October, 1987, New York/Sydney, Australia
I do not remember the first word I ever spoke but I do remember the first time words became special to me. It was the may of 1977. I must have been around ten years old. My mother brought home a book. It was a present for a friend. I only started reading because I had a cold and mom wouldn't let me outside. It was filled with words and as I read I saw a pattern form between one sentence and the next. I was striked at the amount of phrases and letters I had never come across before.
"Mom, what's a firecracker?"
"Mom, what's a Venice?"
"Mom, what does an accountant do?"
I expand my vocabulary the more I red.
"Mother, please define the meaning of the word irony."
"Mother, would you be so kind and explain to me what impeccably means?"
I let myself drift into a different world as I read. I explored hidden parts in my brain where I could crawl in and be someone else for a while.
The obsession with words grew as I developed into the early teen years. When I had read every book in the house I would go on to the old newspapers we had kept through the years. I learned about the Second World war and when there were no more papers left I moved on to my School books. I learned to read mathematics even though I did not understand them, I read about the enzymes in the biology book and I learned extremely much about the periodic system because I read the physics book twice. When I was out of nonfiction I read the grocery lists, the labels on my clothing, I read everything I came across. Still, there was a time when I ran out of things to read. I searched the house but I found nothing I hadn't red before. Dad found me while I was searching the pile of old newspapers.
"What are you doing, son?"
I told him my frustration and he kneeled so our eyes were on the same level. He told me "it might be time for you to start writing your own stories then."
And that's how I discovered words for the second time. I started writing my own clothing labels as a start
100 % polyester
Wasted by 20 degrees Celsius
Made in India
20 % silk
80 % cotton
Hand washed in luke warm water.
Made in Austin Texas on a ranch
Special edition
99, 5 % fabric, 0,5 % unknown materials
May only be washed in the Hudson River at midnight in May
Made by silkeworms in China
I found it entertaining to write my own clothing labels but it did not take me very long and I quickly ran out of ideas. Then, I started writing newspaper columns like my father.
Local storm spreads panic in office
Written by Henry Martin Brown
On Tuesday the 19th of January a very strange and local storm spread panic across a law office in Sydney. Twenty office workers went to work Tuesday morning blissfully unaware of the dangers they were about to face. Everything went as usual in the office until around 02:30 (1) in the afternoon when it suddenly started raining inside the office.
This was quite surprising for everyone in the office and it only became weirder when a storm suddenly began.
"For the first few minutes we were all pretty confused," tells lawyer and office worker, Ted Jameson. "No one really knew what was going on. We tried to collect our stuff and make sure nothing got wet when the storm began. At first it was just a gentle wind but it quickly developed into a mini tornado. Papers were flying everywhere, people were screaming around me and the rain was so strong I couldn't see anything." Ted shutters by the sheer thought and is unable to finish the interview.
Three of Ted's coworkers are currently hospitalized with severe damage to their throat, chest and arms caused by huge paper cuts. One, a woman named Terry Rosegard is balancing between life and death. Our prayers go out to Rose and the other victims of this terrible disaster.
While it was amusing I still wanted to write something else. I missed details and descriptions and characters. I had to face the thing I feared the most at the time. I had to write my own story. It took me two days of mental preparation, one day in which I would look at the blank page for hours before I could gather enough courage to put my fingers on the typer and write.
My first ever story went like this:
The Story of the Moon Fish by Henry, December, 1980
There once was a cat called Arty. It was black as ink with eyes yellow as the sun. One day Ary went to sit his owner's roof and look at the dark blue heaven. It looked like the ocean and Arty wondered where all the fish were. Every night Arty returned to the roof to see if the fish had arrived.
One night, when Arty was just about to give up all hope of ever see a fish, something orange made its way on the heaven. Arty's sharp eyes followed the creature and when it came closer could Arty see what it was; a fish; A brilliant fish with sapphire blue eyes.
The fish was a lot bigger than Arty and it swam around in the sky while flapping its tail playfully. Arty watched the fish curiously. He was hungry but he could not bring himself to eat this beautiful creature who just wanted to play.
Arty titled his head to the side and wondered if he could also swim in heavens pool and carefully he stepped out in the free air. But he didn't fell! There was solid ground under his feet and by moving his paws he quickly learned how to swim around.
Arty played with the orange moonfish all night long but when the sun rose to the heaven it swam away. Arty looked sadly after his new playmate but then he heard his owner call and hurried into his house. But that very night he went back to the room and let out a long meow and it didn't took long before the orange fish showed up again.
