Triumph at the End of a Rocky Road

The note above shows one of a rapidly growing list that Carol B has received from family members after privately publishing a volume of family history laced together with relevant aspects of her personal story. She swells with happiness at each one. These notes are more than usually rewarding. The road to this outcome has been rocky. Her stories sizzle with intrigue. That eventually presented a problem.

Carol, her parents, and a family friend (I omit her full name at her request to protect her family’s privacy), spent decades gathering stories and documents from county records and other sources, documenting purchase and sale of property, births, deaths and marriages, police and jail records, newspaper articles and pictures. Piles and piles of pictures. She took careful notes as relatives chewed the fat at family events.  She even sought out help from her local historical society to gather added information.

Eventually she wove memories and facts into stories. Lifestory writing group members pointed out unclear areas, missing material and more. Her strong writing grew polished in both content and structure. Then forces of darkness emerged.

Her family’s history includes mayhem, madness and murder. It’s all a matter of public record, and mostly forgotten, though ripples remain in family attitudes and traits. Still, she was loathe to publish it all without warning the family. She told everyone whose names appeared in the book what she was up to and asked their permission to share stories relevant to their immediate family members. With the exception of one person within her family, she was offered nothing but support and encouragement.  She did not have anyone else read her book, as she was not willing to write a book by committee.  As it turned out, the faith that family members had in her was almost unanimous. Others showed their trust by giving full permission to use their names and their particular family stories.

However, there was one family member who, without even reading the book, objected on principle. “There is no reason to dig all that stuff up again.”  Said Person would not discuss it with Carol and did not respond to numerous requests to be named in the book, then cut off  direct communication.

Carol’s inner critic went nuts. What if I’m sued?  Maybe I’m too critical. Maybe my book is too negative.  Even if I do expose the people in my book to public scrutiny, these are the stories of my family. What should I do?

Her voice had the sound of defeat as she told me, “That person has gobs of money and can afford to sue me on a whim. Maybe that will happen. Maybe I should just drop it. Maybe I should just share the Word file with anyone who wants to read it.”

“You’ve told dozens of people you’re doing this, and they all want to see it finished. What about them? Will you be letting them down? You’ve set aside funds to see it through. How can we work around this?”

Note to readers: don’t try to handle this alone. Get plenty of perspectives. 

“Do you think I’ve been too critical?  Is my book too negative?”

“NO! But I’m not always the best judge of emotional tone. Let’s get one more opinion.” I recommended another writer I know who excels in this area. Her response was supportive. Carol regained her grip.

She decided she would proceed with the project with these caveats:

• She omitted all references to Said Person beyond a couple of picture captions where she cites the relationship without a name.  She decides to include a vintage photo of Said Person, but includes only a first initial and maiden last name.  To do otherwise would have made her uncomfortable, since she did not want to purposefully leave anyone out of the family history.  She also decided to mail Said Person a copy of the family history book. To date, there has been no acknowledgement of receipt though communication on other subjects has been resumed. 

• In the Acknowledgments she states: “I have remained faithful to the stories that were passed down through the family and relied on my own memories and those of other family members for additional tales. Throughout the process, I maintained my belief and intention to cause no harm.”

• The back cover includes a disclaimer of sorts: “… For decades she has collected stories from relatives and public records. She compiles those stories with personal reflections to tell the family’s story with truth and honesty to the best of her understanding.” 

She also firmed up her decision to keep publication as private as possible.

This last step required thinking out of the box. Carol is facing serious health problems and wants to ensure that her extended family will be able to independently order additional copies for years to come.

In line with her decision to keep the book private, she vowed to avoid all promotion and publicity. She is eager, however, for others to know of her experience, even though they won’t be reading the book. Buoyed by the outpouring of gratitude from family members, such as the note above, she has asked me to share that story, hoping to inspire others who battled doubts about sensitive disclosure to persist and find their own way around obstacles.

I’m happy to oblige, emphasizing to readers that publishing privately with limited distribution can be a strong and rewarding option for those who shy away from telling all to the world at large.

