Writing Resolutions

Happy New Year, one and all. It’s hard to believe this century is settling in so fast. I recently realized that when I hear the term “last century,” I now think of the 1900s rather than the 1800s. That means the collective memory I’ve acquired from my family (things I know of great-grandparents and their adventures), together with my personal memories, spans three centuries. That gives me a lot to write about!

Speaking of writing, I hope that sometime today or tomorrow, you’ll have a few quiet moments to join me, at least in spirit, with a pad of paper, your favorite pen, and maybe a cuppa whatever to jot down some writing resolutions for 2007.

I managed to squeak under the wire on one of my 2006 resolutions: the manuscript for The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing is ready to go to the printer on Tuesday for galley proofs. Talk about cutting it close! That’s the power of a resolution, backed up by a deadline of commitments. No formal release date has been set for the final copies, but I’ll keep you posted.

One of my resolutions for 2007 is to fully participate in the Story Circle Network. I’ve been receiving the monthly Story Circle e-mail newsletter for quite awhile and finally decided to join. I had no idea this would be such a thriving and active on-line writing community! I’m putting a link to the website on the blog here, so anyone can refer back.

Perhaps some of you out there would like to join me at the Story Circle sponsored LifeWriting Retreat at Round Rock, Texas, March 16-18. It’s led by Susan Albert, author of the acclaimed China Bayles mystery series among other things. I love mysteries, and China is one of my favorite characters, so I'm dying to hear Susan's writing secrets!

I’m including a resolution about getting stories and articles published this year — pursuit of publication is something I’ve let slide, and I want to get back to it.

You’ll surely resolve to do a certain amount of writing this coming year, perhaps by schedule, perhaps by numbers of completed stories. Now I’m encouraging you to “think off the paper” to find writing groups, workshops, books of writing tips, and anything else you can think of to lend sparkle and zest to your writing. Stick your list somewhere you’ll see it often so it will keep you on track. I think you’ll be delighted with the results.

Don’t forget, writing should always come first. None of the rest matters if you aren’t writing! Keep those fingers flying.

Here’s to stacks and piles of scintillating tales accumulated over the next 365 days.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Christmases Long, Long Ago

As I sat wrapping gifts this afternoon, I thought back through several decades to Christmases Long, Long Ago. When I was growing up we nearly always wrapped gifts on Mother’s bed. Don’t ask me why we used that unstable location — probably because their bedroom also served as the family room, with Mother’s sewing center and Daddy’s desk located in there.

Today I pulled out some ancient ribbon I’ve had stashed away for decades. Readers over fifty may remember the kind that had glossy fibers bonded to a duller base. In the olden days we formed our own bows from loops of this ribbon. We cut notches in the center, tied a thin ribbon tightly inside the loops, then pulled them out, alternating sides and twisting to create a full, puffy bow. These were far more elegant than the preformed plastic decorations in common use today.

I took pains with the wrapping, turning edges under to make crisp, straight seams, and folding the ends with origami precision. The finished packages are so lovely, it seems a shame that they’ll soon be ripped open.

Then I remembered the thrill of crouching beneath the tree, pondering each new gift that appeared, wondering what treasures it might hold. Unfortunately most were generally a disappointment when the day arrived. Wondering was the best part.

Thinking of the tree, I remembered various trees through the years, and the ritual of decorating them. First the lights were strung, then the various ornaments carefully placed. That involved lots of discussion to ensure that the colors and shapes were nicely distributed and balanced around the tree. Finally, we fastidiously placed silver icicles on each and every branch tip. It was a point of honor in our family to place no more than three strands at a time, spacing them carefully to give a uniform shimmering coat to the tree. “Some people just toss them on by the handful!” Mother disdainfully reminded us to reinforce the proper attitude in her young assistants.

Stockings, various candles, table adornments and wreaths followed the tree decorating. We even put up green fishnet draped along the staircase wall, decorated with shiny Christmas balls. Turning the front window into “stained glass” with poster paint powder mixed with soap flakes or something like that was great fun!

