My mother was passionate about writing. She took a writing course, was a voracious reader all of her life, and wrote many things. She was even published in a couple of magazines. Small things, but very big to her. As part of what she left for me, I got the remnants of her writing efforts. I have, even though I'm not sure where or which yellowed set of papers contain it, one story that she specifically presented me with quite a while before she died. With those came the instructions that "maybe" I could finish it for her. Oh how I wish I had valued that opportunity more at the time. Maybe I will find that uncompleted story and give it an appropriate ending some day. If not, maybe I'll get closer to her dream of being a published author by at least publishing some things on my web pages that people will enjoy reading. The computer and public access to writing talents were a thing she didn't have access to "in her time".
If I had been as passionate about writing as she was, I suppose I would have tackled that task she assigned me, for whatever her reason was. The problem then, and even now, is that we possess completely different writing styles. Mother grew up during the Great Depression, in a large, but financially poor, household filled with love. She looked at the world through the proverbial rose-colored glasses -- ever the romantic and looking for the good and the happy endings in life. I, on the other hand, in spite of her bringing me up amid those ideals, experienced a totally different kind of hardships than she could have even imagined existed, not to mention knowing how to understand the way they affected me, and I developed a hard shell, an often-cynical attitude, and a toughness that has nothing in the least to do with romanticism.
I do know, when it comes to writing, I have never been able to write a short letter. If I make the effort to write, one might just as well grab a cup of hot tea and plan to "set a spell" while they wade through my lengthy diatribes. And I must admit than many of those finished products made me proud; often saddened that they were only meant for one person when I felt much of what they contained would profit others...and mostly all lost now, because they moment passed and they weren't put to any further use. :'(
I'm thinking as I type this: maybe you would like to read some of my mother's stories? I can do for her what she couldn't do for herself -- publish them for the world to enjoy. I have had some of them included in web pages in the past, but they aren't online anywhere at this time. If I include them in this blog they will stay alive, even if I don't continue making regular entries (but I plan to stay with this right now). Hmmm...let me give this some thought....