Turn Your Story Inside Out

Sometimes you have to turn a story inside out to find the real one.

Angela, a writing group friend, has been struggling with a story that just didn’t seem to be going anywhere. “It doesn’t have any tension,” she observed. “Nothing is really happening. Nobody would read more than a page or two.”

“So, why did you write this story? Why is it important to you?” another member asked.

Angela’s voice was tentative as she began to explain. When she got to one element she had stashed in a single paragraph near the end, she exclaimed, “I really have two stories here!” A jolt of electricity pulsed through the group.

We realized that her true and powerful story is buried deep inside the presenting story. That tiny seed of real story is where all the conflict and tension is, and the outer story seems almost dead, because it is only a shell. After Angela pulls the true story into the dominant position and gives it proper attention, the dull part will become relevant and lively.
 
A mental movie ran through my mind. I saw a cylindrical drawstring bag made of  filmy pastel silk print. It was a little wider than a fist, and deep enough to bury a hand well past the wrist. I reached into the dark depths of the bag, relishing the feel of rich velvety softness. I felt a lump attached to the bottom. When I pulled to remove the lump, the bag inverted. A rich black velvet bag now encased the silk one. A velvet-wrapped lump lay in my hand, well-padded and still hidden. It turned out to be a large jewel, sparkling in sunlight.

Thinking about the image of that bag, I recognize it as a metaphor. The original ephemeral story, bland and sweet, was hiding a true and powerful one. The bag hid and padded the jewel, removing the life that light imparts to it, and keeping it secret.

Why would you hide a jewel, I wondered. You may hide it to protect it — from thieves, dust, getting lost — and to keep its sharp facets from scratching things. Maybe you hide it because you don’t want to seem like a show off, have no place to wear it, or don’t think it’s real.

You may even hide it because it’s magic and you fear its power. Angela's Inner Censor may have hidden it without her knowing. Or — you may not have realized the bag was magic! It was a lovely bag the way it was. Who knew treasures lurked in its depths?

Angela's enthusiasm grew as she discussed her plans for revision, and I have no doubt that the new version will crackle with tension and energy.

Besides the jewel, that magic bag held some writing tips. If you are struggling with a story

• Ask yourself, Why did I write this story? What matters? What’s the real story here?
• You’ll know when you find the real story. You’ll experience a surge of energy and excited recognition.
• Find a good writing group or writing buddy to help you discover your treasures.
• Be patient. You won’t find your jewel until it’s ready to be found.

 Sometimes the best stories are hidden inside our old ones.

Write now: pull out an old story that you struggled with, one that seems dull and boring. Ask yourself that key question, Why did I write this? Keep digging until you hit some hard, glittering truth that fires your heart with enthusiasm. Let the new energy guide you to your real true story.

Beyond All the Words

Beyond all the words is a place of great silence.

I recently read this sentence (or one much like it). I wish I remembered the source, but all I recall is being struck by its simple profundity. The context referred to endless talking, but my mind instantly shifted to writing.

Serious life writers, whatever form we choose, may find ourselves awash on a sea of our words. We write story after story, journal day-by-day. Words fall from fingers like autumn leaves from the tree of life.

I write, as many others do, not only to leave a legacy of personal and family history for future generations, not only to share with friends I know and haven’t yet met, but for understanding and insight. Journal entries, vignettes, essays, scribbled diagrams and mindmaps — these are all dots of understanding. Eventually dots connect into pictures, words into stories, and stories into understanding.

Until I read about the place of great silence, I assumed my words would pile up forever, and to what avail? Not even I will ever reread all the words I’ve written. So, what’s the point?

Now I see the point: to get to the place of great silence: a place of peace, beyond all the words. This place of great silence is surely the place meditators seek, the “peace that passes understanding.” I see it as a place where all the dots merge into a single source of perfect light, a place of wholeness, beyond understanding.

My word pile will continue to grow, as long as I draw breath. I love to write. Writing anchors my thoughts, stills and orders them. My words are stones on a path to understanding, but understanding is not the ultimate goal. That place of great silence, the place beyond understanding, beckons me with the promise of joyfully bright completion. I can go there right now. And come back to write again — until I’m ready to stay.

Write now: about your purpose for writing and what you hope to find beyond all the words.

Your Own Magic Crystal Ball

Imagine that you have a magic crystal ball that sees the past as well as the future, able to change the shape and color of events. The other day I was blessed with such an experience, though the ball was nowhere to be found.

