Writing is a source of joy and frustration.
I started to write when I was 9 or 10 years old, in a shed, on thin paper. The paper was brought home from my fathers office, it was normally used for copies of typed letters. It felt like toilet paper often found in public toilets at the time. Some people will know what I am referring to.
I wrote songs. They were never good songs, but they were my songs.
Stories have always been a part of my life. In Ireland, no family event is complete without a good story. On Saturday evening I heard a story about my grandfather, it was pretty far fetched, but it was true. I guess that’s why we have the saying ‘truth is stranger than fiction.’
My father used to tell a riveting story about a Banshee visiting just before my grandmother died. He really believed he’d heard her. I loved to hear the story, as told by him or others. Stories were repeated, expanded, or reshaped on each telling.
When I was working in leadership development, many stories were told. My friend and colleague is a great story teller and he can hold the attention of a group with a short story, fable or Haiku.
The simplest incident can create the opportunity for a story. Yesterday, two dogs fighting on the beach, was a trigger for a family feud and resolution. A beautifully scented rose bush makes me think about love lost and then rekindled.
My life is richer because of the stories people tell me, the stories I read, or the stories I write.
Don’t hesitate to share your stories with me. For anyone interested in writing stories this link will take you to a story writing blog which offers great tips.
