I’m in Love with Volya Rinpoche

I never expected to fall in love with Volya Rinpoche, a bald, squarely-built Russian quasi-Buddhist monk who dresses in gold-trimmed maroon robes and sandals, has skin the color of acorns, and is a world-renowned spiritual leader and author. Neither did Otto Ringling, the narrator of Breakfast with Buddha, Lunch with Buddha and Dinner with Buddha, a trilogy of mind-bending, possibly life-changing novels by Roland Merulo . But who could resist that heart-melting smile, that endless compassion and infectious laugh? His naïve observations and whiplash fast “wessons?”

But wait. Nothing kinky here.As the story begins, Otto’s whacko, forever hippie sister tricks him into taking a road trip alone with this monk, her latest love interest. As miles and days pass, their relationship grows and Otto decides the Rimpoche is “the real deal.” Between volumes, monk marries sister, plots thicken, and Otto evolves. The novels are poignant in places, hilarious in others, always thought-provoking, and sublimely well-written. Otto’s acute observations on history, geography, philosophy and food are meticulously detailed.

I’ve always encouraged students of lifestory or memoir writing to read widely, to read like a writer, to find authors whose style they admire and immerse themselves in their work. Roland Merullo is my new hero behind the page. These digital volumes are full of pink highlights for exquisite description and gold ones for powerful points.

Although these volumes are clearly fiction, drawn from Merullo’s fertile imagination, they read like memoir. They are among those remarkable titles I occasionally find that convey Truth in concentrated form, more potent than most actual life experience could support. I consider them a prime example of the power of the fiction alternative.

The Buddha books came into my life at the perfect time (who believes in coincidence?). Over the last few months our nearly completed move from Pittsburgh to Austin has become unexpectedly complex and stressful, full of fretting and fear and second-guessing. I was convinced I had neither time nor the concentration to read. In spite of these self-imposed barriers, a book with a Buddha title slipped through the cracks.

I didn’t have time to not read these books. They reminded me of wisdom I’ve accrued over at least forty years, much of which I’ve ignored for the last many. They reminded me that I’ve largely fallen away from soul-enriching practice. They reminded me we can choose our reactions, our thoughts. Along the way, they altered and added perspective. I feel better now, stronger, and ready to forge ahead! Thank you Roland Merullo!

This is not the first time books have restored or enriched my soul and nudged me around corners. Should I include any of these time periods in a memoir, for example this move, it could not be complete without mention of these three books and their influence. I could take things further. Pat Conroy, perhaps best known for his novel, The Great Santini, wrote My Reading Life, a themed memoir devoted to books that have molded and shaped him.

What better time to snuggle down and read than these days of early darkness, of golden leaves and frosty mornings? Find an author you love and read ‘til your eyeballs cave in. Make highlights in ebooks. Put sticky tags in print ones. Collect heart-stopping phrases and notable elements of structure.

Write on: start a list of books that have affected your life and thinking. Write about these in your journal and develop your thoughts into an essay. Add a few of your favorite titles to a comment, as a tribute to the author and a beacon to fellow writers.

How and Why to Write about JOY

This advice to talk about our joys struck home with me when I saw it the other day. Not surprisingly, I immediately thought how it applies to writing – specifically to life writing – and how happy stories spread joy.

In The Heart and Craft of Lifewriting, I discuss the way many people tend to shy away from discussing success and joy.

“I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging,” some people say. “I don’t people to envy me,” or “I don’t want them to think I think I’m better than they are,” or “I don’t want to make people sad because they missed out.”

These are valid concerns. Compassion for the feelings of others is important. But let’s look at the flip side, at what is lost if you soft-peddle success and happiness:

You are only writing part of your truth. If you are writing for posterity, or for the world at large right now, your success is part of who you are. Surely it’s something you’re proud of. Let them know.

Happiness keeps your story authentic. People who know you’ve achieved something, financial or business success, a happy marriage, or some other positive state will know something’s missing if you downplay the sunshine in your story. It tends to come across as false humility and lack of trust. This is, of course, assuming you were happy. Not all stories are, though we do hope for a glimmer of happiness by the end. Add it where you can.

Reading about how you achieved success, happiness and joy inspires others. We hear and read about gloom, doom and suffering constantly in the media. We need to hear good news. It gives us hope!

People can learn from your example. Explaining in more detail or less how you managed to achieve your fortunate condition may provide a clue for others to follow your example.

Writing about happy things is good for YOU! A quick web search will verify that simple lists in gratitude journals help dispel or fend off depression (in at least some cases) and generally improve your state of mind. They help you stay positive and foster creativity. You don’t even have to share the contents or turn them into story to get these benefits.

Have I convinced you to write some joy? Hopefully into your story? Follow these guidelines:

Include shadows with the sunshine. Everything brilliant emerges from some sort of struggle or stretch. Tell of the tribulations and challenges you encountered along the way. Report feelings of fear, doubt, or dismay. Don’t leave out your concern about not wanting to brag.

Be honest about jubiliation. Who would believe you weren’t popping champagne corks, real or figurative, when you got that big promotion?

Give credit where credit is due. Nobody scales Mt. Everest without a team of Sherpas. Give your Sherpas credit.

Use humor. Poke fun at yourself. This doesn’t mean putting yourself down, but keep both heart and fingers light.

My latest book, Adventures of a  Chilehead, is the story of my life-long love affair with hot chile. It’s full of humor and joy, and I had a ball writing it. The capsaicin in chile releases endorphins. Writing about those happy memories released more. So remember some joy, write yourself happy, and share that good stuff with the world.

Write now: write about a happy experience you shared with at least one other person and write that story in an email or letter. Send it to that person. You’ll both feel happy you did.

Bride Price: Cannibals, Witch Doctor and Hope

Ian Mathie, author of Bride Price and three (soon to be four) other African Memoirs, is the only person I know who has personally witnessed cannibalism. He put this horrifying event in context as I interviewed him across five time zones and one ocean recently. You can watch the video on YouTube or in the frame below and read the book to find out whether he actually ate any of that man.  

Each of Mathie’s memoirs is unique in structure as well as content, but besides the fact they are all set in African countries, they all share one other feature. While Mathie is definitely telling the story in the context of his own experience, he is telling the stories of people he grew to know, respect and admire. He documents cultures and a way of life that’s all but disappeared in the ensuing thirty years, and his stories are a tribute and reminder that wisdom, love and compassion transcend time, place and culture.



