A Real Life Spit Fire
If you knew it would be published, name someone (alive or dead) whose biography you would love to write. You would have full access to their life.
Sometimes, in this writing project, I don't even know how I am supposed to choose. With full access to a person's life, and the willingness to really delve in, listen and create something as great as a story of their life to share with the world, how does one choose just one person? I mean really, there's a whole world of these glorious humans that all have a story, and really, no one knows it. No one knows it all except one person, and that's the absolute truth. When more than one person knows your secret, more than one person knows your secret.
I think, for the purpose of sentimentality today, I will leave the celebrity biographies to someone else, and stick to my own. I have often thought about sitting with my granddad, asking him to tell me stories so I could chronicle them all on paper. I have heard many stories, and they are never enough. I always want more. One day, time will be too late. But what a story it would be, But always, in the back of my head, someone else lingers. In fact, I was just chatting about it yesterday.
I was once compared to her- this lady I never knew, I remember my grandma's laughter as she said it even. She was laughing at something I had said or done, and she was shaking her head at me. I was about sixteen, and it was the summer I spent at her house. Through her laughter she said I was a real spit fire - just like my great grandmother. And in that moment, I wish I could have known her. I wanted to hear all of the whys and hows, but I never asked. I just laughed along, proud that I was a spit fire and loving that it was in my blood. I wish I knew the stories. I want to know the stories.
So, here's to you, great grandmother. Here's to you, and here's to me, and here's to being a spit fire and whatever the circumstances that lit us up.
Until we meet, all my love.
J
Sometimes, in this writing project, I don't even know how I am supposed to choose. With full access to a person's life, and the willingness to really delve in, listen and create something as great as a story of their life to share with the world, how does one choose just one person? I mean really, there's a whole world of these glorious humans that all have a story, and really, no one knows it. No one knows it all except one person, and that's the absolute truth. When more than one person knows your secret, more than one person knows your secret.
I think, for the purpose of sentimentality today, I will leave the celebrity biographies to someone else, and stick to my own. I have often thought about sitting with my granddad, asking him to tell me stories so I could chronicle them all on paper. I have heard many stories, and they are never enough. I always want more. One day, time will be too late. But what a story it would be, But always, in the back of my head, someone else lingers. In fact, I was just chatting about it yesterday.
I was once compared to her- this lady I never knew, I remember my grandma's laughter as she said it even. She was laughing at something I had said or done, and she was shaking her head at me. I was about sixteen, and it was the summer I spent at her house. Through her laughter she said I was a real spit fire - just like my great grandmother. And in that moment, I wish I could have known her. I wanted to hear all of the whys and hows, but I never asked. I just laughed along, proud that I was a spit fire and loving that it was in my blood. I wish I knew the stories. I want to know the stories.
So, here's to you, great grandmother. Here's to you, and here's to me, and here's to being a spit fire and whatever the circumstances that lit us up.
Until we meet, all my love.
J
Absolute Spit Fire - right off the hop.
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