As the fan letter notes, Carol is hard at work on a second volume, a personal memoir. Will this one also be kept under wraps? Who knows? If she opts for open publication, you’ll be among the first to know.

Points to Ponder: What tense material might slow down your writing project? What creative workarounds can you come up with? Who can you turn to for support and fresh ideas?

Points to Ponder: What tense material might slow down your writing project? What creative workarounds can you come up with? Who can you turn to for support and fresh ideas?

Winter Wonderland–It’s All in How You Look At It

This photo is my favorite of all the snow pictures I’ve ever seen or taken. I was standing on our sun porch the morning of December 10, 2003 (I know the date because it’s embedded in the original digital photo file), rejoicing in the return of sunshine after the first serious snow of the winter. I had my camera in hand, already framing the shot, when a branch in the background suddenly relieved itself of its burden. Diamond mist filled the air just as I snapped the shutter.

I lowered the camera and watched this enchanted scene play out. I was bursting with gratitude that I’d been there to see it. This picture reminds me that even during the dreeriest, darkest, coldest times (like the past several weeks in the northeast), flashes of beauty and gratitude appear to lift our spirits.

It reminds me that beauty is all around us, if we learn to look. I was indeed fortunate to be there that day and see a scene nobody could ignore. But I can find beauty anywhere. I look around the room where I sit and admire the tapestry fabric on a chair. I see Chinese embroidery, fine as spider’s web, preserved on a tiny tray that serves as a coaster for my coffee mug. Even when it’s snowing (again!), the flakes and new fallen blanket are beautiful. Slush? I’m working on that.

These are physical objects I can see with my eyes. Finding the beauty may be harder in situations. How do you find beauty and gratitude in pain, anger, loss and grief?

My method is to write. I scribble on piles of paper, I vent in volumes of journals. I bang out stories, real and imagined. Once I have a draft on paper (sometimes in pixels), I start asking questions to crack open assumptions and beliefs:

• How else could I see this?
• How might (whoever) see this?
• Could (that person) have actually meant (this)?
• What would (advisor of my choice, real or imagined) tell me about this?
• What if … (fill in the blank)?

One question, from The Work of Byron Katie is so powerful it’s in a class of its own:

• Is this true?

Three other questions support that one. You can download more information on Byron Katie’s site: The Work.com. Whatever questions I use, I write the answers. I may write them several times.

I don’t always find answers and beauty right away. It may take years, but I know it’s there, and pictures like the one above help me remember that one day, in a blinding flash of the obvious, I’ll see what was always there, but hidden by the darkness of a storm. I’ll find my old story flipping upside down or turning inside out to form a new one. I’ll feel relieved and enormously grateful.

Write now: look around you and find some beauty that inspires gratitude. Write about this. Then think of a situation that’s harder to parse. Use tools like the ones above to write your way through to what may be a jolting conclusion and new way of looking at life.

Full size image link: http://t.co/JeokuYdSp6

Breathe Life Into Stories

Your story seems flat. You knew that even before writing group members confirmed your suspicion. You’ve been working on descriptions. You’ve double-checked details to be sure give readers have a clear picture of the situation.

You’ve scattered plenty of sensory description through your story, without clumping it or making it sound like you used a checklist. It still seems flat and shallow. How can you make it pop off the page? What magic will breathe life into it and connect with readers?

A clue to a solution lies in this excerpt from a scene in Dinty Moore’s memoir, The Accidental Buddhist, where Moore is being exposed to the ancient art of meditation in a Buddhist monastery:

… I turn out to have a particularly unrelenting monkey. He not only swings from tree to tree, he rips off big green leaves and chatters at the top of his monkey lungs, an angry baboon somehow set loose in an espresso bar.

Zen students will immediately recognize this monkey as a metaphor for the state of Moore’s mind. That metaphor brings mental chaos into focus as something tangible, something we can see and hear, and at least imagine touching and smelling.

