My father did the same. He would talk of memories of his childhood - Rosie the working horse who refused to be ridden by the small boy my father had been, the ghostly cow, the accidental job on a steamer - and paint a picture in my mind's eye.
This is one difference between writers and non writers. We remember and recount our memories like a story, filling in the gaps of sound and smell and colour. Whereas our non writing counterparts remember in disjointed details, we paint the entire canvas.
So let me paint you some pictures, some memories, that I've shared on this site with you:
- the disapproving lecturer - Write It Proud
- the support of friends - My Small Kindness
- the old lady at the door - A scary (true) story for Hallowe'en
Now it's your turn. Paint me a picture.