Kim Allbritton, the organizer, led the group in various writing exercises. Surprisingly, I discovered a creative writing side that I didn't know I had. Most impactful was she asked us to turn over some pictures and write the name, age, occupation, describe their personality and tell their story.
Exercise 1
I flipped over this picture and I knew immediately this was Beulah Mae. I wrote:
Hello, my name is Beulah Mae, the chu’ren in my neighborhood
call me Miss Mae. My age is 65 and I am
a grandmother. Had a hard life, so to
speak. Folks look at me and just see
another middle aged black woman but they don’t know that I have dreams
too. I had to put my dreams on hold to
raise my kids and now I’m raising their kids.
Don’t get me wrong. I love these
kids. Look at ‘em, just playin and
eatin. Carefree. I remember when I use to be carefree. Though I love them and I’m not bitter, I wish
I could have done what I really wanted to do.
I wanted to be a writer. I tell
stories, ya know. Stories about faraway
places. Places I had hoped to go to one
day. Now, though, I find that my
stories are limited to telling Little Tyrone why he needs to stop digging in
his nose in public or telling Mary to stop talking when grown folks are talking. My kids don’t even know that I keep paper
underneath my pillow. When they all go
to bed, I turn off the lights, get me a flashlight and start writing. I can’t help it. I remember my husband, my chu’rens’ father,
Bill. He didn’t like my writin. He said that all I needed to do was fix him
dinner and take care of them kids I had.
He always resented the kids. He
told me that I wasn’t a writer. Stop
that dreamin. One day, I came in and he
was reading what I wrote. He threw it at
me and asked me who was Paris. He
thought I was talking about another man. Fool!
But anyway…sigh…maybe I can keep working so my kids can go. “Mary, stop hitting your brother!”
I flipped over this picture, looked into her face and immediately, this came to mind:
Oh William, what am I going to do now? I feel so bad thinking about me. After all, it is your funeral. So much of my life was about you. I loved you, William. Truly I did.
Should I feel bad that I’m sitting here and I feel relief. You were my husband of 50 years. We had so many plans. We were going to travel after the kids left
home. But one thing led to another. Julie’s cancer scare had us all in a
tizzy. Bill’s job lay off. You didn’t want him to move back home but I
insisted. I’m sorry, William. You always said I loved him more than
you. I really didn’t. I took my vows seriously, Wiliam. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. Neither of us thought about the sickness
part. I chuckle when I think about
it. We thought we’d live forever. We were going to get us a little cottage by
the beach, remember Wiliaml. You promised
me a cottage.
I was amazed by this! I didn't know I could look at a person's facial expression and create a character. It was exhilarating.
Looking forward to next month's meeting!
