The concept of Story transcends events that fill stories. Story is life itself. It’s the lens we use to define the essence of who we are. We all have a Story, though few of us are aware of what this may be. It’s our measuring stick, our comfort zone, our boundaries and guidelines. It’s the sum total of our experience, beliefs and values.
I stand in awe of Story. It’s there are surely as the air I breath, but like the fish in the ocean, because it’s just there, I never noticed.
Grasping the significance of Story is like finding the jigsaw puzzle box cover and glimpsing the potential of the pile of pieces to turn into a coherent picture. Using this metaphor, the short stories we write about experiences are parts of the big Story of Self. A sense of Story pulls our “little s” stories into alignment and sharpens their focus while also connecting them together.
Each chapter of Christina’s book describes a different facet of Story. She concludes each one with a related writing prompt, then urges readers to “Tell me that story.” Like soup, Story has no boundaries or form. It can start anywhere and fills the chosen container. It can be told, tailored to the time available, written or filmed. It can be shared, or appreciated in isolation.
The Story Soup of You has many ingredients including events, experiences, encounters, characters, conflict, triumph and failure, emotions, reflections, beliefs, opinions and values among many others. Should you undertake to pour your story out onto the page, it will likely oscillate between two forms: stories focused on events and experiences, and essays focused on beliefs, opinions and values. Both forms are essential. Stories pertain to action, essays to reflection. The two forms are the warp and woof of the fabric of Story and life.
Write now: look beyond the page. Imagine yourself high on a ledge looking down on this person below who happens to look like you and bear your name. Observe that person and tell that person’s story. What does she believe? What gets him going in the morning and keeps him going through the day? What stories does she tell herself to keep her doing what she does, day in, day out? How does he feel about what he does? What makes her different from her neighbors? Tell me that story!
Like many old-timers, my father likes to tell stories about the Good Old Days. I’ve heard most of his stories dozens of times, but they are complex, and woven of detail as intricate as any tapestry in King Arthur’s castle. When I try to capture them from memory even an hour later, most of that detail has vanished like smoke rings in a gentle breeze.
Which bomber was he flying when that student nearly nosedived into the runway? Which uncle rode with Pancho Villa? Which lab did he buy that sodium pump from, and was his job title “Director of External Affairs” or “Director of Public Information”? My head spins as I consider the fact that the number of unanswered questions is increasing at a faster rate than recorded information.
During my recent visit with him, one answer to this dilemma was to keep my laptop near at hand. He doesn’t talk very fast when he’s reminiscing, and I can almost keep up with him. Fortunately it doesn’t seem to bother him to have me quietly clicking away when he’s recalling aunts, uncles, parents, and other people. I need to get those details, because he’s the only person still alive who remembers those family members.
I also made some cryptic notes on paper, and experience has shown that I’d better transcribe them within the next few days or they will become stale and confusing.
Ideally, I could inspire him to sit down at the computer and record it all himself. He has written some terrific stories, but they are about isolated events, and there are precious few of them. Realistically, I know that he’ll never write enough to plug the gaps in our “tribal memory,” and I’ll have to go into story catching mode to scavenge whatever is going to be saved.
Most my time with him was spent interviewing him and listening. Thinking back over the last several weeks, I realize that most of the people I’ve spent time with have been in “talking” mode, and most of my time has been spent listening. Some of these people have been family members — many people in my family are inclined to spend most of their time telling their own stories or venting — but many have been friends who are at difficult junctures in their lives, and their need to talk and be heard is compelling.
When I put these two situations together, two powerful reasons for writing my own stories emerge. First, I am the one with the best grasp of details and story flow. While it may be true that fuzzy legend and the general drift of things form the primary elements of memory and understanding, if I record my detailed account, my family will have it as a resource if they are so inclined.
The other reason is more subtle. My stories may pale in the face of someone's grief, stress, or gabby nature, but my stories are significant. They matter to me, and quite likely they also matter to that other person — just not right now. I honor myself and the value of my stories while also honoring other people’s current need by writing my stories for posterity, and staying present for friends and family when they need to talk.
There are so many more reasons to write, but these is enough to keep me firmly focused on ‘puter or paper: To honor my own stories and voice by preserving them.
Write now: about a time when you set your own story aside to listen to a family member or friend who was in a rough situation. Do you routinely do this? How do you share your stories? How often do you listen intently and encourage others to tell their stories? Are some people easier to listen to than others? Are some people easier to tell stories to than others?
The story I started in the last post about story catching goes on. I learned that Stephanie and I needed to go beyond that interview. My understanding was that it would be a great help if I’d just write down a few memories from my childhood. That seemed simple enough. Or so it seemed, at first glance.
In a post about six weeks ago I mentioned that having finished The Albuquerque Years, I was moving on to The Los Alamos Years. Many readers may relate to my report that I’ve been feeling a little stuck with that project. Aside from life getting in the way over Christmas time, I was getting bogged down in detail and doing battle with my Inner Censor.
