back precious memories of some of my favorite people. The time seems enchanted, because it comes straight off a page in my childhood. A simpler time. Not so evil, and filled with violence as it is now.
Sometimes, I have to remove my rosy glasses, and gaze past my perceptions into reality. There was violence. There was hate. There was prejudice. There was a strict moral code and an active class system. Things never discussed in polite company. Lines you did not cross. Ugly signs on doors, limiting who entered. Trouble brewing beneath the surface.
And then there were long, lazy, summer days, homemade lemonade and ice cream. No one asked what was in the hot dogs they served at picnics. I loved my patent leather Mary Janes and my puffy crinoline skirts. I loved tire swings and playing corncob jail and kick the can.
So I’m weaving all of these things into this story-in-progress. Pulling out all the stops and telling the story as it flows from my heart. At regular intervals, Samson lopes into the scene and provides warmth and maybe a chuckle or two. If you’re wondering who Samson is, read last week’s post.
I’d love to hear some of your favorite memories, if you’re old enough to remember the ‘fifties. Please drop me a line.
Thanks for reading,
