Writing 101: Size Matters

Tell us about the home where you lived when you were twelve. Which town, city, or country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home? An airstream or an RV? Who lived there with you?

Today’s twist: pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences as you compose your response about the home you lived in when you were twelve.

**Author’s note** This prompt would do so well for a number of my fictional characters.  I will need to come back to do something like this again, for them, but for today we’ll stay with non-fiction.  Two days in a row!  My characters will think i’ve abandoned them.

Green and white metal covered the outside, but inside our home was as warm and cozy as the wood paneling that covered most of the walls.  It was the only house I remembered.  We had moved from one mobile home to this one when I was two or three years old, but I have no memory of that place.  This is home.  It was a home a shared with my mom and dad, two poodles and as many as fifty parakeets at a time.  I didn’t mind the birds.  Since I am an only child I enjoyed having playmates in my own house, even though they were the feathered kind.

Our home was a humble one.  The trailer had three bedrooms (I used two of them for my sleeping and my playing), two bathrooms, a dine in kitchen and modest living room. My world was centered there.  My bedroom was tucked away on the opposite end of the home from the one my parents shared.  I had been allowed to choose the color for my walls; a pale pink that matched the floral sheets and bedclothes I had also selected.  I missed the bunk beds I had been spoiled with when I was younger but I loved the white and brass day bed that had replaced them.  I felt grown up.  Maybe I wasn’t too grown up though, since I still had stuffed animals covering a fair share of my bed.

The best thing about where I grew up was my neighbors: grandma and grandpa!  Most of the time it felt like we all lived in one big house together.  I was there everyday.  I spent time baking with grandma, eating plums with grandpa and trying, but failing, to stay out of trouble.  Between our two houses, we had a yard that seemed to go on forever.  There was a huge garden too.  Every year I helped plant the corn and the vegetables.  I loved that we didn’t have to plant the strawberries every year.  They were my favorite.  I especially liked it when I was sneaking the fruit of the plants before anyone else knew they were ripe.  When we weren’t workign in the garden, my imagination took me everywhere in the world, though I never left those two plots of land.

At age twelve, I couldn’t have dreamed of living anywhere further than a few blocks from this home I’d always known.  It was my small bedroom in a small house in a small town and I loved it.  Sometimes I wish I could go back to the simplicity that I knew then.  I think I outgrew my imagination.


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