Moore’s static image of  sitting zazen on a zafu* snaps to life with this metaphor. I hope he will forgive me for taking the liberty of publicly imagining how he might have initially written the thought in that paragraph:

… I have a terrible case of monkey mind. I can’t stay focused on anything for longer than a second….

That simple statement would suffice to describe the situation, but it leaves me yawning and my monkey mind swings into another tree, maybe to find coconuts to lob at his. In the completed version, his napkin sketch image has become a mind movie with depth and dimension as the monkey swings from tree to tree, rips leaves and chatters.

Some simpler examples:

Her eyes were lively.	Her eyes sparkled.
The scene was picturesque.	Hundred-foot oaks and maples stood guard behind the cabin, wildflowers dotted the meadow, and …
The scent of wild roses was in the air.	Wild roses wafted scent through the air.

The first two examples above use a form of “to be” to link to an adjective describing the subject. In the third example, “in the air” is an participial phrase that tells where the scent was. Don’t worry about remembering that term. The important thing is that functionally the phrase gives additional information about the subject without imparting any sense of vitality.

Using a “be” verb this way is grammatically correct and adds variety in sentence structure, but this wording has a calming effect. Switching to an active verb, as the second column shows, is one of the many ways to liven up your language.

Keep an eye out for was, were, and related forms that link to subject modifiers, and replace them with stronger verbs and additional details when appropriate.

Write now: Review a story you wrote and underline each place you use a verb that links to an adjective or other subject modifier. Circle each active linking verb (smells, feels, proves …). Rewrite the other sentences to include some motion or sense of action.

*Standard usage puts foreign words in italics. Adding the English translation immediately after the italicized term is optional. Whichever form you choose, be consistent throughout your story.

Paper versus Pixels: the Debate Goes On

In January I participated in an experiment to explore the relative merits of journaling on paper versus keyboard. The research project was spearheaded by Amber Starfire, owner of Writing Through Life, a blog and ezine devoted to the fine art of journaling. For one week we wrote by hand. The second week we used the computer, and the third week we mixed the two. 

Official results have not been released, but I was a little surprised by my personal findings. From the time I received a Hermes Baby typewriter in preparation for going to college, I used a keyboard for just about everything but taking notes and signing checks. For over a dozen years I kept sporadic journal entries in ongoing documents, adding to them through the space of a year. 

Three years ago I began journaling on a regular basis, loosely following the Morning Pages model. After spending two or three weeks reconditioning my writing muscles, I fell in love with hand writing, finding deep pleasure in watching words pour from my hand onto paper. They seem more real, more immediate, more connected in three dimensions that any pixels on a monitor ever will. Writing by hand often invokes a meditative state. While writing stories, essays, blog posts, articles, and all that other stuff is still fine on the keyboard, journaling by hand has become something of an obsession. Magic happens. I feel more creative. I don’t recall my muse  Sarabelle ever visiting while my hands were on a keyboard.

But still, I’m up for experiments and try to keep an open mind. I’m aware of the advantages of using the computer. Amber summarized them beautifully in a post about journaling software. 

My experience confirmed my preference for writing on paper, for all the reasons I already knew, but it also reactivated my appreciation of computer journaling. My journals have pale golden pages as warm as morning sunshine. After recoiling from the icy white digital page, I set the page color in Word to palest pink, adding a header of slightly darker hearts. Then I downloaded a hand printing font not too different from my own and used deep violet “ink”. This combination tricked my eye and made a world of difference. My E-journal feels less like “more work.” 

However, I did not find myself drawn into the meditative state. My thoughts remained closer to the surface. This may partly be due to the crisp percussion of hitting keys versus the smooth, analog glide of gel pen on paper. Clicking versus silence. The rhythm and flow are different. Also, the keyboard and touchpad on my laptop are wiggy (I will journal in my comfy chair, not at my desk, however I do it). The cursor jumps around now and then. To avoid chaos, I must often reposition, which breaks the flow.

