Thought I'd change gears a bit. I was thinking (yeah, it happens on occasion, LOL) about emotions and how a writer solicits emotions in their work. Sometimes it's very hard to guage reader response to something I'm working on because I've read the piece so many times, it ceases to engage my own emotions. I try to show what I think the character must be experiencing. But - dang, wouldn't it be nice to have a richter scale for testing the emotional level in one's writing.
While I was dwelling on this issue, I thought about my first kiss. I can still feel the same emotions that coursed through my body whenever I think of that one moment in time. I was fourteen and it was my first time at church camp. None of the same kids from my church had signed up for the particular session and for a shy girl like me, I thought I would have a miserable week with no friends.
But that wasn't the case. One of my cabin mates introduced me to Greg. Oh wow. I hadn't had any boyfriends until this moment, but Greg and I developed an instant friendship that grew very quickly into more.
It started innocently enough. He started holding my hand as we walked to the cafeteria. Warmth flowed from his fingertips onto my skin, seeping into the deep crevices of my untouched heart. He didn't care that I was awkward, that my skin wasn't clear or that my hair was a frizzy mess of curls. We talked, we laughed and we shared.
That night, he walked me to my cabin. With his hand on my shoulder, he asked if he could kiss me. I stammered. A kiss? I'd never been kissed? "I . . . yes." What else could I say? And then, he lowered his lips to mine. I kept my eyes open, afraid to move. Oh God, he was kissing me. My stomach quivered and goosebumps trailed along my back, but I was in heaven. I closed my eyes and savored the moment.
We shared more stolen kisses that week, an innocent expression of puppy love. I often wonder what became of my red-headed, freckle-faced first love.
Tell me about your first kiss.