Lucia

The photo keeps going after the shutter

One photo, kept the way a 1970s scrapbook kept things

Describe the home you grew up in. Get the photograph of it.

The monster under the bed is too scared to come out

Your grandmother's hands and yours, in one photograph

Your kid's most battered soft toy, carved as a ship's figurehead

Interview your parents before the stories are gone

Describe your parent in a few sentences. Back comes a 15-question interview list built for them, ordered from the easy openers to the heavy ones.

Turn a memory into a comic page

The torn-up note, taped back together

Describe your childhood imaginary friend. Portrait, at last.

The flying dream, photographed from your own street

Photograph the thing they gave you, still in use. That is a better thank-you than a text.

You, standing next to your mother at the age you are now

the four shiniest keys on my keyboard are a full confession

Write to the friend you lost track of 30 years ago

Say who they were to you, how it went quiet, and one memory only the two of you have. The letter opens with that memory, not the apology.

Turn my rambling memories into a chapter my grandkids will read

Ramble a memory in, out of order and tangents included. Back comes one shaped chapter in your own words, plus three questions for the next draft.