Making Stories Happen

Sometimes it's a good thing to make stories happen on purpose. In early 1985 I determined to do something I was seriously afraid to do and live to tell about it. That year I took up downhill skiing. I tried this sport four times, and not only lived to tell about it, but enjoyed the experience in spite of a couple of torn shoulders and skiing in a matching pair of two right boots (way better than two left ones!). Perhaps I would have continued if we hadn't moved to Pittsburgh where I have never met another skier. That moment passed.

Tomorrow I am heading off on another such adventure. My son and grandson are determined to visit Cedar Point in Sandusky, OH, the roller coaster capital of the world. "With a lineup that includes three of the top 10 steel roller coasters in the world, Cedar Point is a coaster lover's dream come true." Is this more scary than downhill skiing? Definitely! I am terrified of huge coasters, and this park has three of the top ten. This same son was involved in all but the first of the ski adventures.

I have not yet determined what it will take to reach my goal of living to tell about another fear conquered. One coaster? Three? Six? A loop-the-loop? Stay tuned! I'm pumped, and one way or another, this story is going to happen!

If you haven't heard anything by mid-August, you can safely assume I did not live to tell about it. Right now I feel like one of those people on the Extreme TV shows, pulling on my gloves and ready for the cameras to roll...

Write now: About doing something you were deathly afraid of. How was it? How did you feel when it was over? Did you ever do it again? Why or why not?

First You Tell

I'm immersed in grandmothering this week. This is not an activity I have much experience with, although I achieved that status over fourteen years ago. Since our nearest grandchildren live about 1700 miles away, time with any of the six is short and precious. This week is the first time one has come to visit alone, and I'm enjoying every minute we are spending together.

For the past couple of days I've discovered how very little this young fellow knows about our family, and I've been telling stories more or less non-stop. Many of these stories are already written, but for this eleven-year-old, telling the stories is important. Now that he's heard them, sooner or later he'll be happy to have print copies. He's hearing stories about ancestors, about what things were like when I was young, about how we used to do things, and what I think about many things. He’s even hearing stories about his daddy.

But it isn't just “telling.” Dialog is involved, making these stories highly interactive, and easier for him to remember. We make frequent visits to the computer to look at old pictures too. That’s a great way to surface yet more stories. There really isn't any way to beat the power of telling stories in context!

As I think back, I've told many of these same stories to our older two grandchildren, but they already know a lot more about their family background. Visits with them tend to be less rushed, and the importance of the combination of telling/writing had not come through so clearly to me.

Although I say many of the stories have been written, I'm surprised how many haven't, and I've been making notes of those on my story idea list. The fact he hasn't even heard the stories underscores the importance of writing. His father has heard all these stories, most of them many times, but they have not been important enough for him to pass on, at least not yet. I’m reminded of a phrase that I think may have originated with Zig Ziglar: “If it is to be, it is up to me.”

Time with grandchildren — or any young relative — is a great way to regenerate your story well when it seems to run a bit low. It's a good reminder to get back to basics and not loose sight of the importance of Plain Old Stories.

Write now: a personal or family history story you recall holding your grandchildren’s attention. They’ll appreciate having the reminder, with details confirmed. If you don’t (yet) have grandchildren, write for future ones, or nieces and nephews.

Does It Matter What I Write With?

I prefer to write with my fingers, but you may do better with your toes. Seriously, as I noted in my recent post, My Write Hand, for years I was convinced that my “write brain” lives in my fingers and was activated by the pressure of finger-tips against keyboard. However, as I’ve continued my Morning Pages adventure, I’ve become hooked on writing by hand, the old-fashioned way. I still think my write brain lives in my fingers, but it has more than one trigger, and it easily becomes distracted by things like a skipping pen, a pen that quits, drags across the surface, or feels awkward in my fingers. I believe it does matter what I write with, and I have begun a search for the perfect writing implement.