Today as I wrapped, this time on my kitchen table, the fragrance of Date Nut Loaf wafted from the oven, turning my thoughts to Christmas foods. We didn’t do cookies, we did candy.

Suddenly I thought of stories. I might have dropped everything to come to the computer and write, but I didn’t have to. I’ve already written these stories. How about you? Have you documented Christmas Long Ago for your family? If you don’t have time in the next few days, perhaps you can use the lovely glowing days after Christmas to do some writing.

Some of you may not celebrate Christmas, but you can’t help being impacted by it. How about some stories for your family about Hanukah or your holiday of tradition, and stories about your experiences as a non-participant in the major holiday of the year.

Have a blessed Christmas. I’m taking a break for a few days, but I'll be back soon.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

How Did You Handle It?

One of the blogs I keep track of is Soul Blessings, written by Tara, a self-described eclectic thinker. Her most recent post posed a puzzler. A friend is engaging in risky and rebellious behavior at work and reporting on it in detail to Tara. Tara is puzzling over her most honest and appropriate course of action. I’ll leave it to you to read the post and to make your own decision.

I include the link here because sooner or later everyone faces a similar dilemma. You may not have had to decide about ratting on Bill Clinton’s equivalent, but you may have known that someone is abusing public or corporate trust in other ways. Perhaps you knew a friend was cheating on a spouse. Perhaps you covered for someone.

Would you respond the same way again, or has your point of view changed with age? Stories of your experience with situations like this are self-instructive, and potentially a great way of conveying a value to others. These stories are also a powerful way of gaining insight and clearing the way for forgiveness and understanding.

Your situation may not involve ratting on behavior that’s specifically against the rules. You may have dealt with unfair treatment, or other distressing conditions. Perhaps you worked for the Boss From Hell, or worked with the Client From Hell, as I did at one point. I’ve written stacks and piles about that period, and added nearly as many afterward notes as original text. Rereading the stories always provokes new insights for me. I will not ever share these stories publicly.

Whether you share them or not, I urge you to write these.

The end of the year is an especially powerful time to write stories like this. For many of us, the last week in December is a time for reflection, self-assessment and planning. It’s a time of making resolutions of both physical and spiritual nature. Stories of conflict, with yourself as well as others, can be a powerful part of this process.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

All My Little Teapots

The other day a friend gave me a guided tour of her collection of teapots that fill several shelves in her dining room. This one was from China, and another was over a hundred years old. She found a fancy one with a rose pattern in an antique shop in London. An exquisite Belleek pot occupied a special place. As she showed me each one, she took it from the shelf and fondled it like a pet while she told how she came to have it.

“These teapots are like windows on your life. Each has quite a story to it. Have you written them down?” I finally asked.

“No. Now and then I think of it, but I just never seem to get around to it.” She paused. “I think one of the reasons I’ve delayed starting is not knowing how to go about it,” she finally admitted.

“Don’t try to do this all at once,” I cautioned her. “Just do one pot at a time. Pick any pot, put it on the table in front of you and sit down with a blank piece of paper and pen. Write a short note telling how you came to have this teapot. Did you buy it yourself? Where did you find it? What was the shop like? How did it catch your eye? What made it special? Was it a bargain or a splurge?”

She looked intrigued. “That doesn’t sound so hard. I think I could do that, but surely there’s more to it than that.”

“There doesn’t have to be. Just getting the place and price down would be valuable. But I can tell by the way you hold these pots that they each have special meaning for you; the more of this meaning you include in their stories, the more interesting the pots will be to future owners. Have you ever wondered what their lives were like before you found each other?”

She was nodding eagerly, so I went on to suggest that she include details of occasions when she used that specific teapot. What memories of friends were associated with each? Did one make tea taste different from another? What would make her chose any given pot on a particular day?

Beyond that was the matter of arranging the finished stories. She liked the idea of an album she planned to name “All My Little Teapots,” with a picture of one pot on each page, and the story of that pot pasted beside it with lovely scrapbooking paper to set it off. If the story was a long one, and a few would be, she would allow more pages in the album for it. She quickly realized that she’d need a rather large album, because she’d need to tell the stories of the friends and relatives who gave her the pots, and the trips she’d taken to find others.