I’m reminded of the works of Margaret Mead I read in cultural anthropology classes way back when. Like Mead, Mathie was a participant observer, by circumstance rather than intention. Though he was in the villages as a water engineer to help build safe water supplies, he kept copious notes and sketches in many languages about the people and his experiences. Like Meade’s, his books should be on the reading list in all schools. The world would be a better place if more diplomats made use of his insight.
 
I read a sweet short story last week that told of the author’s experience ordering breakfast at MacDonald’s. On the surface, what could be more ordinary and less-noteworthy than that? I found the story remarkable. I smelled frying bacon and heard it sizzle in the background. I heard children laughing. And I heard people grumble and complain when the the biscuit supply ran out. I also felt the warmth of a chance encounter and the joy of a day gone right.

Her deft depiction of human nature touched me deeply. Without a word to this effect, she challenged readers to adopt an attitude of gratitude. All this in about 700 words. That little story brightened my day. It’s a gem. In fifty years, it will shine even more brightly as a reminder of life back in 2013.

She and Mathie both focus on others, sharing life through their eyes as a way of expressing love for the people they know and see, and their own joy in life, while indirectly challenging us to choose the way we view life and respond to it.

Documentary stories such as the two I cite expand our vision and awareness. I appreciate both, and strongly encourage you to watch the video, then read Bride Price!
Learn more about Ian Mathie and his books on his website. All four books are available in both print and eBook format. Kindle format is on Amazon, and other formats on Smashwords.

Write Now: Write a story about an ordinary day, whether that’s today or once upon a time. Include your thoughts about the situation and people involved. Let future generations know what life was like from the inside and how it affected you.

Resurrecting Memories

This afternoon I took a walk in search of the first coltsfoot blooms of the season. They usually appear on March 21, give or take a day, but this year winter has hung on longer than usual, delaying their appearance more than a week. This winter has been a difficult one, filled with reminders of our mortality. Never have I been more eager for the appearance of spring!

I was even more eager to see them today after receiving an unexpected phone call from my brother in Richland, Washington. Kathy Utz, a dear friend I’ve known for 43 years, died a couple of weeks ago. The news felt like a sandbag hitting my solar plexus. I had no idea she was ailing, and I’d planned to call her later today to wish her Happy Easter.

Since my brother knew no details, I called a mutual friend to get the rest of the story. Talking about our grief and sense of loss helped us both. Story is like that. It’s how we make sense of things, individually and collectively. I had to know more details to calm my shocked brain, and telling the story again gave my friend an opportunity to deepen her sense of it.

Going for a walk and finding the flowers helped too, in an odd way. I usually find the first blooms on the uphill side of the road on a sunny curve about three-quarters of the way along the half mile walk  to the stop sign. I found none on the bend where they always make their first appearance, confirming my suspicion that this winter will never end. As I turned around at the stop sign, I glanced down the hill on the other side and breathed a huge sigh of relief. My spirit soared as I saw them blooming in abundance in a new location, out of sight from the road. After spotting them, I continued to find blooms every few yards all the way home.

Buoyed by this discovery, I realized the need to get out of my mental rut. I began thinking again of my friend and all the adventures and we shared and plots we concocted. I determined to come home and begin writing as a tribute to her and a way of healing my grief.

I’ve already written about some of those experiences, like sitting in her kitchen feeling like a beached whale the afternoon before my daughter was born, two weeks late. I’ve written about campaigning with Kathy for the Washington State Equal Rights Amendment and going to trashy movies together as couples and trading babysitting and lobbying to bring liberal arts classes to the University of Washington extension campus in our community. A long list of other stories awaits the telling.

Although our paths diverged as she became more involved in politics and we followed separate career paths, we always stayed in touch. She’s the only one I have seen on every visit to Richland since we left in 1985.

Writing “our” story will help me cement those memories, and exploring some deeper meanings is sure to spark new insights. I will send some of the stories to her sons as a legacy. They are part of her history that she never did write.

Finding the coltsfoot in a new location inspires me to try new perspectives and look for new meanings in unexpected places as I write. I will not only resurrect those memories, I’ll turn them to gold, the color of coltsfoot.

Write now: think of the friend you’ve known the longest and make a list of adventures and experiences you’ve shared. Include simple things like chatting over coffee or talking on the phone every day. Record any disagreements or conflicts you may have had. Select a few items and write the stories around them. Include your assessment of the situation at the time, and how your thoughts and understanding have changed in the interim. Explore what this person has meant to you and how she or he affected your life. When you finish, share a story or few with your friend, or surviving family members, as the case may be.

Guest Post – Cheering for Life

I’ve been following Susan Payne’s Blog The Water Witch’s Daughter (written under the pseudonym SuziCate) for at least a couple of years and each time I read it, I’m enchanted with the combination of breathtaking photos and heartwarming insights, touching stories and snippets of life.

Susan recently published her first book, Stepping into the Wilderness, an anthology of sixty encouraging posts from her blog. Each contains five thought provoking questions to promote inner growth through reflection or journal writing. In addition, each piece contains five writing exercises for enriching the writing experience. Each contains five thought provoking questions to promote inner growth through reflection or journal writing. In addition, each piece contains five writing exercises for enriching the writing experience, and in this post she shares a touching story with prompts for you to write about parallel experiences.

“Is my letter crooked?” I adjusted the large “N” stretching across her sweater and pinned it in place.

“How about my hair? My bangs ok? My pony tail too high?”

“You’re perfect. Now, get out there and get us going!” She was beautiful, popular, and my best friend.

Her skirt flung to and fro as she swung her hips to the beat. Green and gold pompoms danced through the air as all the girls followed her lead in waving their arms above their heads. The bleachers smelled of sweat and mixed perfumes as we clapped, yelled, and stomped. She jumped from the human pyramid, long, muscular legs spread, back arched as her arms almost touched midway, and landed on her feet. She ran across the gym clapping and cheering, “Go green. Go gold!” She encouraged the football players. She encouraged us to get into the team spirit. By the end of the pep rally I was so caught up in school pride goose bumps tickled my skin and sent a chill over me.

Her damp bangs formed a ridge around her dark eyes. Her ponytail hung limp, but she bounced. She asked, “How was the new routine?”

“You performed flawlessly!” And that she did. Oh, how I wished I was wearing the short swirly skirt and toting pompoms. She tossed the pompoms to me…”Hold ‘em for a minute. Will ya’?”

