So, it’s been said, regarding the odds of becoming a famous writer that, “4 out of 5 people, want to write a New York Timesbest seller, book.” Clearly, the odds of becoming a famous author are stacked against every writer. It maybe easier to win the many lotteries, which have a winner every day, somewhere.
Looking at the traits of many writers when younger, we will find a child who had/has/have an incredible imagination.
To watch for a potential child writer, one should notice and observe traits. The traits vary, and these traits, I’ve listed, are certainly not (all) the characteristics of (all) young writers. But, these are a sampling or examples of some observations a parent may see in their youngster or youngsters.
Does the child change the story/stories that a parent reads them? Do they have another ending? And to add about this trait, it may occur at very young age. Perhaps, even before, age 2 or 3 and on up. It depends on how early the child was exposed to books and stories.
Does your child love stories? Do they open a book (often) without prompting by a parent? “Here, please, read this to me.” And, “No, that’s not how it ends, mommy/daddy!” They clearly change the setting, plot and characters…
Does your 7, 8 or 9 year old love to write poems and do they keep a diary or journal?
Has anyone accused your child of “not telling the truth?” Or, have they been accused of “lying?” Many times a young writer will suffer punishment for being creative. The parent may not understand, nor their teacher. Perhaps, the person who will/or has recognized this gift, in a child is someone who is also gifted… After all, as it’s said, “It takes one to know one.” Non creative people often become frustrated with the creative child. The parent or teacher is unable to understand the trait, they simply don’t resonate with a child who is unlike their self or themselves … They can’t.
On to the characteristics: Does your child make up better endings of stories, or more violent scenes, or change any part of their world that is unsatisfactory, as well as stories? Does your child perhaps change Medusa? I laugh at this statement, because this is what I did when I was a child. I made my mother change the snakes to dragons or horses, and my mother, always obliged me… She was a creator, as well.
Does your child pretend a lot? Do they have imaginary friends? Do they talk to themselves? Can they entertain themselves with fantasy for long periods of time? Are they as happy to be with themselves, rather than, being with friends?
Do they want to know historical facts? Are they obsessed with hearing other stories over and over again? Do they have foresight? Are they intuitive?
Do they live in a dream world? Do they daydream? Has the teacher at school gotten on your child for, “Not paying attention?” Perhaps, your child is partially listening, but is making the explanation better or more interesting… ?
Has your child been treated for a psychiatric disorder? Did they put your child on medications to clear up delusions, hallucinations or mental illness? Does your child have nightmares? Do they see things at night or day? Do they think the boogie-man is truly under their beds?
Now, please understand, there are mental disorders that do need to be treated. However, a consideration for imagination vs psychiatric diagnosis, must be clarified. Asking and verifying, are these behaviors an active imagination or symptoms of a psychiatric illness? (is absolutely necessary)
If your child is surely not suffering from psychosis or a mental illness, then it maybe a good idea to have your child placed in a group of young writers, poets, lyricists and artists. Often artists do suffer from some sadness like other non creative people do, but creativity plus sadness often is interpreted as mental illness. (Very sad face). The equation is not 1 + 1 = 2 … It is merely 1, you have a creative child and 2, the child is depressed (like many uncreative humans). Too often, the 1 + 1 = 2 means a psych diagnosis, medications and a label that follows a child the rest of their lives. (very sad face, again).
Children will need to have this gift of imagination developed by the right person. It is a parental responsibility to help cultivate an imaginative child and to teach the child when to turn the fantasy off and when to create… After all, an imaginative child will create ALL THE TIME… that’s their gift, just like a vocalist or an artist of pictures … Writers create worlds, kingdoms, magical places and wonderful stories if we nurture them, understand them, and assist them. For an example, if you forbade a writer or creator from mentally creating, they would not/could not stop imagining. It is as natural as a natural born vocalist. Writers are intuitive manifest-ors. They will need positive instruction and direction from someone who is also creative. They will need direction from a positive influence.
