Lovely

Lovely: Here and Now
Love Your City

Chapter 1

First things first,

My name is Bleah (Blay-uh) Briann (bree-ann) and I'm a barely-20-something whose love of writing and people will hopefully culminate this year, through this new venture.

Lovely, Here and There is a project to motivate myself and inspire readers to live in the moment, and to enjoy the place you're in. Whether it's vacationing in your own city, instead of always needing an escape -- or making a point to explore places outside your county lines.

This project will also keep me in practice, writing, as I explore creative non-fiction.

I hope you enjoy everything you see here, and if you’d like to make any contributions to this little space I’d love to highlight how you’re loving your own cities.

It was Christmas Eve, 2015. Crushed leaves hid between the cracks of red bricks on the sidewalks downtown, trampled underfoot by travelers and last minute-shoppers. I carefully balanced a water bottle, convenient store latte, and my lunch for the day while weaving in and out of frantic bodies. I watched and smiled to myself as they jaywalked, hurrying to the mall to my left. I dodged and they ran past, headed to Starbucks for a reboot. And I looked up at the dreary, sleepy sky, grey and awaiting a storm to push through and wake it up.  

I was working tonight downtown at the more than 100 year old newspaper, anticipating another slow and steady night of – well, not much. I spend my evenings at the paper sitting, checking emails, and answering the phone. I also write obituaries, or “Life Features,” a tribute to influential San Antonio residents who have passed away. It’s a morbid task that I didn’t anticipate undertaking, that I didn’t expect to enjoy, one which exceeded my expectations entirely.

I find a lot of solace in my work. I talk to families for an hour or so and just listen. They’re always hesitant to start, they ask me what they should say. My answer is always the same, “whatever you want.” It seems like a flippant thing to say, but that’s not how I mean it. So I explain.

“I just want you to tell me their story, I want you to tell me their story as it relates to you so that other people can experience what you experienced by knowing them. I just want people what it was like to know your mother/father/husband/wife/sister/brother/coworker/friend.”

Or something like that.

I’ve found joy in this little thing I do on Saturdays and every-other Sunday. I feel like I’m doing some good, if only for the family members who read what I write. It doesn’t take long, maybe three or four hours of my shift. The rest of the time I just wait for edits to make their way back to my inbox. I read a book or study for a test.

But on December 24th, 2015 I forgot my book. And school was out. And no one was returning my call for interviews because it’s Christmas eve. And all around me people were frantically trying to finish up their projects, meet their deadlines, complete their edits, and get out of the building. And here I was, until late became later and 2pm became 5pm and the sunset and the stars came out and it began to rain.

I like it there, alone in a 100-plus year old building. It’s a little cluttered, and very old, and surrounded by windows and strange sounds. But I like the solitude. I like the way the not-so-silent-silence induces the kind of thoughts you don’t usually get around to thinking.

San Antonio is nice, it’s calm but rhythmic. It’s exciting but low-key. The people have etched their signature into my heart, and I’ll remember the sound of their footsteps on the red-brick sidewalks long after I leave. And boy, guys, nothing takes your breath away the way a Texas sunset does.