My mother loved gadgets, and usually had the latest version. Because
of this, by age seven I already had her old typewriter sitting on my
I sat at it one day and decided to write something. I had heard someone share their advise regarding writing, “write what you know” they said. Even then I thought that sounded like a good idea, as I was already wondering how to do it. This was a suggestion I could work with and attain some sort of order through. I sat down and thought about what I knew. “Well, I watch scary movies with my dad every Saturday”. So I typed out a page of a scary story. I uncurled it out of the carriage and read it, and thought “wow, this is pretty good”. But then thought, “well, if I can do it, anyone can and threw the page away”. Not to say the world needed another scary story. But I went into other creative arenas.
I have more than a creative side, its just who I am. In the first grade I loved “show and tell”. I can still remember loosing sleep as to what I would say in the morning as I was so excited to public speak! I stood there with my now favorite doll confessing to the class how bad I felt that I had peaked at her while she was still wrapped under the tree. I guess I’ve always had a need to confess…;)
I sewed, as my mother bought me my own machine at age nine. I painted pictures and drew portraits. I was the first girl to take wood-shop in summer school going into jr. high. I always took arts and crafts classes feeling so at home there, and I was considered the most artistic in my class. I felt I should give writing a try again, so took my first creative writing class in the tenth grade. I had Mrs. Terry, she was the cool teacher everyone wanted to have.
The first day we were asked to write a paragraph. Though am unsure of subject matter we were asked to write about. But somehow I wrote about two ladies of the night walking home. Ok, thankfully I didn’t know anything about this subject, but did know I wanted to show them as human beings. So I had them walking down a residential street in the early hours of the morning. I wrote about the leaves crunching under their feet as the fur collars on their jackets flowed up into their faces.
But when everyone got their papers back, I didn’t. I looked around to see that everyone had theirs. I turned to the front of the room and Mrs. Terry stood there holding my paper in her hands and read it as an example. I was hooked. It sunk in that I could do this. I knew one day I would write. While I’ve done decorating, crafting, and still am an antique dealer I knew that somehow life would lead me back to a typewriter. Now an iPad…but here I am, sharing my story with you. Which may seem scary at first, but ultimately there is redemption and hope that I hope you will take the time to read
about, as it truly is an incredible story. A Most Incredible Witness
Emily L. Pittsford