Leaping Stories

Stories are everywhere, you just have to be open to seeing them. I read somewhere once that there are a million stories around us at any given time and that writers are capable of seeing just a few hundred of them, if even that many. Being aware of that possibility that my next story idea could be right around the corner has left me open and made me observe more.
One thing I’ve observed is this house I pass every day on the way to work. For some reason, something about it this week drew my eye and set my imagination to jumping. Imagine it with me.
Fall has set in here and trees surround the house. The yard is covered in the brightly colored fallen soldiers most people call leaves. The house is an adorable two story deal, white, with a front porch that begs for a good rocking chair. There’s a shed in the back that makes you think of Saturdays piddling around with your dad.
Nestled right next to the ditch, within sight of the road, a sign sways in the autumn breeze, black spikes struck deep in the ground to hold it up. It proudly reads “Our daughter is Army strong.” There’s such a sense of honor and duty to that single sign, but a feeling of abandonment hangs over the place when the sun casts its shadow through the trees. It makes you wonder what happened there, where is everybody?
There’s a story there. The excitement is that it might not be the story anyone would ever expect. Your job as a writer is to figure out the pieces of it and put it all together.
I don’t know if anyone lives in that little white house or not, truly. But it was the venue through which a story jumped out at me, on a sleepy weekday morning.

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