Writers and Stored Memories

Truth to today's poster! Only yesterday, I made a comment on a facebook friend's post. Two sentences about a memory she had shared. She quickly replied that I needed to write a story based on the comment I'd made. It was something trivial from childhood days. 

As I continued to scroll through other posts, the wheels in my head started turning slowly and suddenly started racing when I realized I could write a story for a new Chicken Soup for the Soul book looking for submissions. The offhand comment I'd made on my writer friend's facebook post gave me a good topic. 

Nothing is wasted in a writer's life. We sometimes need a trigger like my friend's comment about me needing to write the story. 

Think of your brain as a room filled with tiny boxes. Each one holds an experience in your life or info about a person who crossed your path sometime during the years you have lived. Every box holds the potential for a story to write. All you need is a trigger which brings forth the memory. Then apply all your creativity to let the story emerge like a butterfly from its cocoon. 

Think of the resources in those boxes, each one very small but a treasure all its own. Consider the places you've been in your lifetime, the people you've met, the events that occurred, the good, the bad and, yes, the ugly. 

All people harbor the things mentioned above but it's the writer who can use them to his/her benefit. It's the writer who can create much from something very small. It's the writer who can make an insignificant happening a full story. 

Start organizing those wee little boxes in your brain. Peek into them now and then to find new story ideas. They're yours. They're free. They're gems! 

Whose Bicycle Is This?

Let's start the week off with a photo prompt. I loved this picture. It left questions in my mind and I hope it will do the same for you. 

Play the What if...? game as you study the photo. Or maybe we should try one called Who will...?

When you're ready to write your paragraph (or several) or a full story, keep the following in mind:

• Active verbs
• Five senses--taste, touch, sight, smell and sound
• No cliches
• Show instead of telling
• No repeating words--find new ones
• No unnecessary words like very, really, just etc.
• Nix the overlong sentences
• Use adjectives sparingly

Don't turn your nose up at writing exercises. They flex your writing muscles, stimulate the imagination and bring out your creative side. Many a writing exercise has turned into a publishable piece of writing. 

Do You Know Why You Write?

I firmly believe you can only be a writer if you love the act of writing. If you listed all the reasons people write, this would be number 1 on my list. 

My List of Reasons People Write:

1. love writing
2. an internal urge
3. a dream of being published
4. someone pushed them into it
5. to earn a living
6. fame
7. recognition
8. word people
9. to prove they can do it
10. to offer something to others

Go through the list. How many apply to you? Which one would you list as your top choice? 

The poster today makes number 1 the most important one, just as I did. The part about becoming famous or making a lot of money should be side benefits to the deep love you have for writing. 

If you're in this game only for the fame and earnings, I think your writing is going to lack something that people who love to write have. Those who have a real passion for writing allow it to emerge through the words they string together to create a story or essay.

Later this month, I am going to have a series of posts written by Guest Bloggers on the topic of why they write. I'm looking forward to learning what reasons they all have in common and some that perhaps only one of the group will give. 

Give some thought today to the reasons that you write. Put them in any order or list them as which ones are your top priorities. You may have others to add to the ten I shared with you. 

Resurrect Your Unfinished Writing Projects

Years ago, before I began writing, I did a lot of quilting and embroidering and other hand-sewing. I had several projects started at one time. I finished a good many but there were also ones that I left on a closet shelf or in a drawer only half-done. Why? There were probably a few reasons. Maybe I didn't like the way things were turning out. Or I didn't have the right thread and never got around to buying more. Or it proved too difficult. 

When we downsized almost three years ago, I found several partially done handwork projects. Two I kept and got rid of the rest. The ones I saved were special quilt tops that had never been made into a full quilt with batting and backing. One had been made by my mother and the other by my husband's mother. No, I could not get rid of either of them. 

Now, I don't do sewing of any kind, except maybe replace a button now and then. I find that I have several unfinished writing projects instead. They don't rest on a closet shelf or are nestled in a bureau drawer. They wait for my attention in my Documents file on my laptop. If computer files can gather dust, there are a few that must be coated mightily! I see the titles as I scan through the files occasionally but I usually slip right by. I might even grimace a bit.

Why weren't those pieces ever finished? Probably for many of the same reasons as the sewing pieces. I didn't like the way the first draft looked. It was too hard to figure out what was wrong and how to correct it. It was a dumb topic to begin with. The topic didn't inspire me. And maybe more reasons. 