I don’t know about becoming a famous author, screenwriter, lyricists or poet, but I do know, from being a creative child, they will thrive in a protective, supportive environment and who knows what anyones future might be… Except the little author… Oh, they can create their world… It’s as far as their imaginations can venture…
Happy writing little ones…
Please feel free to write your experiences or your child’s character traits of being a writer… I would love to know yours…
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It being the end of a another year, thus, I sent out to my god and my angels, a prayer. That is: I need change and a new directional path, and I need it, now. “Post haste,” as daddy use to say.So, having said this to a dear friend, who is also a warrior on the phone last night, and then, going to sleep soon, thereafter, was awakened, before 3 am. I had a series of nightmares.
There in the middle of the fury of dreams, I found my peace. My sister was with me to help me escape, as she always has, in our lives together.There, in the middle of of the nightmare, being raped and sought after by many men and devilish souls, I panted in fear. But we, my sister and I, locked, bolted and hammered all doors shut. However, I couldn’t escape from their war, except one way. I disconnected. I found within me the place of peace and in that place the outer world fades away and there I am safe from any harm. Though, i can not take anyone with me, I leave my sister warrior behind fighting for me. And, in that place, the hell on Earth and memories of it, dissipate. My sister is left to do the battling alone. She chooses to do this for me. I want to take her with me; however, she may not enter. She must find this place on her own just as every human soul must find it alone. Perhaps she knows about this quiet place amidst the beautiful scenery of anything desired. Maybe she is showing me the way. I don’t know her way, I only know my own.
You see, I found this place many years ago. I was 16 years old. I am 62 now. In that place I heard a friendly kind voice. I have heard the voice many times before. It gave me a message. He, the voice was male. He said. “write, from your heart. Write the truth and do not cover it up or make flowery excuses. Just simply write about, what you know, as truth. Don’t skip or jump around your truths, your path, your beginnings. Tell them about the other world. Tell others how to find it when in the middle of storms. Write it all down. This is what you’re called to teach.”
Now, I really didn’t want to get out of bed. It was warm and comfortable. And, I didn’t want to write about sadness and hardships. No, truthfully, it was before 3 am and I wanted to go back to bed and sleep peacefully.
“Now, get up and start writing what you’ve learned.” He said. This is your beginning of 2015.
I said, “all right, I will write only my truth, but the outer world is so painful.”
He nodded, in agreement, that the outer plane, which hovers Earth, is tortuous, grievous, grey, bleak, often harmful and lastly, painful for many and is not the place called heaven. “Help others and yourself to find this place. You have been there, and know the way. Teach it. It is easier to make jokes. Laughter hides pain and sorrow.It is in pain and sorrow that one becomes purified.” He smiled gently.
And so, I agreed to start writing my notes.
Though, they, my memories, will be discombobulated, they are my experiences. Finding Elysium, finding heaven on Earth, is not impossible. This is my 2015 plan sent by a messenger dressed in beautiful gauze and had a long beard of silver and snow and eyes as alive as the rapids in a northern river… This is what he told me to do. Having written the reasons of why I must tell my journey must say, I do not want to write this. I don’t want to visit my past, I do not want to blame, point fingers, to shame or harm anyone. For these reasons, I am reluctant to tell my story.
This reluctance is because the human race must point a finger at the causes of imperfections and tainted unlovely lives. Truthfully, the blame is circular. It never ends, but will find it’s origin in the story of the fall of mankind in The Garden of Eden. And, this is the truth, even if, you declare, it’s not your truth, it is. The fall of man was the beginning of pain and torture for the human/hybrid species. We were made in the image of god. We were created by fallen angels (The Nephilim) and god made a new way for us. Mankind excepted the dragons of fire, and there is no other argument. Done! There in the garden is found the reasons why mankind will never reach Narnia, Elysium, or Heaven, on his own.
I am not writing about the redemption story, though it is important. It only serves to receive the blame. If a reason why is to be asked, then, cast a blame on Eden with an imperfect finger of human judgement. The finger that’s pointing doesn’t recognize its own blemishes, sins and mistakes. It only see’s flaws in the “fruits” of others. How many times have I heard or read, “we can’t judge, but we can be fruit inspectors.” So, this statement stands alone, and is why, we will not reach Narnia.