“Sure.” She had no idea how I loved the times I helped carry her stuff. I thrust my arms skyward mocking her earlier movements. Problem was I jerked back and forth. I didn’t have her grace. Honestly, I didn’t have a rhythmic bone in my body. I tripped over my own feet, and my voice was definitely not the sing-song type.

Still, somehow she talked me into going to cheerleader practice camp. I flopped. She encouraged me to keep trying, telling me I’d eventually get it. I didn’t get it. I dropped out before tryouts. Though we walked our days together, she was swamped with cheerleading duties, and I was busy with my own fortes of being literary magazine editor and newspaper reporter. Still, we supported one another with our gifts. I helped her write her school papers, and she helped me develop confidence.

About fifteen years later, I told her on the phone it was going to be ok. I told her she could beat the cancer. I encouraged her to do the chemo, the radiation, go to Mexico, swim the Atlantic, to do whatever she needed to live.

She suffered, but her faith and courage proved to be as strong as her grace. I called her every week and traveled four hours to visit when I could. On the last visit, she was so weak she could barely eat or speak. “Don’t pray for me anymore. I think God is tired of hearing my name and wants you to pray for someone else. I need you to do something else for me. Will you?”

“I’ll do anything you want,” I said as I squinted my eyes to hold back the tears.

“I need you to tell my story, to encourage others to keep faith no matter what. And I want you to write my obituary.”

“There’s no need for an obituary. You’re going to be fine.” I knew I was lying but I just couldn’t bring myself to have this conversation.

“Promise me you’ll write it.” Her fingers pulled at mine.

“I promise.” I squeezed her fingers for confirmation.

A few days later I awoke about five a.m. to a cool wind sweeping across my soul. I knew before I got the call. I wrote the obituary and delivered the eulogy. As she requested, I encouraged all in attendance to keep the faith.

I never learned to dance, nor did I develop a singing voice. Still, I am a cheerleader. A cheerleader of life, that is. Through reflection of these many years I am learning my friend’s story, though it seems she knew mine all along.

As a genealogy enthusiast I write memoir. As a person who feels emotion deeply, I wrote poetry. As a hiker and canoeist, I write prose about my connection with nature. As a creative, I write fiction. From my soul, I write inspiring words to encourage others. I say this to you: Embrace this beautiful life of yours, and live your time here with passion and love.

Walking Along the Edge of the Woods:

How do you deal with loss? Do you close up and shut down? Do you face it head on? Do you rely on faith?

Have you ever been asked to something difficult but felt obligated to do it? How did you deal with it emotionally?

When have you felt your prayers or needs were not being heard? Did you remain encouraged things would get better?

Have you ever known with certainly in your soul something has occurred before receiving confirmation?

Do you have a best friend? Why is this person important in your life?

Stepping into the Wilderness:

Write a death scene. Have your character make a bizarre request of a loved one.

Write a memoir about how a non-achievement in your life became a gain in the long run.

Write a narrative about the best friends of your life. Tell us how they have changed or remained through the seasons of your life.

Write a dialogue between two people where one wishes to emulate the other.

Write a short story about someone keeping hope alive in a bleak situation. Use your setting to convey the bleakness of story’s situation.

The above questions and exercises are not in my book but are an example of those contained in my book.

Susan’s book, Stepping into the Wilderness, is available on Amazon in both Kindle and print, and you can visit her on the web at The Water Witch’s Daughter.

The Transformative Power of Memoir

Some people write memoir to celebrate, some to inform, some for self-exploration, some to heal. In her second guest post on this blog, Samantha M. White explains that the results can go beyond your initial intention. 

Writing my memoir transformed my life. Not only my day-to-day present, and my future, but even the past about which I had written!

Transformation was not my goal. I wrote it because I had a story pent up inside me, pressing to be told – to share what had happened to me, and how I had found my way out of pain. I wanted to assure readers of the universality of suffering, and the reality of healing and finding new joy. I felt driven, and afraid that if I died before publishing the book, an important message wouldn’t be heard.

I had read that one-third of trauma survivors never recover, and another third make it back to approximately where they were before the trauma occurred. Following the violent death of my daughter in the wake of two other major life losses, I knew I didn’t want to end up in either of those two groups. I couldn’t bear to waste the pain. I needed to honor her life.

So I set my intention to land in the remaining third – those who grow from trauma, become stronger, deeper, wiser, and more effective at bringing about positive social change. How I accomplished that is the subject of my memoir, Someone to Talk To: Finding Peace, Purpose, and Joy After Tragedy and Loss. The book gestated in me for years before I actually began the writing, and took fifteen grueling months of daily writing to complete. The results of all that effort were multiple: I enjoyed the great satisfaction of having completed something that felt important to me; I reached and helped people in need whom I didn’t even know; I was acknowledged for my achievement, and received a prestigious award (a 2012 Nautilus Book award); I even got a flash of something feeling like fame when a short clip of a TV interview of me ended up on YouTube; and a new identity: I introduced myself to my new neighbor (“Hi, I’m Samantha White,”) and she gasped, “The author?”

But the big prize at the end was that my painful past had morphed into something else – a happy past!

None of the facts had changed – my first marriage was still over, ended tragically, I had been betrayed, and my daughter was gone from me forever. But many of the other hurtful incidents, the lies and insults, the feelings of shame, and even my anger – had fallen away, lost their importance in the larger picture. The woefully long story of my personal suffering had been whittled down to what mattered, and the rest, I realized – well, the rest didn’t matter. Instead of continuing to passively allow my crippling memories to assault me, I could begin to choose what to remember and what to forget.

I choose to focus now on what I’m grateful for, and what fulfills me. I have resumed doing something I enjoyed before my daughter’s death – public speaking – and am making new friends, learning new things. I have a new husband and a life rich with music, laughter, and love. My book seems to be flying on wings of its own to people who want to learn how to triumph over trauma, and in that way honors the memory of my daughter.

It wasn’t catharsis, as people assume. Catharsis went on for many years before, when I wept and spoke of my sorrow, over and over again. This was not merely a final emptying of the deep well of my sadness. It was a penetrating examination of what was causing my pain, resulting in a metamorphosis, what some Buddhists call “turning the pain into medicine.”