“I’m so excited about this now! I can’t wait to get started!” From the far-away look in her eyes, I could tell that her muse was paying a get-acquainted visit, and I’d best get out of the way.

I can’t wait to read the stories she writes. Do you have a collection or few around your house? You can add value to the collection by recording its story, and just think what a great excuse it is to spend time with each item. Don’t let it gather another coat of dust before you set pen to paper.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Truth, Or Spoof? It's Your Call

Yesterday I wrote a story about the time decades ago that I first made tostadas for dinner and invited my parents to share the meal. To go with the tostadas, I made fresh salsa of home-grown tomatoes and jalapeño peppers grown from seedlings my father had started. The highlight of the story was my horror as I watched my father enthusiastically drench his dinner with this fiery sauce, and then react explosively. He hadn’t realized it was home-made!

As I reread the story, I realized that although it made me ravenously hungry for a tostada, the horror and reaction were confined to three or four sentences, and fundamentally, it was a lackluster piece of work. What could I do? Give it a snappier opening and closing!

My original opening was:

The second or third summer after my parents moved to Richland, my father grew jalapeño pepper plants from seed and gave us a few starter plants for our garden. Those plants thrived in the narrow bed along the back of the house where they had full sun every summer afternoon. By the time they were ripe, they were hot as a pistol.

I changed this to read:

I never guessed that the seedling jalapeño pepper plants my father gave us for our garden might prove to be the cause of his early demise. Those plants….

The original ending was:

…He managed to scrape off most of the spicy mixture, and we all enjoyed the new dish immensely.

The new one read:

…We all laughed. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I laughed with relief that my father had not succumbed to his own chili at my hand.

The new opening and closing are definitely snappier, and the writing group I shared the two versions with with heartily endorsed the second. There’s just one problem: the revision may be more esthetically pleasing, but — the ending isn’t entirely honest and true to my recollection. The first one is.

I use this story to illustrate a dilemma life story writers may face as we strive to become more creative and polished. We can polish the life and truth right out of the story. These are the times we need to bluntly ask ourselves, “Am I writing this story primarily to entertain people, or to tell it like it was?” The answer matters, and our readers will know the difference.

If the balance weighs in on the side of entertainment, then why let a few facts get in the way of a good story? Go for the gusto and laughs and polish up that ending. In fact, polishing it to an obvious spoof may be a desirable option. If you are telling things like they were, stick with the truth.

Truth, or spoof? It’s your call. Just be clear with yourself about which side of the fence you’re on.

You’ll know when it matters, to yourself and to the future, and you’ll always be true in those moments.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

The Lulu Solution

In the recent past, few people could afford to spend the money to have formally bound copies of their finished lifestory projects made for their families. If you did have them professionally printed and bound, you had to decide ahead of time how many copies you wanted, and that was the end of it.

With the advent of POD (Print On Demand) publishing, all of that has changed. You can order a single copy of a professionally printed and bound book, hard bound or paperback, for no more than you would pay off-the-shelf at a bookstore. But, let the buyer beware. Few of the POD publishers are well-suited for working with individuals. Most charge a minimum of $500 for setting a book up.

Enter Lulu.com. Without investing a single cent, you can order as many or as few copies as you wish of a professionally printed and bound 250 page paperback book, with your choice of cover design (they have templates to help you set one up) and several pages sizes, for a mere $7.53 (as of December 2006), plus shipping. Imagine — you can order a single copy, just one, of a book you wrote yourself! That’s about the same price as photocopying it yourself.

If there is a catch to all this, it would be the need to get all the formatting in order yourself. You do the proofreading; you do the editing, you do the layout. Most projects are simple enough that you can handle this yourself with your word processing program, especially if you have a copy of the soon-to-be-released The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing, by yours truly. In the final chapter I give you step-by-step instructions for the layout process. You upload your finished file to the Lulu website where it’s converted to a PDF file (think Acrobat Reader) for printing.

