Memories are fluid. The slightest change in your environment can trigger a recollection from years gone by. Last night as I sat listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Born on the Bayou I found myself feeling nostalgic for the days when I ran barefoot through my yard. In my mind I could almost see the swamp John Fogerty was singing about; feel the humidity drenching me in sweat. I smelled the fecundity of the verdant foliage.

Memories such as those are ripe for turning into short stories and novels. When I write, I immerse myself in the tale and find that I am transported into the scene. It might be the dead of winter and the house is a chilly sixty degrees, but if I’m writing about sweltering heat in the middle of summer, I feel hot and sweaty.

The same thing happens when I read an excellent book or watch a movie. For a few hours I am placed in a world far from my reality. I see, feel, smell, and taste every tidbit presented. All too soon the story ends and I am back home.

Do you ever get so involved in a book that you feel as though you are part of the story?


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