The pain itself, which drove me to write the book, became the cure for not just my losses, but for my life, now renewed. My past no longer hurts me. Writing about it turned it around and helped me see it as something else . . . as the platform for my growth and (here’s that word again) transformation.

In my line of work (psychotherapy), it’s what we call “reframing.” Remove an old, murky, indistinct painting from its battered frame, dust it off and rotate it, examine it to find what’s hidden there, choose a truer frame, and hang it in a better light. Voila! – from a tired, old scene emerges a fresh, new view.

That’s what writing memoir can do, did do, for me.

You can read Samantha’s previous guest post, Accessing Intuition, here. Visit Samantha’s website and read more of her insights on her blog.

Write now: Do some freewriting about how writing has transformed your life – or how you hope it will if it hasn’t already. In the latter case, dream big. Make a list of topics to explore in writing that you’d like to understand better or see “detoxified.” Keep that list and write your way through it, but take your time and don’t rush. Leave a comment about your thoughts or plans.

Mother Memoir

Lynn Henriksen, aka The Story Woman, is a woman with a mission. As she explains in a blog post on Telltale Souls.com, since her mother’s death over a decade ago, she has been collecting “Mother Memoir” stories. She publishes collections of these stories, and teaches people how to write them. Although I have not yet read it, her newly released how-to book, TellTale Souls Writing the Mother Memoir, is said to be a comprehensive guide to remembering and capturing the essence of your mother’s story – and probably your own in the process.

Memoirs about mothers abound. Since nobody came into this life without a mother, it’s hard to imagine writing a book-length memoir that didn’t mention the author’s mother at least in passing, but some dwell on the mother-child relationship in more depth than others. Flavorwire.com recently posted a list of “10 of the Best Memoirs About Mothers.” Many titles may be new to you, but chances are you’ve read (or at least heard of) The Glass Castle, by Jeannette Walls. The Flavorwire list barely scratches the surface. Carol O’Dell’s memoir, Mothering Mother, is a heart-rending read, and Linda Joy Myer's’ volume, Don’t Call Me Mother (soon to be re-released with additional chapters) is a fine example of writing about a darker type of maternal relationship.

While the volumes I just mentioned are book-length, even single-page memories and stories are a worthy tribute to the woman who brought you into the world and shaped your life. When I say tribute, I don’t necessarily mean accolade. Whether rosy or dark, your stories should reflect the truth of your mother as you knew her.

The fact is, stories without shadows and shape tend to be flat and uninteresting. Ann Lamott explains this in one of her books – I don’t remember which. Her novel Rosie is modeled on her family, with twists. She explained some of them. The mother in Rosie has one nostril larger than the other. She did this to give her more interest and character. Ann did similar things with behavioral and emotional quirks. Your mother may not have unbalanced nostrils, but she will have distinctive traits and quirks. Use these to add interest and color to your story. Don’t just tell how loving she was. Include a little conflict and tension, thus showing her as real and human.

And definitely include snippets of daily life. That which you took for granted back then has already changed dramatically and will continue to do so. Let future generations know what ordinary life was like “back then.”

Whether your mother sported a halo or horns, hopefully you’ll show her foibles with compassion and understanding, as Jonna Ivin does in Will Love For Crumbs and Linda Joy Myers does in Don’t Call Me Mother.

If you have accolades, what better time to record them than this Mother’s Day season? If your memories are more tender and sore, writing about them may help you shift your perspective and find the understanding and compassion that can sooth many of those raw memories. Whatever the case, your story or stories will make an important contribution to your legacy of personal and family history for future generations.

Write now: make a list of key memories involving you and your mother. Select one and write about it. Include details of the scene where it takes place. Include some dialogue and show what your mother looked like. Give a sense of her emotional state – and yours as you interacted in this scene.

Photo: Marjorie Melton. Happy Mother’s Day Mom, your memory lives on.

Not Just for Tuesdays

I must not be a Tuesday person. Today is Sunday, but since I hadn’t read the book, it didn’t occur to me to wait yet another two days to read Tuesdays with Morrie.

When the book was first published nine years ago, I cynically thought it couldn’t possibly live up to all the hype, but was also deterred by the fact that my feelings about that name were on the cool side, and who wants to read about a dying old man? These less than admirable facts I neglected to confess. I’ve been asked dozens of times if I’ve read it and always mumbled something about it being on my list. It finally got pushed to the top of the list, and I think at just the right time. I’m certain I would not have appreciated it as much nine years ago.

The fact that I was not ready to read this book until now carries a lesson for lifestory and memoir writers. I always remind people that we should write for ourselves first, because there are no guarantees that family will ever be interested, and even if they are, your words may mean more to them later. That’s especially likely to be true of younger family members.

Back to Tuesdays. I’ve since learned that books getting rave reviews usually do live up to the hype, but even more than the message, the structure of this book means way more to me today than it would have back then. I’ve learned how to read — like a writer, that is. The first writerly thing I noticed was Albom’s superb use of words. A couple of years ago I began keeping a list of what Sheila Bender refers to as “Velcro Phrases,” so named because they stick in mind. I described this process in a previous post, “Hang onto Inspiration.” I made many new entries as I read today. Some similes I especially enjoyed include:

. . . he waved his arms like a conductor on amphetamines . . .

. . . the sagging cheeks gathered up like curtains.

ALS is like a lit candle: it melts your nerves and leaves your body a pile of wax.

I noticed that Albom uses a unique dialog convention. He puts Morrie’s words in quotation marks. His own remarks lack them. The reason isn’t entirely clear, but it appears that he mixes the drift of his remarks in with reflection and summaries of the conversation rather than using them as an integral part of an ordinary conversation. Whatever the case, it works well, and the average reader would probably not notice.

His structure also appeals to me. He uses the metaphor of a final class with a beloved professor as the basis of the book and uses the metaphor to compile the parts: background history, synopsis of characters, and class session summaries. In reality, I strongly suspect that at least in the beginning, the conversation each visit covered more than the topic of the day, and some topics may have spanned several visits. But who would want to read a transcript? The way Albom spotlights each of the thirteen themes with a session of its own highlights and clarifies each in turn.

His use of “intersession notes” prepares the reader for each visit with flashbacks and other relevant material without distracting from the discussion during the visit.

Albom has accomplished what I dream of doing. He has written a concise volume filled with timeless wisdom that slips straight through the eyes into the heart, and created a literary masterpiece in the process.