Now, I’m dragging my feet. I don’t want to begin with my story. I’m afraid. The fears are from this Earth and have nothing to do with god, but mankind is harsh. Mankind is a ferocious judge. But on the other hand, who cares? Do I? Yes, bottom line, I care what others think or believe of me. I care about my reputation and the legend of my family. I care to uphold their name and honor. I care about them. I said, blaming is circular and goes back to The Garden of Eden, and it does. So, the sins of my ancestors continues and my children will point their finger at me, and tell of my sins and imperfections. But, I would be the first to admit, that I have failed horribly, as a mother. I have not loved unconditionally. I have put myself before my children, yet, I believe that I would die for them.
But, dying is much easier than living for them, isn’t it? After all, dying is escaping the tortures of living day in and day out. Excepting nighttime, thunder, lightening, hail, ice and temperatures too hot or too cold, are much harder, than taking the last breath into freedom. Wouldn’t you say? Perhaps, I am, blaming The Fall in The Garden of Eden, as well. But, this life is filled with spots, stains and imperfections are all around us.
No one escapes. It is here, at this point in my story, that I must be say, there are some who strongly declare, this doesn’t pertain to me. I am flawless. I do no wrong. I have a perfect past and a white picket fence, now, that surrounds my life. I would say to you, then, you already live in Narnia or Elysium and this story isn’t about you. My suggestion is to go on with your life, as it is, and don’t peer inside mine as the dragons assigned to me might become your own. Or perhaps, you’ve never actually met your demons. Because if you’re a member of the human race, then, at birth you had entities leading you away from The Garden. And, if you haven’t met the devils or been led far from the gates of The Garden, then, continue onward. Proceed on your path of doorknob hanging. Do not wander far away from the handle. But, hang on for your dear life and be thankful that you, know better. Or do you, I ask.. But on the other hand ~ playing The Devil’s Advocate ~ must tell you, find your war. Overcome it. Learn everything god wants you to know, so that, you will become a mighty valiant warrior. And having boldly said this, know that warriors die in many battles. Only to rise, again and again. Learning, along the way, the mistakes of war and the casualties of other’s lives, that we may have damaged, aware or not, these mistakes must be reconciled before continuing on in our wonderful journey called living. In some small way, if not, huge, our unintentional mistakes, completed along our way, may have destroyed someone else. In rectifying our mishaps, we become stronger and the next crisis, war or battle, which will come again, guaranteed, we will be stronger, more courageous than ever were before… And, then, perhaps, another warrior will be encouraged, while healing, from a battle of their own, and there on that battlefield we can lend our grace because grace was generously handed to us…
This is a good lesson, and I know god chooses the weak, to make them strong. He chooses the lame, deaf and dumb to confound the wise, he uses fearful men to make giant soldier’s, He uses our human frailties to make us his own. So, those who hang onto the doorknob of heaven, may I challenge you to jump into the fight. It is the fight, war, battle for your previous generations and those who succeed you throughout eternity.
Now, after skirting and dancing around my own story, I will to begin…. My heart races. Here I must deep breath and begin… Some of you might be asking me, what gives you the rights to say these things? The answer will be found in my story. Another question maybe, do you think of yourself better than the rest of us? And, truthfully, I tell you no, I don’t. Next question, then why should I read on? This is your decision, but I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.
The only answer right now, that I will reveal is the fact that I have been in solitary confinement at an early age. Later, I stayed, 2 more times in a place of complete aloneness for 6 weeks, more than once, and lesser times later. Now, That I’ve shared this part of my life, please, stay with my story, as I explain why and what came from those experiences.
I was reluctant to be born. The year and date: October 9, 1952, New Orleans, La, USA.In fact, I begged not to come. I recognized these thoughts were on my sons face as he entered the world December 12, 1983. He, too, didn’t want to enter this plane called Earth. My daughter, she too came May 23, 1980. She is another mighty knight.
