(Untitled) Free Writing By: Eric Blair
I write about a lot of things and lately I have been writing heavy but today I actually don’t want to write about one particular topic. I just want to free write and reflect on a few things in my life, if you don’t mind. One of my earliest memories as a human being/child was my grandmother coming home from work late every night. My grandmother (Mary-Ann Blair) was a cleaning lady also known as maintenance. She really worked hard every night; you know how I know because my sister and I would wait up for her each night to come home. She was exhaust, barely capable to take her shoes and coat off once she hit her bedroom. My sister and I used to help her to take her shoes off as she lied across her bed. I asked my grandmother one day, “Why do you work all the time? Stay home with us.” She replied, “So y’all can have food and clothes to wear.” Then I asked, “You work to become rich?” Mind you; I was only five or six of age asking this fatigued lady all the questions in the world. She replied, “I don’t want to be rich, I just want to be comfortable.”
“I just want to be comfortable.”
That replied have always stuck with me my entire life. I shared this story with you all because I ponder on what was my fuel to get me to this point of my life? I never actually had a life plan for my life; I just followed the wind. I do know this, the first moment I was introduced to the art of storytelling was when I was five or six years old, the nineteen ninety version of Batman the movie. I was mesmerized by the action and the tension of not knowing what was coming next. From that day on I’ve always wanted to feel that feeling if it’s in reading or watching movies. At the age of seven I was also introduced to comic book by my grandmother, she brought him two issues of Spider-man 2099 and Batman from her job. Some guy was going to throw away those comics instead my grandmother asked for them because she knew I would love them and I did! What’s one man’s trash is another boy’s gold. From that day on my awesome grandmother brought me home comic books whenever she could. I do admit, I can’t read every single word but tried with my little heart to read. I read the same comic books over and over until I understood the concept of a story.
My grandmother directed me to the road to my current life.
I have been plotting stories since I was eight years old. I never had the chance to write my ideas down because I had siblings and they would of destroyed everything; so I begun to memorize my stories. The older I become I plotted more and more stories in my head for two reason, I was ashamed to share my ideas with friends because I lived in North Philadelphia, and two, a Black kid reading and wanting to write comic book wasn’t cool. Until I become an adult I kept my true love of not just comic book but the art of storytelling to myself. Hey, that only made me stronger because I am capable of writing whole stories, essays, or scripts in my head before the letters could hit the screen. I was an author of my first comic book by the age of twenty-one. As I write this I am plotting one script and two short stories in my head. I’ve originally want to get everything out of my head and into the people’s minds because ideas and stories has been in my mind for too long. I don’t know when I am going to die or expire so I overly write to leave a legacy forErinand to make my grandmother proud of me. The irony in what I love to do is I will mimic or share life through my writing at times. To be perfectly honest, I was never afraid of death but I have always been afraid of life because it’s just so f*cking complex at times.
My grandmother might have been a cleaning woman once upon a time, so I will stride, try, and die to become something marvelous just for her.
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