My final thought regarding this book is that he celebrates one teacher who touched his life in such an all-encompassing way. In a very real sense, books like this one are my teachers, both for the content and as an example of fine writing. I honor and celebrate my teachers by mentioning the books.

Write now: if you don’t already have a list of Velcro Phrases, use the instructions in “Hang onto Inspiration” to start one. When your list is set up, read a book and begin making entries. Add a section at the end for other notes about writing style and structure for each book you read.

Beware of the Elephants

I had a head start on Memorial Day. Four weeks ago my siblings and I gathered with our spouses and most of our offspring to celebrate our father’s 90th birthday. I joked with him that being at the party was a little like attending his own funeral, because he got to hear so many people recount flattering memories of him. He laughingly agreed. It was a little like attending his own funeral in a couple of other odd ways: it took place in an events center in the cemetery, and he wore a black suit – a story we’ll be telling for a couple of generations.

Not surprisingly, the entire weekend was full of stories of long ago. The ones we talked about were the good times, but I’m sure I wasn’t the only one making choices about which ones to bring up. I know we aren’t the only family with a herd of wild elephants living in our midst. There are the things we talk about and the things we let slide. in our case this seems fitting since, due to geographical diversity, we seldom see each other. (Twenty-five people convened from Washington, Oregon, Idaho, California, New Mexico, Texas, Illinois, Georgia, and Pennsylvania.)

On further thought I’ve realized that while it makes sense to stick to the smooth path at gatherings, the things we didn’t talk about contain the most meat and the juiciest story content. While we have plenty of hilariously funny stories, the gripping ones are guarded by the herd of elephants always nearby.

The question is how to go about this. Elephants can be dangerous, even deadly, as my husband and I learned from our guides in Chobe National Park in Botswana. Safari drivers are wary around elephants, keeping a respectful distance, a foot near the gas pedal, and avoiding confrontation whenever possible. Elephants are usually sedate, but you never know what will set one off, and they are a force to be reckoned with. Similar respect for relationship elephants is also well-advised.

Below is a list of suggestions for how to write honestly about the “good stuff” and still be welcome at family gatherings:

• Keep your writing private. This is always a safe strategy. You can always change your mind and share private material, but you can’t retract it once it’s been read.

• Limit distribution. As long as you confine readership to a limited audience such as a trusted writing group, you should be able to safely get the support and feedback you desire. You might also share with trusted family members, but that gets trickier. Things have a way of slipping out unexpectedly.

• Let the main characters read it privately. Sometimes reading a story is a powerful way of opening dialogues that otherwise would not take place, resulting in healed relationships and perhaps support for publishing your story more widely. But there are no guarantees. You’ll have to weigh the risks and make your own decision.

• Wait until the main character dies. You’ll probably outlive your parents, but depending on current ages, you may not want to wait that long. Ditto if your age group is involved.

• Wait until you die. If you are writing strictly for family, and especially if you have dark secrets of your own you’d prefer to to never confront, this may be a good choice. The Bridges of Madison County can shed light on this option, even though it is a novel rather than a memoir. Pay close attention to the reaction of the children Francesca leaves behind.

• Write your story as fiction. This option can free you to say a lot of things you might otherwise keep hidden. But do realize you’ll have to make drastic changes to keep insiders from inferring “the facts” behind your Truth.

• Tell your story to the world and let the chips fall where they may. You may find that it’s not nearly the big deal you thought it was.

Any number of variations are possible on these themes. Write your stories, privately at first, and then let your heart be your guide as you move down the path. Learn what you can from the writing, and then let compassion be your guide.

Write now: Recall some elephants from gatherings you have attended, whether they involve family or others. Write about these elephants, considering various points of view. See what you can learn from your stories, what new meaning may arise.

Photo: Sharon Lippincott

A Gift to Yourself

Kim Pearson, an author, ghostwriter and editor, shared a wrenching story on Womens Memoirs. Kim’s jolting experience with an art teacher taught her a lesson for life about the importance of doing our best. Although stunned by her teacher’s seemingly appalling behavior, Kim came to see it as a gift – it instilled respect for excellence in her developing mind.

Kim learned a lesson in seconds that I spent years acquiring. I grew up with a mother who insisted that ever stitch in every garment be perfect, and I sewed constantly. I hated her perfectionism at the time, but came to value it later.

That ethic transfers to editing and making my writing the best it can be on any given day. I don’t curl up and die if a typo or missing word occurs in a Forum or blog post, but I’d just about as soon go out in public with my shirt buttoned crooked or jelly on my face as send sloppy writing out into the world. It’s about more than ego and self-respect. I see it as respect and consideration for readers. I want to make my message clear and easy to understand.

It’s a huge challenge to figure out how to balance this message about the importance of respecting your work by polishing it to perfection with the counter one:

Anything you write is better

than writing nothing!

I shout this message from the rafters in classes of new writers. It is often the key to unlocking the fingers of people who were terrorized by teachers earlier in life.

The balance I found turned out to be quite simple and consists of two parts:

Write first, THEN edit.

Suit the polish to the purpose.

Purpose implies choice. Choice is involved in setting the purpose that determines the appropriate level of polish. To illustrate that concept, think of drinking wine. If you just finished unloading the moving van, any clean cup will do the trick quite nicely. If you’re preparing a formal dinner, crystal goblets are in order.

I give my mother full credit for giving me the gift of choice. You can only choose to do less than your best if you know what your best is. I did eventually learn that it was okay to not spend an hour ripping dense stretch stitches to correct a tiny pucker in the sleeves of toddler pajamas. And it’s okay to leave my journal and experimental drafts unedited.

It all boils down to purpose. When she died, Mother left a secret stash of manuscripts covering the first 19 years of her life. Her primary purpose was to complete a draft. If she had taken the time to perfect every word she wrote, she probably wouldn’t have gotten past the age of six. How glad we are that she wrote first, saving the edits for a later that never came. I could do the editing, but I couldn’t write stories from her private memory.

If you write for yourself in a journal, forget about editing. If you decide to share what you wrote with friends or family, make it the best you can within the time you have available. If you write for publication, do whatever it takes to make it glisten and gleam.

Mastering the craft of editing – not just the basics, but also scene, character development, dazzling description and more – may seem daunting, but the time you spend buffing stories often sinks them deeper into your soul and shows you depths you didn’t realize were there. Ultimately the time you spend editing your work is a gift to yourself, not just window dressing.