Writing the beginning and knowing what is to come, is difficult, so at this point, I must rest, and gather my thoughts. Thank you for staying with me up to this point and reading. I do welcome any thoughts, questions and kind comments… Also, please note, I wrote this hastily. I wrote as the messenger told me to do. So, having said this, I realize there are grammatical errors, spelling mistakes, and other flaws. Please, feel free to contact me and let me know.. Thank you and have a happy, safe, peaceful, healthy and prosperous New Year 2015. May God reside with all…
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My grand father William Sydney Patton
Turn of The Century in his humble honor. He was a nobleman.
The fable begins:
A tall lean man traveling a path who walked swiftly was stopped by the magistrate in a village. He answered the questions that provoked awareness of the magistrates trap.
“For what is your plan and which direction will you travel?”
Pausing before he spoke, he raised his eyebrows and lifted his face and took a deep breath and wisely spoke. “There once was a wise man who traveled a path. He had a nap-sac tied to a stick that rested on his shoulder as he walked the path. The king inquires what is your plan and what road will you pass?” The man gently smiles. Then, he finishes his explannation. ” I travel lite. I speak no plan. I ask my father. I listen to his commands. Then, the path illuminates. Giving thanks, I follow one step at a time.”
The magistrate raised his eyes to see if the traveler was telling the truth. He looked straight into the eyes of the wise man. He saw no lies, but he misunderstood the explanation. He looked to the paths set before him. He saw no illumination. He believed the wise traveler tricked him. So, he set a trap for the man. All paths would have deep holes with false floors to catch him in his lies.
As the wise man comes to the wood paths with traps everywhere, an inner awareness arose. He did not understand the traps set before him, but he did see the path’s light fade from the floor of the forest and begin the shine on the limbs of trees. He followed upward. Vines shown. He grasped them and begin to swing from one limb to another using the long vines to swing even faster. He thanked God for the time he now saves by swinging freely.
God showed him others caught in the traps the magistrate had dug, as well. He also saw the children of the magistrates caught in similar deep in the holes. There, by the side of the holes, the magistrate knelt crying for his offspring. He had no way to set them free from their plights. He acknowledged, not the others caught in the traps of his evil schemes.
So the wise traveler threw a long vine to the magistrate. The wise man took a risk of not being excepted, but he wasn’t concerned for himself. Compassionate motives drove his actions. The vine landed in the hand of the magistrate just as it was aimed.
The magistrate looked up and ~
Then~pride fell from the magistrate. He saved his children.
The others were left in the holes. But, the wise man saw the plan for their salvation. It would require a sacrifice.
The sacrifice would be unblemished and worthy enough that the magistrate would be satisfied. The cost would be the blood and life of the magistrates arch enemy. The blood of the one that was despised the most. So, the wise man knew.
He followed the instructions given in the light that illuminated his path. He knew this is not the end, but merely the beginning for all men (the others) left in holes to be rescued.
The lamb, white, pure, and unblemished by dirt or barnyard rape was presented as the sacrifice. The magistrate wallowed as a filthy boar, laughing like a hyena after taking the life of the innocent ewe. The magistrate is still wildly ravenous when the blood of the wise man’s is noticed or esteemed.
Jealousy kills. It is a destroyer and there is no use or good in the actions of envy. Coveting the neighbors goats, their house, their spouse, their life and not respecting ones own leads to confusion and despair. It will make one kick their own dogs.
Little Jacob, be appreciate of the goodness within you and your surroundings. Make your gifts shine. Be thankful in all the little things, you’ve been handed. Then, you will be trusted with bigger things and finally one day you will be given your kingdom promised to you. After all, it was made and prepared and thought of, just for you. One step at a time with love, blessings and thankfulness for everything will take you to your home. Your final resting place, it awaits you. Hard work is necessary, and you will not take this place by force or covet. Your place will be given inside faith, hope, and love.
No more shall you, kick the dogs.
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