The Child
Twilight has arisen to warn me. My hands start to write and my eyes are blurred by tears caused by my laptop screen wanting to interrupt me, but their trivial attempts have no strong effect on me because I am a person tied to the spirit of letters; which saved me from living in a realistic and hostile world.
My father didn't like me to read weird horror and science fiction books; much less my mother. Their faith did not allow them to see the beauty in the ugly, the extraordinary. Their minds were plagued by creeds and regimes rejected any environment of beauty beyond prayer. Several times they tried to make me give up, but to no avail.
On the sly; as when you have a forbidden lover, I began to read the stories of the great writers of the past. I searched for them on the Internet, since it was impossible to get the books in physical form in my town. I delighted in the stories of Poe, Williams, Ruben Dario, Quiroga, Lovecraft, Tolkien, and other writers.
Their ideas drilled so hard into my head until they reached my mind that one day I decided I wanted to be one of them. Yes, I understood that it was difficult, the life of a writer is often filled with hardship of bitterness, but that didn't stop me from trying to get my way.
I was a kid with a dream, excited and full of life. I met something that gave me purpose; something that elevated my faith to live. That child is still alive deep in my gut. Sometimes he falls asleep holding a Hawthorne book or is surprised by an unexpected ending to a Poe story. That child is still being nurtured. He will belong to my heart forever, and when I become an old man, he will still be young and with the same spirit.
I wanted to belong to those worlds created by my imagination: to the world of vampires, fairies, ghosts, goblins, mythological Greek creatures, etc. Once my brother found me reading one of those horror books I love: "The Castle of Otranto" by Horace Walpole. I have always been afraid of my older brother, as he is much more passionate about religion than my parents.
When I felt his presence coming, I immediately closed the book and tucked it under a cushion. He had noticed. I didn't comment and remained silent like a ghost that doesn't manifest itself. He, on the other hand, had a gentler, meeker face and made a gesture on his lips that looked as if he was going to laugh.
The boy was hungry and wanted to finish the Castle of Otranto, he already belonged to that medieval world with ominous and tenebrous walls. Of knights and maidens. Of unexpected events. Of invisible and mysterious entities that decide the fate of men. The boy got tired of waiting and went to sleep, and I did the same.
Minutes later, someone knocked on my bedroom door, I shouted for him to come in, and to my surprise it was my brother. He wore a smile and his eyes were soft. His gaze was softer than usual. He held out his hand where he was holding my book and handed it to me.
"Do you really like fiction writing?" he asked me.
I nodded my head no more.
"Then I want you to become the best writer in the world, just like those authors you read. You have a lot of imagination, make the most of it!" Then he turned and walked away.
I felt a pang in my heart. It was the first time someone believed in me. I didn't expect it from a member of my family, much less from my older brother who is so stern. I went on with my life. I became one with the books, then the boy wanted to write, and he began to create his own stories.
The child was satisfied. He has created belonging with the page and the pencil, then with the keyboard and the screen. He has elaborated many worlds and characters, and since then, he has been unable to stop.
THE END
The bond that exists between the writer and his stories is usually so strong that once the writer begins to weave his own world, there is no one who can break it. A pleasant story you share with us, bro. I missed reading your creations. I hope you are well. A hug.
Thanks brother. I decorated this story with a very nice memory that marked me for life. Thanks for reading me, Regards!
You paint the effect these writers had on you vividly, entwining us with the roots of your inspiration. It is beautiful that despite your brother's more religious nature, he still found a place in his heart to extend encouragement from. So many of us just need someone to believe in us for the words to flow. Thank you for sharing your story with us, don't forget to engage with at least two other members of the community!
That's right, there's nothing better than encouraging people to be better at what they like. Thanks for your comment.
I like the story you tell. The boy wishes you to become the best writer in the world, hopefully it will come true. Regards
I hope so. Thanks for reading me.
This is a beautiful write-up,well-done
Thank you!
Most times, encouragement doesn't come from people close to us. It will be the last thing in the minds of your parents to see what the little boy saw in you because of their restrictions on the kind of books you read.
It's a good thing the zeal to write is burning and you are putting effort on daily basis to creatively express yourself with your never drying ink.
Thank you, what you say is beautiful, without motivation we are nothing, that is true.
Your brother believing in your dream is beautiful and inspiring, sometimes we just need that one person close to us to recognize our aspirations and dreams.
That's right, it's the best way to know if it's the best for us.
"...the beauty in the ugly..." I like that so, there could be some good things in a bad situation.
I can say you have a big heart to cherish weird horror stories as a child. For me, I hated them when I was a child.
Yes, I always loved them for that mixture of mystery, drama and fantasy. Horror books are mesmerizing.
I liked your story and your courage in deciding to break down all those walls of your parents' religious beliefs to write about a variety of topics. Have a nice evening.
Thanks friend for your comment. Lots of good vibes to you.
That kind of encouragement from unexpected quarter is a lot of motivation. It's a joy for a writer to create a belonging with his passion.
Having someone who believes in your capability is already inspiring enough. But receiving that support from a family member feels like heaven for sure! Passion + belief in one's self + support from family and readers = unbreakable writer.