< The Latest 2025-08-31T13:47:32+0000
The Pasadena Star-News | Sun 08/31 06:47am PST | Patricia Bunin
Even now, well over 50 years after I wrote the story, I think of it as a gift from … I am not sure where. It just wrapped itself in a ribbon in my mind and said, “Open me.”
After weeks of work, I had completed my short story for my high school’s writing contest. Suddenly, the day before it was due, an entirely new story appeared in my head. It came to me with such intensity and detail that I had to write it, and after I wrote it, I knew that was the story I should enter in the contest.
It was about a young girl whose father dies and comes back to visit her in the form of a lone blossom on their cherry tree long after its blooming time. In reality, my father was still alive, we had never had a cherry tree, and yet the story haunted me.
“Are you sure?” my mother asked, confused as much by the content as by my last-minute changing streams. She liked the first story and thought it might win. But a completely new piece in less than 24 hours was a different story.
Yet to me, it was the real story.
Even as I lay awake that night thinking about how I could improve it, something I do to this day with my writing, there was nothing I wanted to change. “Tight writing,” my English teacher called it.
When I left for school the next morning, Mom was standing at the front door of our house holding the original story. “Are you sure you want to enter the new one?” she asked.
Although there were many things I was not sure about during my teenage years, I knew this story was the best I had to offer at the time. That feeling of confidence became my touchstone. When it presented itself, I could move past obstacles, even when it meant tossing aside a piece on which I had spent a lot of time. As the years passed, the trash bin next to my desk kept me honest. “This one didn’t make it,” I would sigh as I pulled sheets of paper from the roller of my portable Remington typewriter. If the paper stuck, I wondered if it was a sign, “Maybe I should reread this?”
Although “The Late Cherry Blossom” did place first, I grew to understand that winning the contest was not the big deal it felt like at the time. It was learning to trust myself. Yes, the five-dollar award check thrilled me. I framed it and hung it in my room. Having it presented by the principal on the school’s loudspeaker was exciting. So was my five minutes of fame as classmates congratulated me.
However, the real lesson was what my English teacher told me.
“Don’t rest on your laurels,” she said. “Keep moving forward.”
And here I am.
Email patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net . Follow her on Patriciabunin.com