For an additional fee, Lulu will provide layout and editing services if you want to pay for help. If you wish, Lulu will list your book on their website so other people can order copies. You set the cover price with any amount of markup you wish (or none at all), and Lulu keeps 20% of the additional amount as their sales commission. There is no charge to you for this listing service, though they do charge a modest fee to set up a link with Amazon.

Think of the benefits of this: you may want to purchase nineteen copies at your own expense to give to your children and a close friend or two, but you may not want to purchase fifty-seven copies to give away to your barber, members of your book club, or third cousin Herbie. When cousin Herbie asks for a copy, you can smile and say, “I’m sorry. I’m out of copies myself, but you can order one from Lulu,” and give him the URL.

There may be other sites that offer similar prices and services. I haven’t done an extensive search. Lulu is probably the most popular right now. Although Lighthouse Point Press, a traditional publisher, is publishing The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing, I’m working on a couple of projects that will have limited distribution, and I will definitely use Lulu for those. In fact, I just might start creating unique books for unique people. Why not?

The prices mentioned above are for black-and-white content. It can include as many pictures as you wish, but if you want color, the price goes up. Some people want to do books that are primarily pictures, with some text. These will cost more, as you’d expect, but you can do them the same way. Kevin Kelly writes about several color POD publishers and the relative merits and charges of each on his blog. You might want to check it out.

It may be a bit late to have books printed for holiday gifts this season, but this is a great time to start thinking ahead to next year.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Connecting the Dots

When pressed to define the distinction between a journal entry and a life story, I reply that in general, journal entries are more spontaneous, often raw and undigested, reports of events and reactions. The journal entry is grapes straight from the vine, newly stomped into juice. Freshly pressed grape juice is a delight to the taste buds.

The life story, at its best, is also grape juice, but juice that has fermented, then aged in oaken barrels for long enough to fully develop and mellow. This grape juice takes on overtones of the aging barrel wood, the yeast that ferments it, and all sorts of other factors. This juice delights not only the taste buds, but the soul. (When consumed in moderation....)

Life events are similar. We react one way today, and perhaps quite another way in a year or five or twenty. Over time we come to see deeper meaning and connections between the stories in our lives, lending rich overtones of insight and wisdom as we tell and retell them.

This is why many “experts” recommend that you hold off writing stories until the material has fermented and mellowed into the heady wine of experience. I generally agree with this thinking, but I also realize that some of my best stories have been impromptu blurts shortly after the fact. Follow your own heart in this respect.

The other day I discovered that even though you may wait for years or decades to write a story that seems fully developed, it may mature even further after it’s lain aside on paper for a year or few. Several years ago I wrote a story about a day I spent helping my mother with some painting over twenty years earlier. A week ago I mentioned this story to a friend and a sudden mental strobe light nearly blinded me. I had never connected the topic of conversation early in the story with an outburst from my mother later in the day. I’d always been baffled by her tirade. Suddenly I saw that it was a direct, if delayed, reaction to something I’d said. Lots of dots suddenly connected into a complex picture. That was mind boggling!

I never ever would have made these connections if I hadn’t written the story in the first place.I wrote it somewhat randomly because I’d been thinking about the morning and wanted to write it down. Years later, that random story fell into place as a key piece in a larger puzzle. The work of thinking it through enough to write about it was critical in the process. My strong hunch is that in this case, the delay in initial writing was important, but this may not always be so.

Have you ever read something you wrote years ago and seen it quite differently in retrospect? Perhaps if you write some stories that you don’t quite understand today, they will fall into place for you as mine did for me, and it won’t matter if they are journal entries or life stories.

And here we have yet another reason to write our stories, sooner or later: to help us connect our own dots.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

The Birth of My Inner Censor

“Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy!” At sixteen months, our toddling granddaughter was thrilled with her new-found ability to mimic what she heard people around her saying. She was picking up several new words a day. “Where did she learn that?” her mother asked. Nobody remembered saying “Oh boy!” but it’s the sort of thing any of us might say without thinking about it, especially when we’re playing with an exuberant toddler. Wherever she heard it, there she stood, gleefully chanting her latest verbal acquisition.

