I have often said I am inspired at the oddest times and have no notion where my ideas, which I call germs, come from or even what they mean– not until I write about them; with that in mind, I would like to tell you, Dear Reader, about a dream I had.
It focuses on a cherished childhood story. In a window where the sun shone every day stood several toys: two dolls – a blonde doll with bright blue eyes; she wore a blue gingham dress past her knees and a white apron. Her blonde hair was divided into two braided pony tails, and a brown-haired doll with dark brown eyes, which stood close to the first doll. This second doll also had her hair divided, but into two bushy pony tails. She wore a brown dress with a beige apron, and on her face, she had a gold pair of eyeglasses.
On the shelf, also, were the following: a white sheep, a dark brown horse, and two black and white cows; not far off was a cherry-red, race car. On the very top shelf was a pink piggy bank. This toy had two black eyes and long, black eyelashes. Every day a girl came to see these toys. She watched as the toys were bought and replaced. The pink piggy bank never moved. She wanted her mom to come with her one day. Maybe her mom would fall in love with the toy, too, and buy it so they could take her home. But her mom never came and so the girl would come and watch and wait and hope no one else would buy the piggy. Because the girl loved that piggy so much it was difficult for her to understand why no one wanted it
. As a young female reader I, like the girl in the story, didn’t understand why that piggy stood alone day after day. What was the meaning in that? I read and loved this story before I studied and understood like elements like theme — what point the writer wanted the reader to get from the story – characterization, setting, and symbolism. Today, I could speculate on these different elements, but what good would that do seeing I don’t have access to that story? I don’t remember the title or the author’s name. All I do know now is this story had such an impact on me it has stayed with me all these years, and this is much, much longer than most memories remain. This may be the point of the story: some stories become a part of us; they remain with us through the good and the bad, and they come back to us when we’re reflecting on something else.
And this is the responsibility that we must have to our readers – to remember that what we write does become a part of our readers’ psyche. And for the writer to remember that it is indeed an honor to know that something we wrote will be filed into the deepest parts of the reader’s mind and heart.
wonders in writing 