I've working on a couple different writing pieces lately: a middle-grade novel that's mostly done and just needs a bit of tweaking here and there and the paper doll novel.

As I lay in bed last night I started thinking and remember and reexperiencing, in a sense, my growing up years. I thought about and felt what it was like to be in elementary school. I remembered things I'd forgotten or hadn't thought about in years. I thought about my teachers and my friends and how this life works out in such a funny way.

It was good, and I hope I can recapture some of these feelings again -- good for writing and all that, no matter how hard it may be.

In any event, I guess that's why it was only a moderate surprise to receive an e-mail from my oldest friend, Luke, who's currently in Guyana in the Peace Corps. He wrote to tell me his grandmother, one of my third grade teachers, had passed away. Such a sad thing, though her health has been poor for some time.

She was one of the most hated teachers in my elementary school. Actually, probably the most hated. But she and I always got along very well. She was always very kind to me. She taught me one of my earliest important lessons about writing fiction: always be clear about the change in scene/location of your characters. I wrote a short story about a little mouse named Chippy who ends up in a violin. I had neglected to mention at which point Chippy enters the violin and so I received a C+ for the story instead of an A. She was strict and didn't put up with a lot, but she was a good teacher and I thought a great deal of her. Personal perspective is such an odd thing.

So I need to e-mail Luke, though I'm not quite sure what to say.