It happened in the early morning as I wrote in my journal. As my coffee began to kick in and my fingers limbered, I began writing about a person from my school years, someone I’ve always believed “made my life miserable.” I’ve even been known to claim (only partly in jest) that said person “ruined my life.” Suddenly I dropped my pencil as a voice in my head blurted out a startling message:

She didn’t ruin your life. She didn’t even make you miserable. If anything ruined your life, it was the way you compared yourself to her and came up short in your own view. Plus the way she had a few people skills you hadn’t yet learned. But that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with you. Besides, was your life really ruined, or simply nudged around an inevitable corner?

You know that feeling, that great big, whack on the side of the head “DUH!” moment? I had one of those moments. Had anyone been watching, I would have been the classic image of shock. My jaw dropped and my eyes widened. I simultaneously felt a surge of energized excitement and a wave of relaxation. My shoulders dropped as if a huge load had lifted, and I sank deeply into my chair. “Wow!” I said, in a loud whisper so as not to awaken my still-slumbering spouse. “Wow!” What other word would do?

With that thunderous insight, whole chapters of my life flipped into a new configuration as quickly as if I’d clicked on “re-sort,” and my understanding of the peculiar relationship I’d had with this classmate flipped 180º. Suddenly all was very right with my world — or I should say even more right. I knew more certainly than ever that everything in my life has happened specifically to bring me to here, to now, and that’s a very good thing. Some would say healing occurred. Perhaps. I call it growth in understanding.

Would I have come to this understanding without my journaling practice? Maybe. Would I have thought of this if I didn’t spend time writing stories about my life? Could be. One can never be fully certain of things like this. Obviously sages through the ages have acquired great wisdom through mediums other than writing, but there is no question that the  discipline of journaling and related forms of life writing will increase the odds.

This discovery is not something I had consciously sought. For over half a century I had taken that relationship and analysis for granted. Why change the story now? That is indeed magic. It’s a blessing, and although I didn’t seek it, I did set the stage by sitting here, day after day, with my hand moving a pencil across the page. Without question, writing about the person opened this door.

If I could give everyone in the world a gift, I would give them a journal with an endless supply of pages, a pencil with a perpetual point, and the desire to write.

Write now: about a pesky relationship from your past. Do it as freewriting, leaving your mind open to the possibility that you may have something to learn. But don’t do it with expectations — just hang loose and see where it goes. At the very least, you’ll have the makings of a story on that topic if you want to continue writing about it.

Interview with Heather Summerhayes Cariou

Heather Summerhayes Cariou's book, Sixtyfive Roses: A Sister's Memoir, is not new to this blog. I published a review of in on Amazon back in June introduced here by a post on June 2, and I've referred to it a couple of times since.

There is much to appreciate in this book, and two of them are especially relevant to the classes I teach on writing sparkling description and dynamic dialogue. Heather is a master of both. Today Heather has agreed to be my guest for the second in a series of mini-interviews especially for readers of The Heart and Craft of Life Writing. 

In this interview, Heather explains how she was able to craft compelling descriptions of places from times long past and dialogue about events that happened thirty or forty years ago. As a bonus for listeners, she gives several tips that will help anyone with writing dialogue, description, or really anything.

The interview lasts for 14 minutes. You can listen on the player below, or click the link to download it for listening on your mp3 player. 

Download file

Write now: listen to the interview and try Heather's tip on using poetry to loosen up your creative right brain.

Watershed Memories

 Photo by Slagheap at www.flickr.com

This morning I jotted down some memories of September 11 in my journal. As I wrote, I thought of the intense fear the occasion called forth, the fear that life as we had known it had crumbled as surely as the Twin Towers. 

That triggered a related memory of a day a couple of years later when I experienced a blinding flash of the obvious, realizing in an instant that hate is not the opposite of love, FEAR is the opposite of love.  I felt those shackles of fear break free as divine, sublime love flowed into my being. My spirit soared in awe and gratitude. For several days I floated on a cloud of bliss, feeling free and strong, exploring the plethora of ramifications of this blessed “knowing.”

I wish I could tell you I've been 100% confident and joyful ever since. Not so. I still  get the willies now and then about one thing or another. It may be news related, like the situation in Iraq or healthcare reform, or it may be more personal, such as family illness. The onset of dread can come from any direction. But having been freed from chronic fear, I sense it early and am increasingly more able to nip it in the bud, reminding myself, “Things always work out okay in the end. Chill!”