I had an extra chuckle remembering an incident the previous day. Grandpa had used a slightly colorful word and been reminded that little ears were recording every word. He and I locked eyes across the room and broke out in huge grins. “You’re thinking of that movie, Meet the Fockers, right?” observed our daughter. Yes, we were. If you haven’t watched that movie, there’s a scene where the main character lets the BS epithet fly with gusto in front of a non-verbal baby. The baby surprised his caretaking grandparents with a colorful first word half an hour later….

That all spun me back to one of my own earliest memories. My grandparents took me home with them for a week or two after my baby sister was born, a few months before I was three. While I was there, I got frustrated at something and blurted out “Doggone it!” The result was totally unexpected, and in my opinion, totally unfair.

“Don’t you ever say that again! Little girls don’t talk that way!” scolded my grandmother, in the sternest tone I’d ever heard her use—in fact, it was probably the first time anyone had ever .

I was devastated and withdrew to the front porch to lick my wounds. I didn’t understand her reaction at all. In the first place, I didn’t know there were things you weren’t supposed to say. But even if there were, my daddy said that all the time, and I knew my daddy wouldn’t say anything bad. I learned my lesson instantly, and I was careful never to say that again, at least not when she was around. My Inner Censor was born that very day, fully clothed and capable of judging situations as well as vocabulary.

Over the years I’ve acquired a sizable vocabulary that my Inner Censor keeps a tight lid on. The X-list has changed from time to time. During some periods the Censor was lazier than others, and sometimes she’s been challenged almost to the limit when I’ve been around someone who routinely used crude language. My brain is still like wee Sarah’s, recording and savoring intense phrases, and straining at the synapses to repeat them! But my Censor has help from within. Before I was in high school I learned and continue to believe that it’s a much greater and more rewarding challenge to find a creatively colorful way of self-expression rather than simply repeating profane platitudes.

Sarah’s Inner Censor won’t emerge for well over a year, but we’ll continue to shelter her ears until then, and even beyond, and hopefully we’ll continue to be delighted at the unexpected phrases she does acquire.

What memories do you have of things children (your own or others) have learned? What about the birth and function of your own Inner Censor? What is your attitude toward profanity? Has it changed over the years?

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

New Permanent Links

Long time readers, please take note. You may have noticed there are not a lot of links in the sidebar. I'm picky! I only add those I believe will add direct and tangible value to your personal story writing efforts. This morning I added two new links, one to the Old Forty Fives site I wrote about yesterday, and another to Kingwood College Library's American Cultural History site.

Stephanie West Allen, author of Idealawg, posted this latter link in a comment on yesterday's post, and it's one of the richest sites I've seen. Thank you Stephanie! If anyone else has favorite links, please do share them, either in a comment or an e-mail to me.

Another item I mentioned only passingly yesterday was the Life Story Writing YahooGroup. This group has a long history, and goes through cycles of intense activity interspersed with slower times, but it's a place to post stories, share treasured memories that may inspire others and find story ideas for your own writing. I've been involved with this group off and on since at least 2000 and maybe longer. Membership is open to anyone, and I urge you to get involved. If you have a Yahoo ID, just log in and sign up for the group at Life Story Writing to join the fun. If you don't, it's easy to get one, or you can subscribe directly by sending a blank e-mail with "subscribe" in the subject line to life-story-writing@yahoogroups.com.

Enjoy the links, and, as always,

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Take Me Back To the Fifties (and Sixties)

One of the great things about a blog versus a print publication is the ability to include links. Today I came across a super link that’s guaranteed to bring back lots of memories for those of us who came of age in the fifties and sixties.

My odyssey began with link from Thelly Rheam in a post to the Life Story Writing YahooGroup. Thelly sent us to the When Life Was Black and White page, which features a flash video about black and white t.v. This site has buttons along the bottom that take you to lots of other memory trigger sites. The one that appealed to me the most linked to the Old Forty Fives page, which has lots of links of its own. Rather than describe it to you, I’ll simply urge you to surf on over.