Yesterday brought an amazing breakthrough that benefited both needs: Stephanie’s project, and my own “stuckness.” I was ready for a quick break from the intense concentration I’ve maintained for a couple of days as I worked to prepare my presentation on “Picture Perfect Pages” for a session at the 2008 Stories From the Heart conference sponsored by Story Circle Network in Austin on February 2. I sat down at the keyboard and began a brain dump of my childhood. I covered the first six years in a single paragraph, because she can read about that in The Albuquerque Years.
Moving quickly through the turbulent year I attended four different first grades, I settled into Los Alamos. My fingers flew. I wasn’t concerned with format — paragraphs ran together, and I double-spaced between major thought clumps. As Natalie Goldberg would put it, I was simply "writing down the bones," and that’s best done at a goodly clip, without pausing for serious thought.
At first I’d thought I could finish this dump in, oh, maybe a couple of hours, tops, hopefully less. The clock said it had been six hours when I saved the file for the last time, but I had taken advantage of the astonishing 70ยบ weather to do some quick yard clean-up and tend to other chores. Altogether, I spent about four hours on this brain dump. In the end, its 6750 words filled eleven pages.
This account barely scratches the surface of what I remember, but it does a good job of skimming the surface. If I were to die tomorrow and leave only this, at least my descendants would know there is an iceberg in the sea, even if they see only the tip. I feel very good about getting this much done. It’s a huge relief. Now I can go back at my leisure and write flesh onto these bones.
I think it will be much easier to fill in blanks in this framework than to have done it the way I began — trying to remember everything from a single year before moving on to the next. I should have known to do it this way to begin with. That’s how I began The Albuquerque Years, with a fast and furious brain dump (though that one took many hours longer). Later I went back and found the holes, more than doubling the length.
So, if you are feeling stuck, try doing a brain dump. Use broad strokes, and write as fast as you can. I used the computer. I have more endurance at the keyboard than with a pen or pencil, and had to get the product to Stephanie right away. You may do better writing by hand.
Write now: do a brain dump of something you’ve been putting off writing about. It doesn’t have to take hours — even ten or twenty minutes will give you a powerful start.
Write on,
Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal
Two years ago, they were strangers. Then a chance encounter led to a deep friendship and a 100-page biography. Now, Bob Sather may know Al Vaicius' story better than even the Plymouth resident does...
So begins a wonderful tale written in the Minneapolis Star Tribune by Jenna Ross. The article does a fine job of telling the drift of the story, but after I read it, I was suffused with curiosity. I recognized that Bob Sather was applying the fine art of lifestory writing in the role of “story catcher” to immortalize the life of another person, and I wanted to know more.
The fact that I found this article illustrates one wonder of the Cyber Age. The fact that I was able to track Bob down via an email to Jenna Ross was another. During a recent phone conversation I asked Bob how he handled the interviews with Al. His account was close to what I'd read in the article, and included these points:
- They met over coffee once a week or so, a good way to keep the atmosphere relaxed and the story flowing, without distractions.
- He let Al set the agenda and keep the story thread moving.
- Bob just listened and made a few notes.
- He did not record the interview sessions, because he felt that would be intrusive.
- After their meetings, Bob went straight home and wrote down what he recalled. His wife then transcribed that to the computer.
- He reported things a close as he could remember to the way Al told them.
As you'll learn if you click over to read the article, Bob had a surprise as the story wound to a close. Al disclosed a secret that he'd never told anyone. This sort of revelation is a fairly common conclusion to examining your life, whether you write about it yourself or tell it to someone else, and I've only heard people express relief and a sense of closure from divulging their secret. It often results from healing anger, resentment or other negative emotions that have built up over a lifetime. Even stories that begin for other purposes can have that effect.
Bob’s experience is strong evidence that following your instinct, whether you’re writing your own story or someone else’s, will generally put you on the right path. In one sense though, Bob got lucky. Al sounds like an easy person to work with, in the sense that he was a good story-teller and his story poured forth easily. Bob didn’t have trouble following the story, remembering it, or keeping Al focused.
It’s not always that easy. Some people jump around, leave out important facts, and with some you have to dig for information, because they don’t consider it worth telling, for one reason or another. Should you be inclined to initiate an attempt to record someone’s life, presumably a relative, it will help to be armed with questions to keep things focused and make sure you get the whole story. You may also need to ask more follow-up questions to clarify points or flesh out terse accounts. If they are willing and comfortable with the idea, a recorder is also a terrific resource.
The craft of turning your notes into a finished story is much the same as writing your own story. The two main differences are that you'll write in the third person, and you won't be able to rely on your own memory for as many details. If the person you are writing about is available, as Al is, you can consult them as you fill in the details. If you are writing about someone long-gone, you'll have to do the best you can, making it clear where fact departs from assumption. The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing guidelines cover the rest of the bases.
I greatly admire Bob’s story catching project. Even though it wasn't planned for publication, it's a great tribute to a life that demonstrates perseverance survival against the odds. I eagerly wait to hear that it’s finished and suspect that many people beyond Al's family will want to read it. That may be a few months down the road though. The project has not yet been completed. Final edits await, as does the choice of printing method. Should it become available via Lulu or a similar service, I'll let you know.
Write now: a story that a friend tells you. Let the friend read it for accuracy, then share the results.
Write on,
Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal
