Our lives are gifts of imagination. When we tell our stories, we release fresh imagination into ourselves and the world around us. We all need to tell our own stories. Someone – Mark Twain possibly? – said “write what you know.” And we desperately need to know our own stories. And while we’re trying to learn them, we may as well share them.
The posts in this category are part of an ongoing journey to tell my own story, in a creative and imaginative way. Each of the posts is grounded in memory, but stylized in order to explore the deeper things of my own life. But I also want to hear your stories, as well.
Have you thought about your own story?
If you could tell it any way you’d like to, what would you say?
Are there any regrets that you need to redeem?
It is my deepest belief that all the things that we experience are building blocks for our identity and character. So, there are no regrets here, simply choices made and brought to deeper meaning by their exploration and understanding.
Feel free to enter into my story as the pieces of my life (and hopefully others) are posted…
You can read more about the process, read more of the memory posts, or jump straight into the fiction that’s been emerging from the process.
May We Never Lose Our Wonder
World events in the last few weeks have given me cause to wonder. In both positive and negative ways. I’m naturally a reflective person, so any time events happen, my heart turns to mulling over ideas and trying to understand. It’s been heartbreaking to see the response to attacks of terror, especially from those who label themselves Christ-followers or Christians. The response of fear, hatred, anger and venom have reflected something that is very Anti-Christ. It’s completely against the Good News that we are supposed to...
read moreThe Hunt
Well folks, here is the next installment of Emmeline, sponsored by NaNoWriMo. I hope to get back to my Holstee Manifesto Series once I’ve caught myself up with the novel. Hope you enjoy a bit of fiction this evening. Much love and warm fuzzies to all my readers. As we approached the dragon, it stood its ground, barring our way. Derek placed his palm out in greeting, dragging me along behind him. I wasn’t precisely sure what the protocol was for meeting dragons, but I didn’t want to insult him by looking him in the eyes. So I kept my...
read moreDoing It Afraid 1: The series I was supposed to write…
Over the next month, you’ll see a bit more activity on the site. As I’ve committed to NaNoWriMo and finished my final academic piece, I’m now set to pursue my passion like my derriere is on fire. It’s taken me a while to realize that this is one of the things that I was born to do – because I can’t *not* do it. I love it. I can’t get enough of it. I love the sound of my fingers clacking on the keyboard, the scratch of a pen on paper. It’s all part and parcel. I’ve decided, in full...
read moreIt was always you…
I knew there was something wrong as I walked up to the car. But I kept hoping I was mistaken. I pulled up on the handle and… S**t. It was open. When I looked in through the window, I saw the frayed end of the cable that emerged from the tape deck. The thief couldn’t even be bothered to unplug the cable from the CD player. So I opened the door. I figured it could have been worse. It could have been a broken window, a stolen car. Then the strangeness set in. My five favourite discs were sitting on the passenger seat. You’ve got to be freaking...
read moreThe Gates Are Open
Post one of the Emmeline series…
There was a cool breeze blowing bits of my hair into my face. Normally, I wouldn’t have minded, but at this moment, the last thing I wanted was the irritation of spitting fine strands out of my mouth. My fingers curled tightly around the hand clasped in mine. His hand was warm and calloused, every time I held it, I was reminded of the alarm clock that rang at 4:30am. He worked with his hands, building and renovating old houses. I could feel his strength seeping into me through his grasp. We were lying on the grass, staring up at the campanile. The clock seemed to be moving painfully slow, as we waited for it to toll midnight. Each blade of grass seemed to press into my flesh like a thorough acupuncture session. Even through my shorts and tank top, I could feel the strange little pricks to my skin. I had contemplated slightly more sturdy wear, but it was summer in California, and anything more than shorts and a tank top would have left me gasping and sweat streaming down my spine. I turned my head to face him. His long hair spread out around him like a halo.
“I’m scared.”
He turned to look back at me with an impish grin. “There’s no need.”
But how do you explain to your best friend that the thought of other worlds was a bit much, even though you’d been living with it for your entire life?
Wednesdays and Velvet Elvis
A Velvet Elvis hung on the wall. Next to a black velvet sunset. Beneath it sat a bright orange couch which I had fallen asleep on numerous times. This was my refuge, my safe place. It was public, so nothing could happen to me here. I was surrounded by those who loved me and would protect me at any cost. And once or twice a week, they would let me sing. You walked into this place, and you felt a bustling sense of home. It didn’t seem to know its purpose, yet it seemed to be fulfilling it all the same. Tables out front had chairs filled...
read moreWhen Desert Winds Blow
It had been an incredibly long day. I had left Berkeley early that morning, a bit rough from the night before. I’m honestly not sure whether or not I had even slept. But I arrived in Los Angeles on Saturday afternoon. I hadn’t come for a specific purpose, but then again, in those days, I ran full gypsy, embracing the road like a drunken lover. I had left Berkeley in order to run from something – I was usually running from something – and arrived in Los Angeles in order to escape. Dead tired, red-eyed from lack of sleep, I decided my next...
read moreAll Because of You
I’m not sure how to describe this amazing woman in only 300 words. To put it simply, she saved my life. I first met her on a visit to one of my dearest friends in Portland, Oregon. They were roommates. I was in a not-so-healthy relationship. Well, by not-so-healthy I mean pretty downright awful. This visit was something of an escape for me. It was one of the first trips I had taken on my own since meeting him. We went for drinks and appetizers at Applebees and I sat talking to her. She was everything I wished that I could be: strong,...
read morePretty Lady
This post was part of the 300words experiment. Since I usually took one day off for ‘Sabbath’, there were times I would write 600 words about a particular person. This lovely woman has been in my life for over fifteen years, and plays an integral part in my story. As you can tell by the date-stamp, this post is early on in my exploration of writing about myself. It’s campy, and a bit overly enthusiastic. But I learned about myself writing about her. I think in many ways that practice here is making my writing more perfectly...
read moreUnexpected Guest
I got an email. Hey, I have a friend who needs a place to stay in Dublin. You got anything? From this particular friend, barring death and dismemberment, the answer is almost always ‘yes.’ So we made plans. We had already scheduled something with some other good friends for the same evening, so it actually worked out quite well. We gave her the keys to the house, she drove us to our friend’s, and we haven’t ‘seen’ her since. She left us soymilk and various other products. When I look back to this story, I...
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The Whispered Life by Katherine Sturm is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.