Blogging is an opportunity for authors to connect with readers. Despite being writers, blogging is an entirely different style of writing and often stumps us. To help our authors blog consistently, thoughtfully and with purpose, Marketing for Romance Writers is announcing the 2018 Blog Challenge. Each week, authors use our writing prompt to create a meaningful blog post. We'll be posting every Friday... join us as often as possible.
Week 1: "My earliest memory"
Years later, I mentioned this memory to my grandmother. She always sat at the chair by the window and it became known as Nana's chair. I told her that I remember Pappap Bud sitting there and wondered why he'd be sitting in her chair. She told me, of course, it was his chair back then. I realized at that moment, that memory wasn't something I had created about my grandfather. It was real. I had only been 2 years-old!
Another memory of my grandfather has confused me for most of my life. I'm not even sure if it was a memory or a dream. I hadn't seen my Pappap Bud in a while and I missed him. I was in my grandparents house when I saw him in the dining room. I chased him, wanting to play with him. He went upstairs, so I followed. He wanted me to follow him, because he kept looking back at me and waving for me to keep going. When I reached the top of the stairs, he had disappeared. I walked down the hallway to find him in my grandmother's bedroom. He was sitting on the floor with a brown puppy dog stuffed animal toy. He handed it to me. Then he went on to say that he loved me very much and wanted me to be a good girl. I promised him that I would.
My family has some interesting stories about my grandparents house. Strange noises. Things moving when no one was there. I had my own share of experiences there. My grandmother said the house was haunted, but everyone who had died there was from our family, so there was no reason to be frightened of anything otherworldly. And, I was comforted by that. I lived in that house on and off when I was young while my parents tried to find a house of their own and then again when I was a young adult. I've never felt more safe or loved than when I was in that house. And I think its because the ghosts of my family were always watching over me. I hope they still are.
Mom, I love you!