It led Arty to this big silvery ball and they swam around it night after night. All Arty had to do was meow then the strange fish would arrive
I wrote it and red it, and re-wrote it and re-read it. I changed every word in the story, the Moon Fish became a midnight Fish, I changed the name of the cat every day and when I was not able to write my story I would think about the next changes I would make. No one ever read my story. Not even my father. It was too personal. I felt like the story had become an intimate part of who I was and I compared the thought of anyone reading it to standing naked in front of a crowd. The fear of anyone ever coming across my writing was so intense that I hid all my stories in old shoe boxes underneath my bed.
In the year of 1982 I met a girl in the park. I was writing in the grass because my story was about nature so I wanted to feel as close to the earth as possible.
She sat down next to me and asked me what I was writing. I got so scared I could not force a word over my lips.
She looked me in the eyes. "It's fine," she said. Her voice was soothing but she talked to me as if I was a child even though she looked my age. "You don't have to tell me. I was just being nosy. I'm sorry."
I put my papers down with the writing facing down. "Its fine," I pushed the words out. At that time I was very shy. "I won't tell you what I'm writing for it's private, but you can sit here with me."
"I would like that."
She sat down in the grass next to me. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail which did not look very comfortable at all. She had a small nose and bony knees.
"My name is Henry," I told her. It took me a while to form the sentence. I was not use to talking to anyone other than my parents and I didn't even speak to them a lot.
"I'm Patricia." She jerked up a handful of grass.
"Don't treat nature like that," I said, sounding angrier than I was. "It's the most innocent thing of all because it depends on our treatment of it."
Patricia looked down at the grass in her hand. She looked guilty. "I never thought of it that way before."
"It's alright. It's just how I see it, anyway."
Since that day she became my best and only friend.
A/N: End of chapter one. I really hope it was somewhat entertaining to read. If you've made it this far won't you please write a comment and tell me you thoughts - good and bad.I don't know how many chapters this story will consist of yet as it is a work in progress but I have a good feel about it. Also, if you are confused about anything it'll probably be answered later on but don't hestitate to ask me!
(1) I don't know if I wrote the time (02:30) correctly. That's how we do it in Denmark, but I'm not sure if it works the same in Australia.
October, 1987, New York/Sydney, Australia
I do not remember the first word I ever spoke but I do remember the first time words became special to me. It was the may of 1977. I must have been around ten years old. My mother brought home a book. It was a present for a friend. I only started reading because I had a cold and mom wouldn't let me outside. It was filled with words and as I read I saw a pattern form between one sentence and the next. I was striked at the amount of phrases and letters I had never come across before.
"Mom, what's a firecracker?"
"Mom, what's a Venice?"
"Mom, what does an accountant do?"
I expand my vocabulary the more I red.
"Mother, please define the meaning of the word irony."
"Mother, would you be so kind and explain to me what impeccably means?"
I let myself drift into a different world as I read. I explored hidden parts in my brain where I could crawl in and be someone else for a while.
The obsession with words grew as I developed into the early teen years. When I had read every book in the house I would go on to the old newspapers we had kept through the years. I learned about the Second World war and when there were no more papers left I moved on to my School books. I learned to read mathematics even though I did not understand them, I read about the enzymes in the biology book and I learned extremely much about the periodic system because I read the physics book twice. When I was out of nonfiction I read the grocery lists, the labels on my clothing, I read everything I came across. Still, there was a time when I ran out of things to read. I searched the house but I found nothing I hadn't red before. Dad found me while I was searching the pile of old newspapers.
"What are you doing, son?"
I told him my frustration and he kneeled so our eyes were on the same level. He told me "it might be time for you to start writing your own stories then."
And that's how I discovered words for the second time. I started writing my own clothing labels as a start
100 % polyester
Wasted by 20 degrees Celsius
Made in India
20 % silk
80 % cotton
Hand washed in luke warm water.
Made in Austin Texas on a ranch
Special edition
99, 5 % fabric, 0,5 % unknown materials
May only be washed in the Hudson River at midnight in May
Made by silkeworms in China
I found it entertaining to write my own clothing labels but it did not take me very long and I quickly ran out of ideas. Then, I started writing newspaper columns like my father.
Local storm spreads panic in office
Written by Henry Martin Brown
On Tuesday the 19th of January a very strange and local storm spread panic across a law office in Sydney. Twenty office workers went to work Tuesday morning blissfully unaware of the dangers they were about to face. Everything went as usual in the office until around 02:30 (1) in the afternoon when it suddenly started raining inside the office.
