Like many girls when they’re young, I too picked out cute diaries with honest hopes of filling every page. I thought I had so much to write about, with the little world experiences I had by the age of 7. I guess being young lets you off the hook from acknowledging real limitations. I had my parents buy one colourful notebook after another, only having filled a couple pages in each and then losing them along the way. This pattern continued for years until the end of my high school studies.
I began to actually fill notebooks when I made two major changes: I started buying smaller notebooks and I was more encouraged in developing my interests through research. My research led me to fill pages with names, notes and sketches while my reflections on my personal life at the time was mainly focused on friends, and boys. I sometimes re-read my notes for entertainment. I don’t find my notes particularly enlightening but I still felt impressed that I was able to stick to writing almost on a daily basis. These days, as a full time employee, it becomes difficult to find the best way to allocate my time but I commit my after-work as well as my pre-work hours to my hobbies. In the mornings, this usually involves reading while the evenings consist of me writing, drawing or uploading photos on Instagram.
Prior to starting this blog, I had 3-4 ideas for short stories which I had began writing. I was sure that I could turn them into something great and I still hold this belief but I realized that I need to commit to something smaller, like a blog, to practice my writing daily. Once I feel like I’ve developed a style, I will feel much more comfortable going back to my stories and it will be that much easier for me to finish them. Until I develop my writing style, I will share my musings, stories and reviews of books with you. Today, I share a short writing exercise I did a little while ago. The ask was to write about an experience at a gas station or convenience store and the below is what I came up with.
Il me dit <> chaque fois avec un sourire. I remember thinking up a name for him but today, I don’t even recall what that name was. There was also a woman working at the store but I didn’t care for her much. She didn’t smile at me the way Monsieur did; there, I’ll call him Monsieur. Thinking back to it Monsieur from the grocery store was probably one of my best sources for learning French. He had an interesting look. He was old and seemed to belong to a motorcycle gang. At least that’s what I would have thought in North America but Nantes wasn’t short of eccentric people.He didn’t say much but he was always thinking of what to say, if anything – that was clear. He always offered a hand before uttering a word, which was only indicative of his kind, pure heart. I saw Monsieur almost every day and I think of him sometimes nowadays and it breaks my heart that he will always be just Monsieur. Monsieur whose name I can’t recall.