Write now: pull out an old story and buff it up. Make it the best it can be. Make plans to read a book on the craft of writing or take a class to hone your skills.

Playing with the Process

Yesterday was my dad's 90th birthday. One day last week the following conversation took place between my husband and me:

“Rats! I forgot to shop for a card for my father!”

“Why don't you make him something like Gil made my mother?” Gil is a friend of my mother-in-law's who lives in her retirement community. For her recent 98th birthday, he snagged some historical highlights of her birth year from the web, added a few sappy sentiments at the end, and wowed everyone. It was sweet, but … if I were going to do something like that, it would be a bit more, well, elegant. And definitely not sappy.

“I don't want to. It would take forever. … But … let me look at Gil's thing again.” He dug it out.

Hmm, I thought. How long could it take to pull a few facts off the web. A little bit more formatting, maybe a couple of graphics. Surely I could think of a suitable conclusion.

I cranked up Google to explore 1920. Most events pertained to war, the aftermath of war, or what would later be recognized as preludes to war. But did you know that's the year it became illegal to mail babies via the USPS? Prohibition began that year – for alcohol in this country and contraceptives in France.

I started playing with layout. A little graphic maybe? Yeck! Boring hardly began to describe it.

Let me see what I can do with PowerPoint, I thought. A few slides, a few graphics. How long could that take?

I knew. I truly knew. But I realized I'd been bitten by this bug and  the only way out was through.

Let's just say I didn't sleep much that night, and most planned tasks sat undone the next day. By the middle of the day after that, I had created a PowerPoint slideshow with animated loads and transitions for text and graphics. I'd snagged audio of a 19w0 top hit parade song. The final slide was an animated version of the image you see above, accompanied by a version of  Happy Birthday, sung way better than our family could ever do. I'd converted the file to a Flash video with the free iSpring plug-in. All was done.

“Good grief, if I'd realized how much time you'd sink into this project, I never would have suggested it!”

“I knew. It's always that way. That's why I didn't want to do it, but I'm glad I did. It was fun.”

It was fun. And it's typical of most projects I do, even more intentional ones. A project may seem too big, too vast. But I've learned through time that if I just nibble on a corner, I'll find my way.

I cranked out a handout recently for the next series of my Writing for the Health of It class. I had no idea how to do it. So I began writing a few basic ideas. Those led to more. Soon I had a sense of direction. In a surprisingly short period of time, it all flowed together. A formatting tweak here, another there. Print it out for an edit.

The key is to get lost in the process. Let it lead the way. If I try to force it to go the way I want, I always get discouraged. If I let the energy of the project lead the way, the path is a lot smoother.

These are some of the principles I've always known and used on some level, as far back as high school when I worked on the props committee for drama club plays. I was delighted to find that Mark David Gerson summarizes them most eloquently on the front page of his website, starting with Rule #1:

Rule #1: There are no rules: How can there be when creativity is all about breaking new ground and breaking old rules?

Thanks Mark David. This list is wind beneath our wings and a great reason to ask Santa to put a copy of your book in our stockings — paired with a copy of mine!

Write now: think of a story you want to write and play with it. Using Mark David's list as guidance, let it tell you how it wants to be written.  

P.S. I know you'll wonder. I can't show you the finished product, because I created it for strictly personal purposes and posting it publicly would violate copyright all over the place.

A Festival of Life Stories

There’s nothing like a party to bring out people’s best stories, especially when stories are the reason for the party. On November 10, members of the Monroeville Library Life Writers celebrated National Life Writing Month with a Festival of Lifestories. Ten experienced members selected one story each from their growing collections and read it to a room packed with family members and friends at the Monroeville Library, our generous host.

As group facilitator, I served as Emcee for the event, introducing a full spectrum of stories. Story topics ranged from a matched pair of stories about “How We Met” through travel stories, war stories, grieving stories, and high school memories to straight humor.

Everyone had a great time, whether they read stories or listened. It was a powerful illustration of the variety of stories that emerge from such a group, and several in the audience expressed interest in learning more about writing life stories.

The event also provided a great way for this close-knit group to celebrate our accomplishments together. We’ve been meeting for just over four years, and though several original members have left the ranks, many new ones have emerged to fill the empty spots and enlarge our ranks. Those who attend continue to develop their writing skill, and their pile of finished stories is growing nicely. One member is sending his second self-published volume to press in another two weeks.

Beyond the encouragement to continue writing and hone the craft, members have come to care deeply about one another. It takes courage to put your life on paper and expose it to the eyes and ears of strangers. We’ve all done that and found our lives richer for the experience.

I speak for the whole group in encouraging you to look for a group to attend in your area. If there isn’t one, start one! You library is a great place to meet, and will most likely be happy to help you get started. The main thing you need are a few people who are willing to write (a copy of The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing will also prove helpful). Send me an e-mail with any questions, and I’ll answer as well as I can.

Maybe next year you can celebrate National Life Writing Month with a group of your own.

Write Now: about your writing group experiences if you have any. Make a list of ideas for starting a group if you don’t.

Superior Scribbler Award

Who doesn’t love to get an award? I know I do. I was honored and delighted to receive the Superior Scribble Award from Karen Walker, author of Following the Whispers. I was totally blown away a few days later, before I had accepted it from Karen, to receive it once again from Kim Pearson, author of From the Compost. 

I appreciate this award all the more for the fact it is so unexpected. I hadn’t ever heard of it. It’s especially rewarding to receive spontaneous recognition. And I love that awards like this foster a sense of community and connection in the blogsophere.

One of the requirements of accepting the award is that you pass it along to pay tribute to five other noteworthy bloggers. Since I received the award twice, I shall issue a double helping of tribute (in no particular order). This makes the process a little easier, but I know of so many fine blogs, and the choice was still agonizing.

Drum roll, please ... and the winners are ...

Pat, At Pat’s Place
Joy Hedlund, On the Path
Linda Austin, Cherry Blossom Memories
Hill Country Hippy, Seasonality
Shaddy, Paper Cut Screams
Jerry Waxler, Memory Writers Network
Ybonesy and Quoinmonkey, redRavine
Terrisa Meeks, Just Write
Linda Hoye, My Own Velvet Room
Gullible, Gullible’s Travels

Congratulations to each of these fine bloggers. I love all your blogs.

