It was a dreary December evening and I was eight, a kindhearted age. Enthusiasm bubbled up inside my joyful heart which beat wildly hearing her thick, rich operatic voice.
Life was unhurried back then one could dawdle during most days. Unfortunately, people were the same filled with strife and bitterness of heart. I was eight, I did not understand.
Within a few days I matured quickly. As applause filled the rotund room icy sleet dropped from dim sky. Yet whispers brought a dissimilar gloom; supper was served in her dank room.
I don’t recall much of the ride home, her voice rich with passion lingered. She gave a message, a mournful plea which had been sung for centuries. Later, I heard metal crashing, ripping
down icy country road in December. We whirled in darkness of frozen night, turned a somersault in mid-air, flipped off vacant road; while music madly mingling with clanging metal.
I don’t remember much, I was eight when bombs dropped at dawn days later. Tears fell, languishing with fervor over the loss of life and loved ones. Just a child, I was confused with events.
Mine were simple childhood struggles, others were grave racial tragedies, and the world… agonizing over war! In a matter of days, at eight, I matured what seemed a lifetime yearning for music.
Nearly eighty years have come and gone, souls of people are more digressed as children are snatched from homes, black and white use murderous threats and wars dismantle society and nations.
I was a child in 1941 as the world changed!
“But let all those rejoice who put their trust in You; let them ever shout for joy, because You defend them; let those also who love Your name be joyful in You. For You, O Lord, will bless the righteous; with favor You will surround him as with a shield. Psalms 5:10-12
“When black contralto Marian Anderson performed in Appleton in 1941 she was not allowed to eat dinner in the dining room of the Conway Hotel.”
“Early in 1941 it also became clear that production of passenger cars would need to be cut to save materials for defense purposes. As far as cars were concerned, WWII shut down the industry.”
“Pearl Harbor is a U.S. naval base near Honolulu, Hawaii, that was the scene of a devastating surprise attack by Japanese forces on December 7, 1941.”
Between a sentinel of trees, in the deepest of twilight an image lurks down moon lit path. A chill in the air ruffles thick fur. He is alone. Each step leaves paw prints in the dirt as evidence of his presence, under a dangling moon. He finds a knoll. There he sits waiting as time ticks slowly by until the moon, a blood moon, ascends to its highest point in the autumn sky.
When no one listens, howling wolf calls to another, as blood moon rises.
It is a myth that wolves howl at a full moon. They howl to communicate at anytime. It is thought people noticed their howling more during a full moon, because extra light brings people out at nighttime. We do a lot of howling in our house even on moonless nights!
Jemi felt a chill. She shivered. It was as if a damp shadow encased her. Frostiness, unlike anything she had known, seized her small frame. Even the chilly mornings of Dor could not match this sensation. The coolness of the recent rain did not come close to this frigid feeling. For the first time ever, fear of the unfamiliar filled Jemi. The air loomed with unknown gloom and darkness dropped about her.
Jemi’s head throbbed with pain. Worry filled her mind stealing away any peace God had for her. Hadn’t she just been walking along the coast of Dor staring out at TheGreat Sea on her way to collect water? She had hurried to the new well. It had been raining, raining hard. The merchant’s ships had arrived. Rezin asked her to see his camels. What had happened? Where was Dor?
She tried to lift her body from the ground. Pain seemed to flow like blood through her veins. She whimpered. Then with a slight moan prayed, “Dear God, I suffer and need your strength. Please, Lord, fill me with peace as you did for my ancestor Job.”
Jemi’s Noble Quest (Whispers of Messiah): Coming soon through Amazon Publishing
There has been a tread in the last few decades, yes young writers some of us have been penning words for a very long time, to write a book in first person. Let’s take a look at “why”.
Two older sources below gave some interesting points. Although, as a writer of third person fiction I don’t totally agree. I do however, understand what these sources are attempting to reveal.
The protagonist, the leading character of the book, easily can connect with the reader. Or should I say the reader can connect with the protagonist.
First Person Perks
The reader gets inside the characters head
The reader becomes the “I” in the story and has an emotional reaction
The reader becomes the character’s best friend
All these things are happening because there is no filter, a narrator. The reader attaches with the “I” character and doesn’t need to sit and listen. Or do they?
From 1884-2020 books have been written in first person. One of the oldest being The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
“He was sunshine most always-I mean he made it seem like good weather.”
Attractions to First Person
Comes across as a diary
Who doesn’t want to read a diary? Perhaps, that is the main attraction for writing in first person. It appears the larger audience who are interested in first person books are YA. Maybe in their youth they are struggling to find a future direction. Who knows?
What about third person books? Where do they stand?
From 1884-2020 books have been written in third person. An older example is from Little Women.
“There are many Beth’s in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in corners till needed, and living for others so cheerfully that no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the sweet, sunshiny presence vanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind.”
Third Person Benefits
The narrator can float between characters
The reader can know the thoughts of multiple characters
The reader isn’t limited to one person’s point-of-view
“As the author of a novel, you get to decide who tells your story. Writing in the third-person point of view is like hearing an announcer call a sporting event—a narrator gives a play-by-play of the plot from an outside perspective.”
So who doesn’t want to be a sports narrator? Perhaps, the reader who wants to peek inside a diary. Both first and third person points-of-view have their place on the book shelf.
Will I change my writing to first person? I think not. I like the challenge of third person. It would drive me nuts to continue writing “I” this, “I” that or wherever“I” may lead. The only time I would consider first person book would be a children’s book.
It was ancient, their home, tall and stately. There they stood still staring through the veil of night. Waiting, wondering and watching each taking their turn while others rested.
It was said by many, “In their dreams they sleep with the moon.” But it was of no concern for soon break of day would come. Their silhouettes would stretch wide against cloudless sky.
Silently, with massive wings they would dive to feed. Raw carrion (caribou, cougar, coyote); it made no difference to the vultures. They had waited under a pale moon dreaming of this moment.
One may wonder of their care-free lifestyle. Perhaps if a day, week or year without the work of the messy vulture we would realize their need in our communities. There are stains upon the earth and it’s a vulture’s dirty job to do a janitor’s difficult work.