Yesterday I discovered that I’m not the only one on this quest. In a February column on Religion and Spirituality.com, Jane Conner writes about the pen she fell in love with. Her account is worth reading as an example of how to pack plenty of humor and suspense into the short space of 869 words. It also got me to thinking about fountain pens and my writing instruments of old.

In third grade we were required to use fountain pens to master cursive script. Mine was black, probably a Parker. In addition to writing, I used it to make ink blots between the pages of my workbooks. One summer I won a pen at a carnival. It was tortoise shell plastic, and you squeezed the bladder between two metal strips to fill it rather than pulling down a lever like the more expensive pens used. Unfortunately it was terribly scratchy and prone to dripping. Somewhere along the line I switched to an Esterbrook with a gray mother-of-pearl finish. I changed tips many times before I found one that flowed across the paper with no drag at all.

I can’t imagine any school today permitting students to keep glass bottles of ink in their desks, but I don’t recall anyone ever spilling or breaking a bottle of the Schaeffer ink we all used. Those bottles had a small basin at the top that held just enough to fill your pen without immersing the whole tip and getting smudgy stuff on the finger grip. I started out with the regulation blue, but also acquired brown, emerald green, and my favorite: peacock blue. I didn’t change often, because it took ten minutes or so to flush out the old color before switching.

In an ideal world I’d use a fountain pen, for the feel of the point sliding across the paper and the elegance of the sharp, clear ink. I still have the Esterbrook, but can’t find ink. I also have a Parker fountain pen that uses cartridges, but they are also in short supply.

Today ball points rule, and what a mixed bag that is. So many skip, and act finicky about paper. They clog, dry up, and many make smeary blobs. Gel pens are more promising, but they drain with amazing speed. I found a Pilot that seems to work well.

For now my very favorite writing instrument is a Z-grip mechanical pencil filled with 7mm HB lead. The cushiony grip is easier on my fingers than the red Scripto I loved as a kid, and the lead slides across the paper as smoothly as a perfect pen nib. Plus, I can correct misspelled words and those little jiggles my spastic fingers occasionally make. I know — no erasing or editing freewriting ... but my Morning Pages are a resource I’ll refer back to, and I want to be able to read my own writing! Rules are made to be broken.

Write now: about pens and pencils you have loved. Do you write anything but checks by hand anymore? Do you have a favorite pen or pencil? What about typewriters and keyboards?

What Keeps You From Writing?

It seems like ages since I’ve written a blog post. Life has intervened with a great big virtual brick wall. I’ve been busy writing workshop proposals, workshop handouts, urgent e-mails, Life Writers Forum postings, Morning Pages — everything but a blog post.

Other things have also gotten in the way. I urgently needed to clean my desk off and that led to rearranging my office, trashing some files, that sort of thing. Plus, there’s yard work to be done, preparation for a visit from a grandson, you know how all that goes.

You may think it odd that I let other writing get in the way of writing for my blog. Yes, that does seem strange. But it would be no different for someone who wrote reports at work all day to have trouble getting around to writing a lifestory in the evening.

So, what does a person do when it’s been longer than intended between writing sessions? I could wallow in guilt, but (correct me if I'm wrong) I don't believe I have any readers who feel cheated or resentful if I take a couple of extra days off. I do have a personal commitment to maintaining this blog for some time to come, but I’m flexible enough to realize that sometimes a break allows me to return refreshed, and that sometimes life intervenes.

So, what I do is simply sit down and start moving my fingers again. Let the words flow and a blog will take shape, as it’s doing now. If you have been away from your writing, don’t waste time feeling guilty, berating yourself, or moaning. Pick up that pen or get those fingers on the keyboard! Do some free writing to get the pump primed, check your story idea list for a starting point, and get those fingers moving. Words and stories will happen.

What I’m referring to here is not writer’s block, though writer’s block may be a cause. I’m referring to loss of momentum. If it’s that simple, then simply starting to write again will probably be enough to get you back up to speed. If not, check this list of posts about writer’s block, or take a look at these five exercises.

