Driving home in an all but silent car, I had a few moments to look at the sinking sunset and ponder on how I would write about it. I started to compare the dropping globe to fire, splashes of color, intense heat, just to mention a few. Next I began to construct in my mind a few sentences that might just do this marvelous miracle justice.
I turned my head and paid attention to my driving for a brief moment (I promise, I'm a safe driver!) and my attention was caught by a car, a pretty nifty BMW model, from Montana. What caught my eye especially were the items loaded haphazardly in the rear seat. There were some boxes, bedding and a picture frame pressed up against one of the passenger windows. I began to wonder what on earth had brought all of these items, singularly unimportant, but together an odd mix, in the back seat of a rather expensive car. Perhaps I should say that the bedding and boxes didn't look all that new, and the frame was rather abused....so one could start to get the right picture. The dichotomy of the situation made it humorous and I began to weave "stories" in my head of how this car, speeding north toward home, came to be the transporter of such treasures.
Two small instances in a very short amount of time made me wonder what else I am missing that could be literary for me? Something to stretch those long dormant writing muscles?
I start my writing class on Monday night. I have been excited, but now am getting a bit nervous. Will I be up to par, can I compete with those young writers that don't have a decade long gap in their writing? I only hope it will be like writing a bicycle, muscles remembering the how to peddle and balance, and a story will develop into something worthwhile.