For my Young Authors class, I gave a writing prompt to write about your earliest memory. With this class at least, when I give a prompt, I write as well.
I wasn’t sure how to write about my earliest memory — singing to myself in my crib — until I got the idea to put it in another person’s perspective. The only problem is that this makes it sound like the beginning of a short story, and I don’t enjoy writing short stories and I don’t think I’m very good at it.
Anyway, this is my response to the writing prompt, and is completely out of my own head. I changed the mother’s name (it just seemed the thing to do) and I don’t know if these thoughts ever entered her mind. To be transparent, in a way I’m writing about myself too. The last sentence rings especially true for me.
Finally, the end of another day. DeAnna walked quietly down the dark hall to her bedroom, leaving her husband in the family room to watch the sports news before he joined her. Just as she was about to turn into the bedroom, DeAnna heard a tiny voice singing a tiny song. She smiled and peered into the bedroom of her youngest daughter. “Are you singing yourself to sleep?” DeAnna asked the little one.
“Yes,” the toddler said indistinctly.
“Well, goodnight. I love you.”
DeAnna’s heart warmed. This little girl, her third daughter, would be her last. She had hoped to have a big family, but three miscarriages and then medical complications after her last pregnancy put an end to that dream. Three would have to do. Three was a good number. Nothing wrong with having only three children. Still, it wasn’t what she had hoped for.
It feels like it should go somewhere now… but I don’t know where. And since I don’t enjoy writing short stories, it probably won’t go anywhere at all. And I think that’s okay.