One Writers Journey

My apologies for no posts for the last two days. There are times when you have to take a step back and regroup. The last two days have been that. This post is my journey to be a writer. It shares things that have made me who I am. I had committed to spend a number of weeks talking about the places I have lived and the impact they have made on me. The places where I have lived, the things that have happened to me and the way I have learned to respond to things all effect my writing.

We are complicated creatures. As I wrote a few days ago, adversity seems to be in everyone’s life. If you look at the stories that have become classics, you will find that they contain intense conflict. There is always the bad guy and the hero. In most of the stories, the hero isn’t perfect, most of the time far from it.

There is a character in David Eddings series named Belgarath. Belgarath is in most respects a dirty old man. He drinks too much, doesn’t bathe regularly, lets his eyes wonder. He is older than dirt and, oh yes, the most powerful man in the world. He owns little and lords over few. Yet when the time comes, kings obey him. You come to love the old man and wish you could get to know him personally.

I don’t know where David Eddings came up with his character, but I am glad he did. I hope my characters will become so alive to my readers.

Tomorrow I will continue with the places I have lived. Have a good day.

We lived in Netarts for less than a year. The only other kid in the neighborhood was Dwayne L. His parents managed the little motel across the street from us. There were neighbors around us, I just don’t remember anything about them.

Dwayne was a couple of years younger than me. We would roam around the area and pretend we were on adventures. I had learned that swearing was kind of cool. I didn’t do it in front of my parents, I wasn’t stupid.

Our street dead ended at the edge of the woods. We would play in those woods frequently. One time we went further in than we had in the past. We found an old overgrown building. The windows were broken and the door smashed in. Suddenly we became cops and had to go into the “gang of bad guys” secret hideout.

What we found inside was an abandoned chemical lab. This was the early 60’s, we didn’t have meth or any of the other common street drugs like we do today. We were a backwater town at the end of the world. I remember bottles of chemicals, test tubes and beakers. I also remember being scared of getting caught there. I just knew my dad was going to suddenly appear and I would be in trouble. I don’t remember going back to it again, but I think my love for secret labs started then. It was reinforced by Frankenstein movies later in my childhood. Secret labs now appear in my stories.

Dwayne and I were playing in a bush like tree at the edge of his property. We were pirates and I was teaching him to swear like a pirate, because everyone knew that cool pirates swore. The problem was, Dwayne’s mom heard me swearing. He got called home and was told that I was a bad influence and that he couldn’t play with me anymore. My parents were told and my dad and I had a moment alone. I don’t remember what he said, except that there was swearing and name calling. I do remember it was hard to sit for a few hours.

It wasn’t more than a few months after that when we picked up and moved halfway across the country to Towner, North Dakota.