Focus is a concern. When I write on paper, I’m journaling. That and nothing else. I’m aware that I could type in some of what I write, but that never happens. If I use anything, I rewrite it. When I write on the computer, some tiny portal remains active, reminding me I can easily recycle parts into a blog post, email, or whatever. That keeps one eye on the window to the world. 

For me, 95% of the value of keeping a journal lies in the writing. If my journals are lost or destroyed, so be it. I cherish this break from the keyboard and need it for personal balance. But I think I will be using the keyboard to capture more thoughts that aren’t so deeply personal. I might even invest in journal software for the purpose. 

Write now: try Amber’s experiment for yourself and draw your own conclusions. Then send me an email with the results. If you already have strong feelings about this, post a comment and share them.

Sweet Release

Few things have compared to the astonished delight I felt when I opened the front door to an unexpected ring. A man stood on my front porch clutching a  a Happy 40th Birthday Mylar balloon in the midst of several colorful plain ones. After he determined I was indeed Sharon Lippincott, he confidently stepped into the living room and began singing the Happy Birthday song. Then he handed me the bouquet, bowed, and left. What a sweet surprise! Though the attached card had two names, I knew my sister-in-law had outdone herself, and my gratitude lives on.

The standard balloons were dead within a day or two, but that Mylar one seemed destined to live forever. At first I felt a warm glow every time I saw it. But sentimentality didn’t last much longer than the standard balloons. Soon the glamor of that birthday faded. I’d had such hopes that turning forty would magically bring new levels of respect and success, and it didn’t take long to realize that nothing had changed, nor would it, at least not by the simple passing of days. I plunged into an abyss of despair.

I’d allowed that Mylar balloon free range, and it drifted silently, following air currents from room to room. Soon it took on the aspect of a spirit, suddenly appearing in the corner of my eye. This was disconcerting, and the balloon became the focus of my angst. 

About three weeks after my birthday, I had come to hate that balloon and all it stood for. Then I made a sudden decision. I took the filmy plastic out the door through which it had arrived. I stepped into the middle of the yard, whispered a simple apology to the environment, and … turned it loose! I stood for two or three minutes watching it rise into the warm spring sunshine until it grew too small to see. When I turned to go back into the house, I realized that all my disappointments and darkness had soared away with it. I felt free and happy again.

I’ve never been tempted to buy other balloons to recreate that sense of release. Aside from the litter effect, buying my own would lack the magic of that symbolic surprise. But I have done something else just as effective: I’ve written out all my frustrations and anger and sent them up in flames. Sometimes simply journaling helps. Or writing a story about it. 

Try it. You’ll like it! 

Write now: dredge up some stressful thoughts. Unless you just happen to have a magic balloon floating around, write about those thoughts, using scrap paper. When you have it all out, shred the paper, or tear it to bits. Put it in the fireplace or somewhere safe and burn it. Feel your stress go up in flames along with your words.

Writing without Shadow

"Writing without shadow has no depth."

I wish I had written down the source of that quote. It reminds me of the importance of including dark notes in my memoir along with the bright ones. It's so tempting to leave out those times when we didn't get the prize, when we were the last one chosen, didn't have a date for Homecoming, or felt despair of every finding love. Those are not fun stories to remember, much less to write, and not ones we generally care to share.

The graphic above says it all. Simple facts make a bland story. Adding some detail may brighten it up and vastly improve it. To make it pop off the page and become memorable and true, you need shadow. The interplay of light and dark is what gives it depth, mystery and magic. Darkness is the purview of fear and tension, keys to compelling stories.

As you can see from the graphic above, it doesn't take much darkness to give perspective and define the light. Below are a few simple tips like these to add a dash of darkness to your story.

Tell of failures as well as success — Besides the story of winning the spelling bee, tell how you were the last one picked for the fifth grade softball team.

Give an inside perspective — Don't just say you were the last one picked. Tell how it felt. "I stood there staring at my toes, praying to be struck by lightning, or at least to get sick enough to go home and hide in bed for the rest of the school year."

Admit to human frailties — Tell about times you broke a promise or twisted the truth.

