Day 2
In your own space, share a book/song/movie/tv show/fanwork/etc that changed your life. Something that impacted on your consciousness in a way that left its mark on your soul. Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so.
The Mysteries of Harris Burdick by Chris Van Allsburg. My second-grade teacher - I wish I could remember her name; she was an old woman with glasses and gray hair who wore brown dresses, you know the type - gave her class the assignment to pick an illustration and write a story about it. My picture was "The Third Floor Bedroom" and I still remember something of the story, a short piece about the birds flying out and one staying behind to keep a woman company after the rest had gone that I drew a little illustration for. And I also remember my teacher going to photocopy it to share with some of her co-workers.
I don't remember if I immediately thought writing was something I could make into a career or even a way to pay the electric bill. But I do remember feeling proud of myself for what I'd written, and pleased that my teacher liked it enough she'd gone to share it, and wanting to do that again.
The hardback edition I got a few years ago is one of those books I always have with me, no matter how small the dorm room, right there with High Fidelity and Bridge to Terabithia. It's still one of my go-to sources for inspiration and motivation. Kind of like Myst - another deeply formative text, though not quite with the same immediate sense of revelatory self-discovery - I'm always looking to capture that wonder, and see what's just around and past the edges of the frame, if I only look.

In your own space, share a book/song/movie/tv show/fanwork/etc that changed your life. Something that impacted on your consciousness in a way that left its mark on your soul. Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so.
The Mysteries of Harris Burdick by Chris Van Allsburg. My second-grade teacher - I wish I could remember her name; she was an old woman with glasses and gray hair who wore brown dresses, you know the type - gave her class the assignment to pick an illustration and write a story about it. My picture was "The Third Floor Bedroom" and I still remember something of the story, a short piece about the birds flying out and one staying behind to keep a woman company after the rest had gone that I drew a little illustration for. And I also remember my teacher going to photocopy it to share with some of her co-workers.
I don't remember if I immediately thought writing was something I could make into a career or even a way to pay the electric bill. But I do remember feeling proud of myself for what I'd written, and pleased that my teacher liked it enough she'd gone to share it, and wanting to do that again.
The hardback edition I got a few years ago is one of those books I always have with me, no matter how small the dorm room, right there with High Fidelity and Bridge to Terabithia. It's still one of my go-to sources for inspiration and motivation. Kind of like Myst - another deeply formative text, though not quite with the same immediate sense of revelatory self-discovery - I'm always looking to capture that wonder, and see what's just around and past the edges of the frame, if I only look.
