inspiration

1966-april-weddingWe all have guiding forces in our lives, whether they be people, events or circumstances.  I’ve been giving some thought to mine, lately, wondering how one goes about showing gratitude to anyone who provided even the tiniest piece of inspiration.

I write romance for a reason.  Some consider it a frivolous genre.  In some ways, it is.  Those who know me best know I have a fairly strong cynical streak, that I often view life with a jaded sort of pragmatism.  But, beneath all that, I strongly believe in silver linings, in happy endings and in magic.

My favorite love story is that of my parents.  (They probably don’t know that, but anyone who knows them will understand.)  The details don’t matter to anyone except them, but through the eyes of a child like me, it was the stuff of romance.  They adore each other.  Then and now.  They always will.  When I write about a hero and heroine looking into one another’s eyes as if nobody else exists, I’ve seen that look.  And, in some ways, I’ve always ached to describe it.  I’m lucky.  I get to do it time and time again, as long as I can write.

There are the teachers who had a hand in creating each string of words that slips from my head and finds a home in print.  I can’t remember all their names.  One praised the social studies report I wrote, telling me it was wonderfully creative, though I’d created a work of fiction that wove the required facts into the body of the report, rather than simply writing staid sentences underscored by such dry things as gross national product and prominant political figures through history.

There is the tenth grade English teacher to whom I have dedicated Grace.  She encouraged everything I did and was the first person to tell me she fully expected to see my name in print someday.   *grin*  Who am I to dash her expectations?

And, of course, the typing teacher.  I initially took her class because I had an enormous crush on her son.  By the time I left high school, I’d taken all of her classes.  Now, when my mind is sucked deep into the creative process, when it is spinning faster than I could ever have kept up with while trying to write by hand, I don’t have to think about what my fingers are doing.  I can simply allow the words to flow, my eyes watching them rapidly unfold on the screen, thanks to the skills she taught me.

There’s no way to express my gratitude to them and to so many more.   Hopefully…

…they know.

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6 thoughts on “inspiration

  1. Oh, Charlotte – my second mama. Always there when I was growing up. Yes, I remember graduation, and a million other wonderful things. Not everyone is lucky enough to have such an extensive network of people to whom she can look up.

    Love to you…

    deneane

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  2. So profound…and so true. I only wish I could express such feeling. I don’t express it, but it is there. I keep all at arms length, I am so distrustful. I keep myself safe, always. To let anyone in would be a transgression. Just always know that I am sooooo proud of you and wish sooo much that I could be in your world. I love you

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  3. It’s funny how what some teachers did stick with you more than others. I too am grateful to a typing teacher. I was streamed away from learning typing but got the chance of a half hour lesson once a week in the year that our school converted from demoninational Religious Instruction to teacher-led Religious Education. I was from a denomination that phased out early, and such kids got the opportunity to do something recreational while their Catholic, Church of England and Lutheran peers were having their souls attended to; and my choice was typing.

    I learnt enough in that half hour per week to be able to touch type all the letters, although I never really mastered the numbers, even with a portable typewriter at home to practise on.

    It was something that has stood me in good stead, because I went into Information Technology and my job is keyboard based – not something that they were predicting in the early 1970s for graduates!

    So I’m forever thankful to Mrs Schroeder, who inadvertently taught me something that comes in useful every day of my working life.

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    • I love such stories. And what an interesting peek into the different way you were educated there than we are here in the United States. Differences aside, though, that admiration and gratitude for those teachers that touch is is universal.

      Grace was dedicated to a teacher. I struggled with dedicating my first book to someone other than my amazing parents, but thought they would understand. Thank you so much for reading.

      Deneane Elise

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