My young father and me – Albany, I think…
It wasn’t my intention to fast from the blog for a month, though a few weeks ago, I did decide to skinny-down life to better prepare for the Iowa Summer Writing Festival.
It wasn’t difficult. One early in May morning I woke up and drew a few lines in the sand to make my sandbox a little smaller. Inside was everyday life and my father’s story. Outside the box was everything else — including my beloved home and garden restoration projects — no matter how many fabulous mid-summer plant sales that are bound to come up to tempt.
It’s a case of doing first things first. Focusing on what I would be most sad to leave undone in this world, in the event I die sooner than later. Because who would write Dad’s story if not me? Who knows it or cares to know it in its scattered and torn state? Who would give it their all and then some? And really now — as much as I adore home restoration projects, none of them have quite made my heart sing like working on my father’s and aunt’s childhood story.
The fast month of May taught me much. Not only my growing knowledge of my young father and aunt and their life — but much about me and my life — why the more I cozy up to my young father, the more I see how Mother was right, when she’d so often say, by way of explanation to others — was it with a slight disparaging note? — yes, I think so: ” Well. What can you expect? … She’s just like her father.” Today I respond by saying this state of ‘two peas in a pod’ being, between Dad and I, may become my trump card to taking on this most seemingly impossible task of my life.
So between now and mid-July, I’ve advance work to finish and submit — partly because it’s assigned and partly because I wish to get the most I can from this writing experience my husband is giving me. And though I don’t intend to absent myself from the blog the entire month of June — I’m here today, aren’t I? — I just wanted you to know what’s up in my not so everyday life at the moment — in case you’re interested.
~~~~~~~
Ten years ago, I asked God to give me a story. As prayer goes, it was childlike: Short in words — tall in dreams. And as best as I can now recall, it went something like this: God, if you give me a story to write, I promise to write it.”
I’m not sure Dad’s story is IT but I think it is. Because it would be just the kind of answer to prayer that would fit a Godly sense of humor — since the story has been as close as my father’s hip pocket all my life. I only wish I’d realized it sooner. I wish I’d realized it before Daddy lost his voice to tell it. But since wishes don’t always rise to the level of prayer in my life, here’s praying I can become Daddy’s voice. One more time. Because life goes fast and some stories were lived to last longer than a lifetime.
an everyday life 
“Because life goes fast and some stories were lived to last longer than a lifetime.”
So true, this.
Thinking of you, my old friend.
xx
Hey Viv. Thanks for dropping a note. Regarding that final phrase you quoted, I’ve been thinking more of how the passing on of stories, from one generation to the next, is the best inheritance of all — instead of money and baubles. And the challenge before me is to pass on the story so that it still has life in it… to recount the story as if I were living it myself….
The thought is scaring and exciting.
How wonderful to be going to a Writers Festival, and Iowa too. I’ve heard of the great Iowa Writers Workshop, is it related to that? I wish you all the best in your writing and hope you’ll have a rewarding time in Iowa.
What I know for sure is that both are creations of the University of Iowa: the Workshop is the University’s MFA program for writing — while the festival is a collection of 2 and 5 day classes over the summer break. Also, many teachers of the Festival sessions are graduates of the Workshop. If there is greater connection than this, I’m unaware of it.
Thanks for the well-wishes. I go back and forth as to whether I’m too early into my project to attend the classes I’ve registered for — but no two ways about it — the advance work is forcing me to think about structure early on and I think this will prove a benefit in the end…
Life does go fast. A year ago Memorial Day, Mom went into the hospital. Five weeks later, she was gone. Three months later, she was buried, and at the beginning of the year I said, “Now. I’m going to get organized.”
Fat chance! I’m still bouncing from pillar to post, with too much that I want to do, and not nearly enough time.I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll be working for a good long time yet – but am hopeful financial armageddon won’t hit, and I can at least reduce my hours somewhat. (I confess – I’m not very hopeful about that. If I thought about it more than a minute at a time I’d be in real paralysis, so I don’t think.)
I was going to say I envy you your opportunity, but I really don’t. Next year, I might. I need to do more “real” writing, to get a sense of what direction I want to go. We’ll see.
In any event, great to see your post. I’ve missed you a lot. Three sentence bulletins from Writer-land are welcome, just so we know you’re still upright and mobile!
Funny you should mention three sentence posts. All year long I’ve thought of writing, shorter, more-to-the-quick posts. But when I sit down to write, out comes a thousand words. Maybe if I were to write more frequently, I could shorten my word count. Something to try. Like maybe now, in a few minutes.
I know what you mean, though, when you write about ‘not thinking.’ I try not to think about this writing project before me. Because when I do, doubts set it. It’s too big for me, I think. The story deserves a better writer. But then I tug back: All it has it me. And maybe, I’ll grow. And maybe I’ll become a better writer as I write.
But what, my friend, is ‘real’ writing — is that tied up with sense of direction somehow? Is it about publishing? Or form — like fiction, memoir or essay? Help me understand what you mean by ‘real.’
Okay, now, I press on to try flash posting — 3-sentences of virtual reality.
Peace.
Here’s a fast reply. From my perspective, “real” writing has nothing to do with form, length or manner of publication. It does presume some sort of publication, as opposed to journal writing, but it could be fiction or non-fiction, poetry, short story, essay.
When I think of “real” writing, I think of intentionality, direction, fleshing-out, story-telling, research. I think of using words to achieve a goal, particularly engaging the reader. I think of giving life to what I’m carrying in my head. I think, always, of communication.
My blog already is real writing. I don’t make the distinction some do, between blogging and writing. But I’m thinking bigger – stories, books. I have titles, and vague outlines in my head, but nothing more. To begin that fleshing out, to begin really writing them, will take more time.
Some stop blogging to work on those larger projects. I don’t want to do that. Some retire. I can’t. What to do? I suppose -just start.
Here’s one book title that’s been floating in my head forever – “The Evangeline Chronicles: Time and Memory on the Bayou Teche”. I’d read that in a minute. The question is, can I write it?
You speak of all this with passion. But, Linda, it was your that final paragraph that really caught my attention. The book title “floating in my head forever,’ Forever? Then, these words: “I’d read that in a minute.” And finally… “Can I write it?”
Tough questions, all. And maybe, choices too. For you. And me, too.
Thanks for helping me better understand what you meant by ‘real.’