Here are the rules for Passing on the Superior Scribbler Award:

1. Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
2. Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author and the name of the blog from whom he/she has received the Award.
3. Each Superior Scribbler must display the Award on his/her blog, and link to this post, (http://scholastic-scribe.blogspot.com/2008/10/200-this-blings-for-you.html) which explains the Award.
4. Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List. That way, we’ll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!
5. Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

Thank you, thank you, Karen and Kim, for bestowing this honor in recognition of the efforts I make as I follow my passion.

Write now: a story about an award you won, even if it was something as humble as placing third in the fourth grade spelling bee. Or, write about one you hoped to win and didn’t.

This I Believe

I believe that writing about life . . .

• lends richness to life.
• invokes a profound sense of gratitude.
• puts the past into focus.
• lets me see the past from many angles.
• makes it possible to understand and forgive hurtful acts.
• increases compassion — for others and myself.
• allows me to relive precious moments and savor them anew.
• builds connections between generations.
• revitalizes dreams.
• pays tribute to those who have helped me along my way.
• shares lessons learned with generations to come.
• gives me a chance to tell my side of the story.
• gives others a deeper understanding of who I am.
• keeps my brain active and healthy.
• is enlightening and often fun.
• is an intensely personal process to be done my way.
• can be equally rewarding for others.

The statements above do not exhaust my beliefs about life writing, but for the purposes of this post, they are sufficient. The idea for this list came to mind yesterday morning as I listened to seven-year-old Tarak McLain read a list of thirty things he believes on This I Believe as it aired on NPR’s Weekend Edition Sunday. You can read Tarak’s list yourself and listen to him read it on the program’s website.

Tarak’s list is amazing for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that he wrote it as a project for kindergarten class. Each child brought in a collection of one hundred items. Tarak’s items were beliefs — he edited the list down to thirty for the program. His mother helped him to think it through, but the words are his. The simplicity of his approach is refreshing, and easy for anyone to emulate.

Taking time, whether that be ten minutes, several days, or even weeks to create a list of your beliefs about anything from ethics and matters of the spirit to food preferences and humor, will give you a rich and vibrant reservoir of topics for writing spin-off stories and essays. These essays are a perfect way to create and pass along a legacy of your beliefs that will constitute an important historical document for future generations and include things that don't fit well into story form.

The website for This I Believe includes tens of thousands of essays submitted through the years, including the hundreds aired on the original program hosted by Edward R. Murrow in the 1950s. Read a selection of these essays to get a feel for the essay-writing form. The site has a link to essay-writing tips, and the NPR site includes an archive of podcasts from the weekly This I Believe broadcast. This I Believe also includes information on how to submit your work. Who knows? In a few weeks one or more readers of this blog could be featured guests. Do let us know what date you'll be on!

Write now: start your list of things you believe. Keep statements short and simple. You can write spin-off essays or stories about individual items, but don’t include details in the list.

The City That Glows in the Dark

Ties to places can be surprisingly strong. Although this wasn't news to me, my understanding of this fact was recently deepened. At one point during a program I attended, the speaker got into a short interchange with an audience member about the evils of Los Alamos, New Mexico. “... glows in the dark ... all those toxins ... total denial ... doesn't it just make you shudder?”

It certainly made me shudder, but not for the reasons they were discussing. My family moved to Los Alamos the day I turned seven. I left when I went to college, and my parents moved elsewhere within five years. Over the past forty some years, I have been back only four times, and briefly at that, but Northern New Mexico in general and Los Alamos in particular will always be “home” to me.

Although I've always felt a special attachment for Los Alamos, I had not realized how deep it ran. As they rained invectives on a place so dear to my heart, images of golden aspen groves dotting the panorama of the Jemez mountains rising above the town floated through my mind. I could hear the wind whisper through pine boughs, smell sun-warmed, vanilla-scented pine resin, and taste the slightly acrid tang of pine gum. I thought of riding my bicycle out to the next mesa for a picnic with my sister, or hiking alone through the canyon behind our house. That canyon was my favorite spot for introspection and licking wounds.

How could I explain to them that although I understand their horror about decisions made by people there, and although I might be one of the activists pressing for accountability and responsibility if I still lived there, the place itself is an innocent victim of mankind's sometimes misguided efforts to protect our nation and the human race?

I was momentarily stunned, at a complete loss for words to defend this place I love so dearly. I sat in horrified silence feeling as if they were desecrating the temple of my youth. I knew better than to take their words personally. It seemed preferable to let the moment pass than to prolong it.

Regardless of what others may believe or say, Los Alamos will always remain a place sacred to my youth; a place where I was safe and free to roam at will, exploring the wonders of nature, dreaming dreams and hoping hopes. There were many other aspects of growing up there that were truly special, and I often written of them in family history stories for my descendants.

Perhaps it took this shocking experience to fully focus the extent of my fervor and connection with this unique place where I came of age. Now my challenge is to find a way to pay tribute to the soil that nurtures my roots.

Write now: about a place that has been especially influential and special to you. What does (or did) it feel like to be there Describe the sights, sounds, tastes, scents and other aspects of the place. What happened there to make it special to you? Do you return there often?

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Goosebumps and the Bigger Picture

Last night I saw a vision expanding the context and value of lifestory writing that gives me goosebumps. Through a series of coincidences (if you believe in coincidences), I have become involved in FMHI, the Follow Me Home Initiative. This exciting project is being spearheaded by Kathy Brown, assistant professor of communications on the Greater Allegheny campus of Penn State.

Her class will provide outreach for seniors in the local community through collaborations with Blueroof Technologies Research Associates. The goal of the collaboration is to teach seniors to use computers by writing their own lifestories. The students will mentor seniors through the FMHI while using lifestories as the catalyst for learning.

This means that the students need to learn the basics of lifestory writing themselves in order to coach the Seniors as they go along. That's where I come in. I met with the class last night to go over the basics of how to get their troop of Seniors started on their writing projects, and how to coach them along. “Just remember, this is not about producing literary masterpieces. This is about getting stories on paper as a written legacy of those lives. Tell them to think of it as writing a letter to their descendants.” Of course I also reminded them that everything they need to know can be found in one of their textbooks, The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing.

The class was exciting, and I'm thrilled to have the opportunity to participate. Besides the excitement of the class itself, I was delighted to meet a couple of other faculty members who are involved in a project with the Braddock Carnegie Library. Braddock was once a thriving town, bustling with life supported by the local steel mill. The professors are working on a legacy project that involves recording the stories of people who grew up in this town before the steel mill closed in 1984, plunging this town into post-industrial decay. Ultimately the collected stories will be meshed into a multimedia account of Braddock history, paying tribute to the unsung heroes of that community's past.

