Ghosts

My oldest was again in a boyscout camp, so I was alone this weekend with my youngest. It was that way last week also, except we went to part of the campout to watch my oldest get Order of the Arrow. My youngest is in the same troop, but would rather be with his dad than camping out. We had to study all weekend then and now too, for the TAKS.

So, I'm writing my ghost story now, and actually several stories that I've started or planned have ghosts involved. It seems coincidental to me, but maybe more Freudian. I noticed Friday morning an advertisement on CBS about ghosts for a weekly, Ghost Whisperer. So me and my youngest watched it together. I didn't enjoy it very much. I have to be a good writer to get anything excited about anyway, but I don't have to be as good as I thought, going by the show.

Then we watched Field Of Dreams, with of course, baseball ghosts. Still intriguing overall, to think about. With research on the subject through the years I read about some things that happened to me that I had told a few very intimates about, thinking people would think me crazy, things that happened even as I was very small, sure I must be making up, and then I read about it in adulthood, that others claim does happen, to sensitives.

I decided to tell my youngest a little of it, since we were on the subject watching the shows. He just sat there, and I guess believed me, since I'm his dad and acted like it really did happen. I left out the most bizarre, things I was certain no one would believe, the old, oh yeah, sure it did, right.

The first person I ever tried to tell the most bizarre to believed me point blank. Shocked the total hell out of me. Even used terminology on me about it. I brought it up again, sort of an encore performance to the same person twenty years later, just to check out again, and still trying to believe it did happen to me. Same response, same terminologies thrown at me. Now, I'm reading the exact same stuff thrown at me in books I'm researching.

And in my story, I'm also using some incidences that my little sister told me when I came home from the service. Bizarre things that happened to her while I was overseas. She had such vivid memories and the stories were so real/surreal, that we were scared out of our minds as she related it even as a memory. If we could get so scared just talking about it, what must she have gone through as it was happening. We were so scared in fact, we went to the bathroom together, one hiding their eyes in a corner turned away as one relieved themselves, then the other. Then we slept together in the same bed, scared to sleep alone, even afraid of how all this looked or sounded. I mean scared, just from stories she related. I'm using some of her stories in my novel.

So, I do feel, the better I am writing it, the better chance I have, of course, but I am haunted, for lack of a better word, by all the guffaws all the normals have so easily on the subject, of which I don't blame them. I guess it shouldn't be easy. All the more challenge to do it good. Best.

I'm more and more beginning to believe it. Not really it, but something. That things do exist in this direction in some form. And I'm putting it down, in fiction, hoping to make it sound real.