Just last night I was reading an unfinished story of mine, which I had written when I was feeling much more grown up and sober. (I mean, I am naturally a very sober person, who just gets popped into a zany mood occasionally.)
Sometimes I get into a state where I regard all my surroundings, and the whole world, really, with rather distant benevolence, and look upon it with a mixture of amazed approval and sad disappointment. It was on one of these occasions that I wrote the Emily story. It isn't first person—I hadn't yet got comfortable with that style—but it follows Emily rather closely, and is most definitely from her point of view.
Emily is a college professor. She lives with her former husband, who is sick. He dies, early in the story, and she heads out West by herself. Soon she finds herself rescuing a mother and daughter duo. Emily is, sort of, in the same mode of universal benevolence that I'm getting into—or rather, she's approaching that state. A lot of the story is the attitude of all three people to kids; the little girl meets kids at various campgrounds; the mother observes the daughter's interaction with her little friends; and Emily watches all of this. Emily is childless, BTW.
Well, I'll either have to put in a massive piece of labor to complete the story properly, or just finish it any old how and upload it.
K
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