If you are feeling overwhelmed by a stressful schedule that leaves no room for indulging passions like writing, perhaps you need to find ten minutes a day, perhaps in the bathroom, on the bus to work, or some other “sandwich time” and journal some thoughts about your lifestyle and priorities. The thing you are avoiding may be the very thing that can help fit the pieces of your life puzzle together.

Write now: about an experience you have had with blocks to writing and how you overcame them. Or write about the blocks that are keeping you from writing and explore ways of working around them. You are bound to find this experience enlightening and rewarding.

International Happiness Day

In case you haven’t heard, which quite likely you haven’t, July 10 is International Happiness Day. You can find out more about the official undertaking by viewing the video at the International Happiness Day website.

Happiness is a good thing, in and of itself, and it’s something we all aspire to. The good news is that according to reports published on IOL, a global network of social researchers found that between the years 1981 and 2007 the overall happiness level in the world increased.

Time.com reports that the whole concept of measuring Gross National Happiness was begun by the King of Bhutan in 1972, emphasizing the priority he placed on the quality of life for his people in precedence to economic growth. The idea has caught on, and the Gallup Poll now keeps a running measure of happiness in the USA.

LiveScience reports that 50% of the US population is “thriving” or happy, but that doesn’t place us very high on the ladder—in fact, we are only 16th in the world. In Denmark, the happiest country, 83% of the residents are happy.

All these statistics are fine for national policy planners and fun to discuss at social gatherings, but what do they have to do with lifestories? This isn’t a question I would have thought to ask even a week ago. It has never occurred to me to write specifically about happiness. For me, happiness is part of the background noise, though not something I take for granted. There are plenty of times that I’m stressed, tired, angry, or just downright grumpy. Those are definitely not happy times, but overall, I’d put my personal happiness index rather high, higher than the average Dane in fact. Looking back over the course of my life, I see it gradually rising.

I think my descendants would be interested to know how happy I feel, and what specific things make me happy. Oops. Things do not make me happy. For me, happiness results from conditions, and typical conditions include being passionately involved with a project; a stimulating conversation with a friend; hearing about the progress of my grandchildren; a beautiful sunset; golden sunbeams piercing the forest canopy; mastering a new skill or solving a problem; stuff like that.

The idea of an International Happiness Day especially appeals to me because I believe that happy people are peaceful, productive people, and the world just has to be a better place if more people are happy.

Happy International Happiness Day!

Write now: for ten minutes about your happiness level. Are you generally happy more often than not? What conditions contribute to your happiness or unhappiness? What would you change or do to be happier? Describe an especially happy time in as much detail as you can recall. What did the moment mean to you? What was going on? What memories are connected with it?

I Remember the Fourth of July!

Happy Fourth of July! I’ve been thinking about the evolution of this day over the course of my many years:

I remember fireworks!

I remember sparklers.

I remember skyrockets, the little kind we shot off at home.

I remember those spinner things.

I remember hearing fire crackers going off long past the hour I was sent to bed.

I remember driving up to an overlook on a road high above Los Alamos to watch fireworks thirty miles away in Santa Fe.

I remember my first bottle of beer when I was ten and how nasty it tasted so I only had a couple of sips and let my daddy finish the rest.

I remember parades.

I remember hoping my baby would be born that day and waiting another week.

I remember neighbors pooling their resources to have a halfway respectable show of sparks in our cul-de-sac.

I remember fighting slipping through crowds on Mt. Washington to watch the Zambelli spectacular high over Pittsburgh’s Point.

I remember hearing about the Colonists fighting the British so they could pursue liberty and freedom, without all those taxes.

I remember when the sales tax was 2¢ per dollar.

I remember when I could stand at the airline gate and wait for passengers to arrive.

I remember when you could lead a Brownie troop or coach Little League without being fingerprinted.

What does Independence mean today?

Fireworks and shopping.

Freedom Fair and street food.

Happy Fourth of July all!

Write now: about your memories of Independence Day celebrations and how your views on freedom and independence have changed over the years — or not.