My family and I have been going through our humble stack of photographs the other day. I was so glad I found this old picture of mine, safe to say, I still rock the same style but the odd thing is; I still have the same passion for writing.
I honestly don’t remember how old I was in that picture. All I know, is that we were vacationing in this country and we were walking in a crowded street one day… or was it a mall? I’m not sure, but it was crowded and loud but there was this man who looked like he was risking his life, standing in the middle of it all with books on his back and over his head defying the crowds walking towards him but only passing through him like he was nothing!
He was yelling:
“I welcome you to reading my own creation” “Care to buy a book I’ve written?” “I beg of you to read my book”
No one cared. And I actually thought it was funny and I mimicked his words… I kept walking saying:
“I welcome you to reading my own creation” “Care to buy a book I’ve written?” “I beg of you to read my book…”
That man made me think of the typewriter my dad hid under his bed, how much I loved the sound of it clicking! How even as a kid, I loved waking up early to pull it from under the bed and click random words on it…
And then I started thinking how it felt magical to me that books are actually written! That they don’t just magically appear on shelves! How I loved the idea of creating books without even realizing it!
Now, here I am, probably a couple of decades older wanting to stand in the middle of the street carrying my words screaming to be read… regretting not buying a copy of that man’s creation!