Include doubts and fears —Highlight your walk across the stage to receive your diploma with the thoughts running through your mind, like "I never thought I'd make it. I was sure Mr. Frank would fry my sorry ass on that last term paper and test. That man hates me!" Better yet, tell about your struggles with Mr. Frank before graduation.

Show simple flaws — Occasional reference to thick glasses, knock-knees, shyness, stuttering, or some other simple  flaw lends depth to your character (generally yourself). You needn't dwell on these things, or mention them on every page. Less is more, but some is great.

One of the best ways to master the art of the shadow is to read the work of established writers. Study how they describe characters. Look for the sources of tension. What keeps your interest? Try to incorporate your discoveries into your own work.

Write now: write a new story (or revise an old one) to sprinkle in a few dark elements. Share the story with a writer friend some other discerning reader and ask for their suggestions on how to improve the story.

A Los Alamos Girlhood

It’s probably time to start a new blog, specifically about the memoir I’m writing. I’ve been spending serious journal time doodling content and concept ideas, but had not found an entry point to begin writing.

Yesterday magic happened. A random sentence I heard earlier in the day took root and moved me to begin a new document beginning with that thought. Before my eyes drooped so low I had to crawl between the covers, about 2500 words had bubbled forth, and they were nothing I’d envisioned or considered writing. Yet they were good. They are keepers. Yes, I’ll do some editing, but my elusive concept is clear now. I can see how the story will flow. The shape has been revealed.

A key point that I often forget is that that although it sometimes hides behind the clouds, the story is within me. It’s there. It will reveal itself, and in my experience it will only reveal itself if I begin to write. That’s what I did last night. Begin to write.

Call it Sarabelle (the muse who until last night has mostly avoided me of late), call it the Creative Subconscious, call it whatever you like. It doesn’t matter what you call it. You have access to it, and if you aspire to write, it matters that you use it.

In my experience, Sarabelle is unpredictable. At random times, always while I’m busy with something else, she gifts me with spontaneous ideas whose value I immediately recognize. If I don’t drop what I’m doing and write enough to anchor the thought so I can recall it when I return to finish the piece, she’s sulk in hiding and avoid me for ages.

Other times she slips into my fingers after I’ve warmed them up and hijacks my word flow. This is always a good thing, though the results are often surprising, as they were last night.

As I wrote my Morning Pages today, she slung a title my way: A Los Alamos Girlhood, and she reminded me of the picture you see at the top of this post. I want to use that picture as a touchstone for the book. I’m not in this picture, but the girl on the right could be me. I had a bike like that, and I often rode it through that canyon. My hair looked like that and I had a yellow shirt.

Sarabelle also suggested that I start another blog, specifically about the process of writing this book. She told me this new blog would make me feel more accountable, and help me avoid distracting sidetracks so I'll actually finish the project. She told me it will give the book it’s own identity, separating it out from the more general content of this blog.

Yes, that does sound like a good idea. I shall do that, but not today. Watch for the announcement soon.

Write now: sit down and start writing about a story idea you haven’t been able to get your arms around. Write something, anything, and quite likely Sarabelle or one of her siblings will pay you a visit. You won’t know until you try, and it may take more than one try if you don’t already have a working relationship.

The Zahir

I feel a bit behind the curve. Though he may be the best-selling author in the world, I only discovered novelist Paulo Coelho a couple of weeks ago, and I just finished reading The Zahir. I’m awestruck. I can see why this was the best selling book in the world in 2003, even before it was released in the United States.

In this book Coelho makes a profound point about the power of telling our life stories. The main character is involved in a journey of self-discovery and must free himself from old attitudes and limitations in order to obtain what he seeks. (I don’t want to give away the plot for those few of you who may not have read the book yet.) The key to his chains is telling stories about his past. Once told, the stories lose their power to trap him in his status quo.