As I write this The Big Bopper is on that website speakin’ about what he likes: “Chantilly Lace, a pretty face, and a pony tail, hanging down…” Suddenly I’m back in 1958 (verified by the Top 100 Songs of 1958 list on the site). I’m in my freshman year of high school, wearing a 100% wool sheath skirt (slacks were never an option for girls at our school in my day, not even on the snowiest days—but we could wear leotards to keep our legs warm), an orlon sweater and black flat shoes with no socks or hose (pantyhose and knee highs weren’t even a dream yet, and nylons were far too expensive to wear to school). I’m walking down the hall between the wings of classrooms during a break, heading to my locker to change books, and hating the stares and adolescent noises from the line of boys sitting on the window sills along the way. But I do keep my eye peeled for a glimpse of a certain sophomore fellow….

I think of fresh snowfalls in the mountains, and how much I loved the snow back when it meant sledding, snowball fights and ice skating, but not shoveling, and not freedom from school. In the mountains of New Mexico in the fifties and sixties there was no such thing as snow days. Snow was a fact of life. We put on extra mittens, head scarves, galoshes and tire chains and dealt with it. Thinking of blowing snow and winter winds, I remember my red corduroy car coat with the corded toggle button closing, my zippered three ring binder with the orange plaid cover design, and the piles of textbooks I piled atop it.

I think of the excitement of after school activities, whether that was drama club, foreign language club, orchestra or any of the other dozen things I was involved in. Then there was walking home from school, alone or with friends. This was way before iPods, Walkmen, or other personal entertainment devices (although I did get a pocket-size transistor radio for my birthday in 1959 that ran on a 9-volt battery), so I had half an hour to think without distraction if I walked the two miles alone.

Other songs bring back memories of parties, people, clothing, classes, daydreams and so much more. I nearly always had the radio on when I was alone in my room, studying, sewing or reading. I haven’t listened to it so much since, but the hit parade was a defining element of my life back then.

What about you? Did music shape your youth? What memories does it trigger for you? Find out more about music and demographic data of the times at Old Forty Fives.com, Take Me Back To the Fifties, and associated pages on this glorious site. That should get your fingers flying and ink flowing!

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Major Milestones

Everyone has major milestones in their lives, like graduating from high school or college, getting married, winning an award or contest, buying a first car, meeting a celebrity, and so forth. I passed a major milestone today: I became the grandmother of a teenager! That’s almost, but not quite, as startling as becoming the mother of a forty-year-old, or turning forty myself.

When these major milestones occur, it’s natural to think back to corresponding events. Today I tried to remember my own thirteenth birthday. I remember the excitement of looking forward to becoming a teenager, but try as I might, I do not remember the actual event. And, though I blush to admit, I do not remember the specific birthdays when my children became teenagers. These were big days at the time, but the memory does not linger on.

You probably have similar lapses of your own.

What does this have to do with writing lifestories? This incident of mine merely underscores the fact that we don’t remember the details of every event in our lives, especially as they fade into the distance. Becoming a teenager was important to me, and I remember generalities, though I don’t remember the specific day.

Perhaps that’s not surprising. I just searched for “perpetual calendar” and looked up the date of my thirteenth birthday. It fell on a Tuesday, which means it was a school day. That means I found a present or two by my place on the breakfast table, and we had birthday cake after supper. That was predictable, and would blend into my composite Birthday Memory. If I’d had a party, I would remember that. I did have a sixteenth birthday party. My friends and I didn't have birthday parties, and they continued to be rare when my own children were growing up.

When I write about it, I’ll write about my general feelings, not an occasion. When I write about becoming the mother of teenagers, I’ll write about the challenges of adolescence in general, making note of the fact that I had three very different experiences with three very different children. Vital, compelling stories are about experiences and interpretations as much or more than actual events.

Happy birthday Keith. I’m going to remember this day, for sure, and I’ll remember the thirteenth birthday of each successive grandchild. Somehow major milestones in grandchildren’s lives stand out with special vividness. I think that’s part of being a grandparent.

For now I’m encouraging my readers who are grandparents to write stories about the major moments as they occur, as keepsakes for the youngsters, who may not otherwise remember themselves. Likewise, younger parents will do well to keep journals, no matter how sporadic or sketchy. Anything you write is going to be welcome later.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal