Impressionable experiences or stories are incredibly difficult to narrow down. However, one that empowers me the most is one tale told by my Gran, Dorothy Cartwright. My Gran loved to speak of her family, she was proud of them although her husband, Lesley’s side casted her out from them. One of the people she was mostly proud of was her brother Bill Cartwright. Bill was a young writer who tried his very best to be successfully published. During this time when he was growing up he drank numerous amounts each day, which was vastly popular within that time period. He spent the most of his youth and young adulthood writing his novel, he expressed his cheeky personality into his writing. My Gran was always enlightened with Bill’s charisma, which made him into the cheeky chap he was. Bill and Dorothy grew up in the old homely home, which she still calls home. Her house holds many memories inside that have made my Gran into the most headstrong women I know. Numerous publishers, as my Gran recalls declined Bill’s book, regrettably by the explicit content that was bind in one book. In that year it was deeply frowned upon for any racy books to be written, it was unknowledgeable to anyone. This is saddening, as I would love with passion to read the words that Bill once brilliantly wrote. A writer’s personality and characteristics reflect within their work. My Gran never had the chance to read his book as it became missing and susceptibly remains with his own family. Bill died at a young age by a heart attack, this shown that he never had the happiness of any writers dream by being rightfully published. My Gran’s love for Bill and his passion for writing impressed my incredibly by sharing the same interests as myself. It is said it’s likely aspirations get passed down in generations.
4th November 2013
Lydia S Jones