There was a story Dad never told. He was good at telling stories, anecdotes, funny happenings. He liked to be front and centre, really enjoyed his acting when he finally started, and generally kept those around him engaged. I’m sure there was eye rolling at times as he wandered off on a story he had told a gazillion times, but people are kind and I suppose didn’t mind in the most.
But there was a story Dad never told, never told me anyway. I enjoyed creative writing in my youth, so much so, I studied it at university. But I was rubbish at writing stories. I couldn’t get everything figured out. I’d have a start to a story, but not an end. An ending to a different story would appear, but the middle would be shit. And I know that authors say the best way to write a story is to do just that. Write it down. It doesn’t matter if it’s shit, just get started, get to the bits you’re sure about, and keep on pushing through. Because you can always go back and edit the bits you think are shit and hopefully make it into a bestseller. I could never get past the bits I thought were shit.
Back to Dad. We had a chat one day about writing stories and I remember him telling me that he had a brilliant ending to a story and some day he’d write it down and I’m not sure he ever did. I don’t know, maybe Mum will read this (hi Mum!) and unearth some transcript of Dad’s amazing story that he wrote, but I doubt it. He told me that it was a great ending to a story, he just needed to figure out the start. I asked him to tell me what it was and he wouldn’t. Now I don’t mind that he never did, it was his story after all, but as I was driving home the other day I remembered this little vignette and was sad that this story would never be told.
And I doubt anything would have ever come of it. I mean I don’t know what it was about, what genre, whether it was any good. It could have been absolute shite. But it’s a story that is untold and I would encourage all to tell your stories. I have this blog, it feeds my need to tell my stories in handy small bite size chunks every now and then. I would encourage you to write. A blog, a diary, a journal, short stories, poetry, a rude limerick (if you have any of these, send them my way, the ruder the better) a fucking great big novel. Do it. And it might never be read by anyone except your pet rabbit peering over your shoulder as you type. But tell your story.
You won’t go lonely, yeah
after rain – dermot kennedy
It’ll all be better in the morning
‘Cause while you sleep, I’ll build a wall
Pick a weapon up or something
We’re ’bout to have ourselves a brawl
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