I am plunging back into the world of putting words on paper. Words have been inspiring me a lot lately. I am reading "East of Eden" by John Steinbeck right now, which is a perfect fit as I am surrounded by the beauty of the state he was in love with. I can't even describe my romance with his way with words.
A few months ago I finished the book, "Atonement". I just watched the movie, and although one of the main characters, Briony, is quite annoying to some degree, her desire to be an author, a playwright, etc. reminds me of myself.
I miss creating lives and people and places. The first story I clearly remember writing was called, "The Bear Who Came Alive." I had written many stories before, but none under the bold guise of "AUTHOR". In fourth grade, I suddenly considered myself as such with my pink pencil box and Lisa Frank notebook in hand. I went to my dad to declare my future endeavors. Amused, he set up his electric typewriter, with a stack of fresh white paper nicely set up next to it. My nine-year-old self industriously went to work. The vision for such a captivating piece of work came to mind as I was spending a great deal of time with my faithful companion, Ted D. Bear. I don't remember much of my story; it was about a bear...well, a bear who came to life. Only at night of course. My story's heroine had a suspiciously similar resemblance to my narcissistic self. The details have faded almost completely.
I do remember being very proud as I typed: WRITTEN BY: EMILY A. HALLMAN on the cover page. This pride was a catalyst for quite the impressive body of work. 1992 was a great year, as I also penned such works as, "Me, NOT Elanor" (a story of a limelight-seeking younger sister), "Don't Blame ME!" (the REAL story of Goldilocks and the three bears), "Florida, Here We Come" (a saga of a family's road-trip to see their beloved grandparents), and the astounding "How I Hurt My Foot" (the realistic account of how I stepped on a tent stake at Jheri Hurst's birthday party).
Clearly I have always loved reading and writing. I never wanted to put my love for science on the back burner though, so I decided my future would involve the non-fictional accounts of my future life as Jacques Cousteau's personal marine biologist assistant. It would be my duty to would provide an imaginative and beautiful account of every adventure we were destined to have on the open sea. My accounts would be published in National Geographic and I was going to keep all the issues I was featured in on a shelf in my bedroom.
Why didn't I pursue that career?