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
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