Junk Shops

Each item triggered a memory, each memory, a story.

Photo credit: iStock

By Jeff Cann

Dammit. I can’t find that post. I searched the blog for flea market, junk and vendor. No luck. No patience either. I want to write, not browse someone else’s blog looking for a post I might never find. I read it during my transition phase, shortly after I attended the West Virginia writer’s workshop. I received unexpectedly harsh criticism. Use action verbs! Show, don’t tell! We read our pieces in order, worst to best. I went second.

My writing improved. My reading improved. I became more observant of how others told their tales. I found Nick’s blog. That day he wrote a list, the things he saw at the flea market. He painted a picture, snapped a photo. He showed me the tattered edge of a tapestry, the rust on a knife handle, a stained Persian rug.

I left him a comment. “How do you do that? I want to do that.” I doubt he knew what I meant. Do you? I want the superpower to observe everyday objects and tell stories about them everyone can understand. I want to point out the obvious — so obvious, no one even notices… until you write about them.

Nick’s flea market trick struck me as clever. I could browse a junk shop, camera in hand, and later scan the photos to illustrate my stories. I made a resolution to make this a habit, to…