Could I have understood this earlier in my life? I don't think so. I needed the data and experience to prepare me to understand and “get it.” But the delay in learning has made the realization that much more precious.

These memories, of the events and fear related to 9/11, and the experience of instant insight, are prime examples of watershed or landmark memories. They have had a major effect on my life, shaping it dramatically. Such memories form columns supporting the structure of memoir. I am compiling a list of these memories and arranging them on a timeline. They are transition points in my spiritual growth. Other memories about the impact of these insights and how they shaped my further life can be woven together to form walls and a roof linking all the columns together into a completed story.

That’s a long-term project. For now I’m writing short pieces about each watershed memory. That will anchor them and keep them fresh for when I’m ready to assemble the long version. And/or in case that day never comes.

Write now: list several watershed memories in your life. These may be about fear,  your spiritual development, or anything else you want to contemplate and come to grips with. Pick one or two and write a couple of paragraphs or a full story or essay. Or make a mindmap of related memories. File the material away for future use.

A Worthy Aspiration

What more worthy aspiration could writers have than to hope their stories will sound fresh and new more than sixty years after they were written? Such is the case with Mrs. Mike, the true-to-life story of Boston-born Katharine Mary O’Malley. In 1907, when she was only sixteen, she was sent to live with her uncle on his ranch north of Calgary to recover from pleurisy. Shortly after her arrival, she met Sergeant Mike Flannigan, a red-coasted Mountie and they were soon married.

The rest of the book details the story of the first few years of their marriage as they faced the rigors of frontier life in the northern reaches of western Canada. She survives ferocious fire, virulent epidemics, mammoth mosquitoes, brutal winters, and tensions between whites and natives, along with personal tragedy and triumph.

This book is written in first person, in the style of a memoir, but the authors of record are Nancy and Benedict Freedman. The Freedmans met Kathy Flannagan in California where she moved shortly after Mike’s death in 1933. They were so touched and inspired by the tales she told that they immediately began to turn her story into this fictionalized account of the “true” story. The first printing hit the shelves in 1947.

I discovered the book while sorting through a pile of discards set aside for donation to the annual library booksale. It looked perfect for reading while recovering from a nasty cold. I enjoy reading novels from the early 1900s because of their generally quaint and simplistic plots and language.

To my delight, it quickly became apparent that this book is an exception. The plot is anything but simplistic, filled with spectacular scenes. The writing is masterful, with crisply defined characters, dynamic dialogue and richly sensual description. It sounds as fresh and current as if it had been written in 2002, the most recent year it was republished. No wonder it has sold millions of copies and been continuously in print all these years.

Perhaps the greatest lesson from this enduring tale is that great writing is timeless. Whether you aspire to international prominence as a writer, or merely want to increase the chances that your family will keep copies of your life story around for a few generations, honing your structure, scene writing, character development, description, dialogue and wordcrafting skills is a great investment of effort.

By the way, if you want to read more about the history of this novel, its power to change lives, and the people who wrote it, check out this article in O, the Oprah Magazine.

Write now: read a novel or memoir that’s at least 60 years old and compare writing styles from then to now. What has changed? What sounds the same? How might you improve the book?

Memories I Wish I Had

  

Clothespin dolls, by Sharon

I wish I remembered clothespin dolls. I'm surprised I don't. They are exactly the sort of craft that I began learning about the time I was weaned and potty-trained and enjoyed ever after. Maybe it's because spring clothespins had come into widespread use by the time I was born. Had I known about them when I was around ten years old, I would have spent weeks making them, creating shoebox homes for them.

It's not too late. I have discovered clothespin dolls now, and found a new purpose for them. I made six to be shared among the tiny granddaughters who are about to arrive for a visit and a couple of local friends. What fun I've had making them. If it weren't for the press of time, I'd make another dozen. What fun I've had, raiding my dwindling scrap bags of yarn and fabric, devising ways to make hair, crafting wee dresses. I feel like a kid again! 

Not only have I made up for the memory I don't have, I hope I'm creating memories for future generations. Realizing the importance of memories better than I did even when my own children were young, I'm determined to create wonderful Grandmama memories with my grandchildren. Considering they all live at least five hours away by air, that takes some doing.

Isn't that just the greatest thing about life writing? It can make us aware of the future and our ability to create the future as well as helping us explore the past. 

Write now: make a list of memories you wish you'd had. Turn that list into a second list of wishes. Take one wish and write about how you can make it come true.