For most readers, taking the path of telling stories to free themselves from the past would be a matter of faith and intuition. Those who have been following the field of memory and neuroscience will assure you that this strategy is based on bedrock. Rather than explaining the science, I’ll give an example of how it works:

I became aware of the risks inherent in lingering over potent memories when I played an LP album of the Kingston Trio that I hadn’t listened to since I graduated from high school over a dozen years earlier. Listening to those old songs transported me back to an evening at a friend’s house where a group of us sat on the floor listening to that album. I felt the wall against my back and the cool hardness of the wood floor. I saw the shape of the dining table in the center of the dimly lit room. The taste of pizza lingered, and more than anything, I sensed a certain fellow sitting tantalizingly near — not touching, but close enough that I felt his warmth and inhaled his pheromones.

For several days I played that album nonstop until I suddenly realized the magic was gone. The moment no longer seemed real. It had receded into the background, never to be so poignant again. I had corrupted it by embedding the act of remembering into the original memory. It had lost fidelity as surely as the grooves on that plastic disk.

I can still recall that evening, but now the memory includes the replay, the frustration I felt when the freshness fled, and my fascination with the transformation. The evening has become objective now, lacking the power to warm my blood, even if I will it to be so.

The mere act of remembering changes memories and dilutes their power. Telling them to ourselves has that effect, and telling them to others may work faster. Telling your stories in writing is one of the most powerful ways of defusing them. Writing stories has the advantage that you can reread and rewrite them as many times and ways as you like.

I’ve even heard that magical things can come from writing a painful story, your own zahir, with a new and happy ending . . . .

Tell your stories. Write your stories. Through them, like the characters in The Zahir, you may find resolution, peace, and the freedom to love more fully.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Magical Moments

Have you ever noticed magic in the natural world? I witnessed several magical moments while exploring the rim of Mexico’s Copper Canyon last month, and when I examined my photos in depth, I discovered an additional mystery.

The original moment occurred at sunrise, an event I rarely attend. Strolling along a large point jutting into the chasm, I watched a herd of goats feast on tender leaves.


On a rocky ledge along the rim, I saw someone greeting the sun — presumably one of the Tarahumara Indians who live in caves beneath the rim. I crept closer and snapped a quick photo through a bush.


Then I circled back and found a rocky perch of my own with a stomach-clenching view hundreds of feet straight down.


From here I saw two people sitting in meditation in the exact spot the Indian had been. Apparently the person I saw had been joined by someone else. I snapped another photo before the misty vista’s grandeur worked magic in my soul.


Yesterday I examined those photos, zooming in on the people. The photos were shot about three minutes apart. Nobody else had come along the rim, but the two photos appeared to show different people! The woman in the first shot was clearly a local Indian, judging from the splotches of colorful clothing showing through the bush. Although dark and indistinct, the people in the second seem to be dressed in hiking clothing.

How eerie! How could this happen? Where did the second person come from? How did either one get there? I hadn't noticed anyone else in the area.

This morning a possible answer came to mind. Later that morning our tour group traveled along the rim to another spectacular view point. Our guide showed us a sturdy log ladder in a crevasse. Within two minutes, a series of Indian women ascended that ladder with bundles of baskets and babies tied on their backs in colorful rebozos. Children scampered along to help sell the baskets and other wares to turistas like us.


That must be the answer. There must have been a ladder or path from below to the area I saw at sunrise. To naïve Anglos, the Indians seem to magically levitate up those cliffs, unbound by gravity. If we had grown up on ledges only a few yards wide, we’d also know how to scale sheer rock faces like mountain goats and think nothing of it.

Were the second people I saw also Indians, in slightly different dress? Did the light play tricks on my camera and eyes? Did they climb a ladder or path? Or perhaps these people have discovered the secret of genuine levitation or “beaming in” ... . Whatever the case, the moment was magic while I was in it, and it remains magic as I remember, which I will continue to do on a regular basis.

What magical moments have you experienced? Were they occasioned by natural beauty and splendor? Unexplained phenomenon? Or maybe something else? With or without photos, tenderly transforming them to words preserves the magic. What better gift to the future than a bubble of magical joy?

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Countdown: 63 days until the release of The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing on July 1. Stay tuned for ordering details.