I loathe photos of me and I didn’t want to engage with the prompt. As a teen, I even went through a phase of tearing up photos of myself. It’s safer behind the camera which is why I’m the one taking photos at parties and things these days.
But there is one photo that has strayed into my mind recently.
I’ve been thinking about what it is to be a writer and how I’ve been writing since I could pick up a crayon. My husband said the other day that a writer is only a writer when they’re published, well he amended it to a real writer, because otherwise others would look down on you, ‘oh, you’re not published then?’. I was a little disheartened.
What do you think?
Maybe as we grow, we learn to become fearful of failure. Maybe as we grow, we learn to set harsh standards for ourselves. And maybe sadly, sometimes as we grow, we learn to value only material success.
Why do you write?
I remind myself that I write because it is how I express myself creatively, I need an outlet for all those crazy things fizzing around in my head. I remind myself that I write because I enjoy it.
And that takes me to the picture.
I am tiny, probably two, maybe pushing three. I have a fair tousled head and a muted fairisle jumper. I am sat on the kitchen window seat in the house that I grew up in at the bright varnished pine table. I am concentrating. I have rough paper in front of me and a pencil crayon in hand. I am a storyteller.
The world is my oyster and I can capture it all as I see fit by the magic I weave with a writing stick.
Some of that got lost along the way and I wish that I was still that child, bright minded and innocent and full of ideas, not scared of failure or other people’s opinions.
Everyone has a favorite photo of themself, whether it’s a childhood snapshot, a professional graduation or wedding photograph, or a close-up taken amongst friends. Some say a photograph steals the soul. This week, show us yours: take us into the moment that photograph was taken. Show us who you were then and what the photograph means.