Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Why I Write: Note Behind the Picture

I have written poetry for most of my life. Seldom did I write short stories, unless they were assigned by a teacher. However, I was told the stories had potential.
At first, “potential” did not inspire me to be a writer. So I began reading about writing and after some coaxing, a good friend of mine suggested I write down the short story idea I’ve been sharing with her. She challenged me to get it down on paper. Thanks to her, I did, and the short story spiraled into my first novel.
Since then, I needed to be a writer. I joined a writing and poetry group, I’ve written drafts on the WD Daily prompts, I’ve finished the first draft to a second novel, and I’ve kept writing ideas for future novels on file.
Writing has become part of my life and I hope to one day take the title of “writer” and ingrain it on the wall so the doubts that cloud me disperse…

Speaking of writing prompts, here’s one I did a while back. It’s a draft and needs lots of revision. But like they say, you've got to start somewhere...

                                                      Note Behind the Picture

I felt like crawling back to my apartment after a few steps in this old building. It had all the reminders of a mother who used to pull out a stick and beat you senseless for ditching school or painting the patio neon purple. Yet, here I am. Clearing up the cobwebs and dishing out junk. I have to keep tabs on everything before my sister gets here from Mississippi. The worst part of this place is her room. There are a bunch of pictures in their collective frames lined up on top of a mantle.

"Ol' Gus and his hound dog. Huh!" I placed the frame back and it caused the preceding ones to tumble over.

"Oh, great!"

The sudden smash of the frame at the end to the floor sent a jolt up my neck. I went over to pick it up and a note fell out.

"What's this?" I open the folded paper and notice my squabbly chicken writing of a signature at the bottom:

Dear me, This house is a gold mine! Don't let Sue sell it to your Uncle Jesse. Convince her of the investment. Mom left a few other things behind this mantel piece. It's a real jackpot!

signed, Greg

I crumbled the paper and shoved it in my pocket. I began removing the frames and mantel from the wall. A bright light surfaced from the small crack. I pulled the mantle some more and my eyes couldn't believe it. Gold!

You can find this story under my pseudonym “Chilo” at
Note Behind the Picture

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