Dr. Brown envisions that stories written by Seniors in FMHI will serve the same purpose of documenting personal history for McKeesport and White Oak, other towns in the Monogahela (Mon) Valley that have been likewise devastated by the decline of Pittsburgh's steel industry.

Maury Fey, a retired Westinghouse executive who grew up in McKeesport, summed up the importance of recording personal histories. “My ancestors came to this area from Ireland and France nearly two hundred years ago. I know their names, but I have no idea why they made the decision to leave their families, knowing they would never see or hear from them again, and cross an ocean to come to what was then a vast wilderness to begin a new life. I'd like to know why they did that. I'm making sure my descendants won't have to wonder why I did the things I did. I'm writing that down!”

The sense I got last night, of individual stories flowing together into a vibrant picture of life in a by-gone era, is transcendent. I have this growing sense that we are acquiring the ability to unlock the boundaries of time, and travel more deeply into the past than anyone would have imagined possible. Just think: when you write the legacy of your life, whether you contribute those stories to a larger respository or not, you are contributing to the ability of future generations to know their roots and the past.

Write now: about a larger vision you have had. Or a smaller one. What possibilities have you seen in life or business? Were you involved in bringing them about, or were they simply a personal insight? How did you feel about these visions? What did they mean to you? If you pursued them, what were the results?

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

The Story That Herm Wrote

I’ve spent most of the past week listening to audio books as I lay in bed with pneumonia. I’ll spare you the details of the illness, other than to tell you that I couldn’t concentrate well enough even to read. I’m starting to feel human again, but not quite ready to write a full-length blog. Instead, I will share a story I received from a good friend in an e-mail recently.

I met Herchell “Herm” Newman through the Lifestory YahooGroup, (now the Life-Story-Writing Group) about five years ago. Finding one of Herm’s stories in my inbox has always brightened my day. Three years ago I was thrilled to hear that one of his stories had been chosen for inclusion in Chicken Soup for the African American Soul. Now, that’s quite a distinction!

Herm’s stories revolve around his family, his faith, and sometimes his career as a fire fighter — an occupation he retired from a few years ago. They are tender to the bone, with just the right balance of meat and sweetness, well-seasoned with humor. They warm both heart and soul.

I especially liked this story he recently posted to the YahooGroup, and asked his permission to share it in the blog:

Sunday’s choral experience was massive joy. From the time the curtain opened, the first musical chords were struck and the first words sung...the heart of the congregation moved toward us like a tide of smiling faces. Soon they were on their feet clapping their hands and singing along.

Director Adams had me seated in the middle of the front row. Before the curtain opened he said to me, “Herchel, after you sing two verses, pass the mic back to your father and he'll sing a couple.” I replied, “I'm gonna have a mic!?” Everybody laughed. He said, “Perhaps I should have just passed it to you at the appropriate time. Seems I’m putting too much pressure on you.”

Thomas (aka Tommy) Adams, has been a man of music for about thirty-five years in and around Columbus,Ohio. This day was to be his last because he is relocating to LA. I wanted to honor God by honoring his musical servant. This meant putting my lack of confidence aside and giving from my heart in unison with the congregation.

Tommy, has a great sense of humor. It endears him to people. When it was time to sing “All That I Own", Jesus gave it to me, He built up the introduction. “...and leading this song will be Brother Herchel Newman!” He handed me the mic without meeting my eye. Singing was as joyful and easy as singing in the kitchen waiting for the apple pie to come out of the oven.

I saw Tommy glance my way so I passed the mic back to Dad. His voice is as strong as ever and those who know him get excited when he stands before them to sing. First timers are always amazed. I looked to see the faces of first timers in the audience. When we finished the chorus I was nudged on the shoulder. Dad, had passed the mic back to me. I gave myself to the song and then some after the music stopped. At that point we were a choir and church on one a-chord . He later said, “You were really feeling the song. It was yours to sing.”

The song ended with an Amen. The musicians added the final notes. The curtain closed. Tommy Adams, is moving on. God, is always creating. The curtain will open again.

This isn’t a fancy story, but it is a powerful one. It comes straight from the center of his heart and truth. I share it for a reason beyond its simple elegance. Many people hesitate to write about their own triumphs; their Inner Censor screams loudly that humility is a virtue and these stories amount to bragging. Triumphs are important parts of our lives. They are our moments of intense joy, and no portrait of our inner self is complete without them. They empower future generations to face their own demons and excel in their own ways.

Herm’s story is a virtual template of how to do this, in a tasteful, humble way. He shares his angst, clues us in on the method he used to rise above it. Along the way, he pays tribute to others, and finally takes us with him as he soars. Although I did not verify this, his purpose seems more to pay tribute to Tommy, his father, and the power of love and faith than to glorify himself.

Write now: about a triumph of your own; a time you overcame your fears.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Stories Help Us Cope With Tragedies

Telling stories seems to be one of the most natural ways to cope with tragedy. Mixed with the joy of our family's newest addition, is the grief my daughter and her husband are experiencing following a near-fatal accident involving a close friend, Jeff Byers. Jeff survived the accident, but only through the miracles of modern medical technology. He remains in a coma, though signs of healing are appearing, and his long-term prognosis is anyone’s guess.

I have never met Jeff, and I don’t remember hearing about him, but each day Chris Mack, my son-in-law, has been writing a blog entry comprised of a story based on memories of his experiences with Jeff, and I’m beginning to feel that he’s my friend too. Chris told me that he wrote the first story, “Because it felt like the right thing to do,” and he continues writing them for the same reason. He agrees that it helps him cope with his own grief and dismay, and hopes it may serve the same purpose for mutual friends who may read the stories. Of course there is always the hope that Jeff will recover to read these tributes.

These stories are short, sweet, and simple, and I invite you to read them, to show that you don’t have to write something long and flowery to have a great story.

Today’s entry is Jeff Stories #6. Chris plans to keep writing them “until I run out of stories, and then I may include some from others who know them.” Right now, you’ll find six earlier ones (including the unnumbered introductory one). If you read this message after September 17, 2007, you may find later ones also.

I’ll close by requesting prayers for Jeff from anyone so inclined.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal