Barbara Jaffe author writer

Reflections on My Writing, Myself

Barbara Jaffe author writerFrom the time I was a little girl, I knew I wanted to write and I also knew I wanted to write my book. My favorite piece of furniture was my desk. When I got my ‘big girl’ room, my white lacquer 4-drawer desk was my pride and joy. Within the drawers were my diary (in which I wrote daily); my stationery (I loved to write letters); inspirational says (I used to write proverbs, trite but sweet); and a variety of pens and pencils (collected by my dad from dry cleaners and businesses). All this paraphernalia was the foundation and preparation for my future book. My teachers would tell my parents what a wonderful writer I was. I would dream of seeing my name on a hardbound book, always mesmerized by the rows and rows of books in the library. One day I, too, would have a call number under my name! I loved the way books felt, smelled, the way I could turn the pages from the corner with that slight ‘swish’ of a noise. I was on my way to authorhood; I could just feel it. Continue reading “Reflections on My Writing, Myself”

My Brother

After his little brother Jeffrey died, Stephen became an only child again, which wasn’t in the blueprint of our family. Steve was in first grade when I was born, so there are about 6 ½ years between us. I don’t think he planned on having a sister either and I assume he would have liked another buddy to play with, but again, so many unplanned events brought us together as family. As most little sisters, I worshipped my big brother and tried to emulate him in every way. By the time I was old enough to have a sense of my self, he was mostly out the house. In fact, when I was 14, he brought home his wife-to-be, Marilyn, who was to become my sister-in-law and best friend. I remember feeling so upset that I would be losing my sibling to another girl, yet Stephen reminded me that he would always love me and that I would always be his sister. His words have stayed with me my entire life and I know he feels this way today. Continue reading “My Brother”

Reflections on Waiting

It sometimes feels as if I have spent 50% of my life waiting–waiting for people, events, movies to begin…pretty much anything that requires time. The bottom line is, I am always early, and, thus, much of my waiting is self-inflicted. Being early or late likens to the comparison of being a Republican or a Democrat. Most people are one or the other (not including 3rd party, etc….). Being on time, in a sense, has become almost like a religion, as I practice it throughout my days. I can no sooner be late than become a gorilla. On the occasional time that I am running a little late (no more than 5 minutes), I begin to breathe heavily and panic. I know this is a problem and would love to be late once just so I could know that I won’t melt, but being on time comes from eons of programming from long ago and a genetic component. The ‘late gene’ in my family was completely missing. Continue reading “Reflections on Waiting”