Many Times I Am Asked

I have had people ask me why I write and I guess it is because I like to share. I share much of my past, my family history as I recall it, and I share the things that are happening to me now. When my parents died, I know there were things they told me, but I’ve forgotten and those stories died with them. I try to resurrect them if I recall them or if someone else jogs my mind. It’s a legacy that I’m leaving for my family. I write things from my youth, from the Navy in Corps School, Penn State, and prominent incidents while employed as a registered nurse.

The when that I write about is taken from the recesses of my mind after I brush the cobwebs from them or recent past and even things that I am doing right now. Writing Haiku poetry, completing new short stories, and trying to tuck the details into a new book take up much of my time. Another when is when do I find time to write? I really don’t have a set time, but probably should, although I try to write my blog the night before I’m due to post it. That gives me time to review it for any mistakes or to clarify some point.

The who I write about maybe myself, my family, my coworkers, friends, strangers, and even patients I’ve met before I retired. Some names I mention because they are the root of the tale, while others I either eliminate or alter to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent. Family stories would mean nothing if the names and relationships were left unconnected.

What I write about is often generated by my mood, what I am willing to share, or what has made an impression on my life. There can be a myriad of responses to this and none take precedence over another without being filtered by my emotions of my frame of mind. Sometimes I start to share a tale and I am sidetracked into writing an entirely different piece.

Where I write about is mostly about places that the incidents have taken place. They may range from vacations to work environments. I’ve written about tenting trips out west with a bunch of teens to a missionary trip to Nain, Canada with our Pastor, a friend, and several of my family members.

Fictional tales can creep out into places I’ve only read about or have altered to fit the scenes I’m trying to display. Local places like Pittsburgh or Confluence, Pennsylvania to the city of Jericho may end up in my writings, and may be as diverse as I allow.