This was quite surprising for everyone in the office and it only became weirder when a storm suddenly began.
"For the first few minutes we were all pretty confused," tells lawyer and office worker, Ted Jameson. "No one really knew what was going on. We tried to collect our stuff and make sure nothing got wet when the storm began. At first it was just a gentle wind but it quickly developed into a mini tornado. Papers were flying everywhere, people were screaming around me and the rain was so strong I couldn't see anything." Ted shutters by the sheer thought and is unable to finish the interview.
Three of Ted's coworkers are currently hospitalized with severe damage to their throat, chest and arms caused by huge paper cuts. One, a woman named Terry Rosegard is balancing between life and death. Our prayers go out to Rose and the other victims of this terrible disaster.
While it was amusing I still wanted to write something else. I missed details and descriptions and characters. I had to face the thing I feared the most at the time. I had to write my own story. It took me two days of mental preparation, one day in which I would look at the blank page for hours before I could gather enough courage to put my fingers on the typer and write.
My first ever story went like this:
The Story of the Moon Fish by Henry, December, 1980
There once was a cat called Arty. It was black as ink with eyes yellow as the sun. One day Ary went to sit his owner's roof and look at the dark blue heaven. It looked like the ocean and Arty wondered where all the fish were. Every night Arty returned to the roof to see if the fish had arrived.
One night, when Arty was just about to give up all hope of ever see a fish, something orange made its way on the heaven. Arty's sharp eyes followed the creature and when it came closer could Arty see what it was; a fish; A brilliant fish with sapphire blue eyes.
The fish was a lot bigger than Arty and it swam around in the sky while flapping its tail playfully. Arty watched the fish curiously. He was hungry but he could not bring himself to eat this beautiful creature who just wanted to play.
Arty titled his head to the side and wondered if he could also swim in heavens pool and carefully he stepped out in the free air. But he didn't fell! There was solid ground under his feet and by moving his paws he quickly learned how to swim around.
Arty played with the orange moonfish all night long but when the sun rose to the heaven it swam away. Arty looked sadly after his new playmate but then he heard his owner call and hurried into his house. But that very night he went back to the room and let out a long meow and it didn't took long before the orange fish showed up again.
It led Arty to this big silvery ball and they swam around it night after night. All Arty had to do was meow then the strange fish would arrive
I wrote it and red it, and re-wrote it and re-read it. I changed every word in the story, the Moon Fish became a midnight Fish, I changed the name of the cat every day and when I was not able to write my story I would think about the next changes I would make. No one ever read my story. Not even my father. It was too personal. I felt like the story had become an intimate part of who I was and I compared the thought of anyone reading it to standing naked in front of a crowd. The fear of anyone ever coming across my writing was so intense that I hid all my stories in old shoe boxes underneath my bed.
In the year of 1982 I met a girl in the park. I was writing in the grass because my story was about nature so I wanted to feel as close to the earth as possible.
She sat down next to me and asked me what I was writing. I got so scared I could not force a word over my lips.
She looked me in the eyes. "It's fine," she said. Her voice was soothing but she talked to me as if I was a child even though she looked my age. "You don't have to tell me. I was just being nosy. I'm sorry."
I put my papers down with the writing facing down. "Its fine," I pushed the words out. At that time I was very shy. "I won't tell you what I'm writing for it's private, but you can sit here with me."
"I would like that."
She sat down in the grass next to me. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail which did not look very comfortable at all. She had a small nose and bony knees.
"My name is Henry," I told her. It took me a while to form the sentence. I was not use to talking to anyone other than my parents and I didn't even speak to them a lot.
"I'm Patricia." She jerked up a handful of grass.
"Don't treat nature like that," I said, sounding angrier than I was. "It's the most innocent thing of all because it depends on our treatment of it."
Patricia looked down at the grass in her hand. She looked guilty. "I never thought of it that way before."
"It's alright. It's just how I see it, anyway."
Since that day she became my best and only friend.
A/N: End of chapter one. I really hope it was somewhat entertaining to read. If you've made it this far won't you please write a comment and tell me you thoughts - good and bad.I don't know how many chapters this story will consist of yet as it is a work in progress but I have a good feel about it. Also, if you are confused about anything it'll probably be answered later on but don't hestitate to ask me!
(1) I don't know if I wrote the time (02:30) correctly. That's how we do it in Denmark, but I'm not sure if it works the same in Australia.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