It might be to our advantage--yes, yours and mine--to go through our files and pull up all the unfinished pieces of writing that have been waiting for our attention. Maybe it's a novel. How many writers start a novel and never finish? I fear the number might astound us. It could be a poem that never sounded right to us. Or it might be a personal essay that upset us emotionally enough that we never finished it. A memoir? A family story? An article on writing. 

Make a list and then add numbers for the order in which you will try again. Easiest or hardest? Your choice as to which will be the first--or last! 

After reading through the first one, ask yourself some questions:

• What is the most positive thing about this?
• What is the worst part?
• What can I do to make this more interesting?
• What is needed to hook the reader?
• Is it worth saving?
• Is the topic alright but poor mechanics detracting from it?
• Do I like the topic?
• Would I like to resurrect this piece of writing?
• Should I delete the whole thing? 

It's possible that you find a hidden gem and get excited about giving it new life. The absolute reverse can also happen. After serious consideration, you might be ready to ditch it completely. That's alright. Not everything we write is going to be worth pursuing. I've written plenty of drivel and I bet most of you have at times, too. 

What is important is to take a look at the unfinished pieces of writing in your files. Then assess them and either save or ditch. Next, take one at a time and start working. 

Pancakes and Poetry On Independence Day

The Fourth of July

This morning, Ken and I attended a Pancake and Sausage Breakfast sponsored by a Kiwanis Club in our community. It was held in a large building at our fairgrounds. As we walked in the door, we were greeted by a plethora of red, white and blue. The tables were decorated with that trio of colors and the vast majority of people were wearing those hues, as well. 

The pancakes were good, the people cheerful, and the huge room filled with conversation and laughter. The only negative seemed to be the age of the many, many in attendance. I would guess that 90% were senior citizens. Nothing wrong with that but there were only a handful of families with children who were enjoying the event. I wondered why. What a good opportunity to teach children what a service organization does and how a community supports their fund-raising and patriotic breakfast. 

Today, there will be parades and picnics, barbecues at home and, of course, fireworks once the blazing sun goes down. We will be pushing 100 degrees once again but that won't keep everyone indoors. 

Do you remember how you celebrated Independence Day when you were growing up? Is there a family story you could write to include in your Family Stories Book? Was there one especially memorable 4th of July? 

I'll close today with a short poem published in an anthology celebrating various holidays. Enjoy the day but be safe.

Fourth of July Parade

Celebrate the red, white and blue.

                                                      On this day, keep it in all you do.

    Blow the bugle and beat the drums,

       march proudly wherever you’re from.

                   Remember the patriots who steadfastly tried,

    and all those souls who readily died.

        Scores perished so that we may be free

               to worship God, not king, on bended knee.

              Carry the flag proudly this exceptional day.

         “I’m an American” you can happily say.

                     Move on with a steady step and head held high.

               Let your heart swell as you look to the sky.

                This is our Independence Day celebration—

                         the blessed birthday of, this, our own great nation.

                                     --Nancy Julien Kopp

Using Sound As A Sensory Detail

A Greek Bell Tower

Our five senses are an important part of our writing world. All of them--sight, sound, smell, taste and touch--help enhance our writing.  Today's post is about just one of those senses. Sound!

A few years ago, we were traveling in England with some dear friends from South Africa. We'd had a very long day of driving before we stopped to look for a hotel. The hotels in small English towns are not the huge commercial ones we know in our country. They often have only a handful of rooms. The one we stayed in that night had been a lovely mansion at one time, a private home. It was old, furnished with many antiques and some things that were just 'old' but interesting. 

After a good night's sleep, I wandered down the hall, or passage as the English call it, to the front reception area. It was early on a Sunday morning and so very quiet. I opened the large front door and stepped outside. I could see a green area to the right filled with lovely, leafy trees. But it was church bells pealing in the distance that captured my full attention. There was no traffic on the street, no sound but those lovely, lilting bells. I stood there for quite some time listening, enchanted by the length of time they continued and the joyous sound that carried through the area and straight to my heart.

When I think about that particular trip, one of the first things that comes to mind is the sound of those church bells. 

Do certain sounds trigger memories from long ago for you? Which ones from the list below can you relate to? Some are from today, some from way back.

• water running from the tap in a kitchen sink
• someone sanding a board
• the ice cream truck's bell
• chalk screeching on a blackboard
• rain on the roof
• the whack of a ball hit by a baseball bat
• a train's whistle
• a runner panting
• coal being shoveled
• a child coughing
• a bus stopping for passengers
• the clanging bell of a trolley car
• your mother's rolling pin
• the sound of water rushing in a brook
• a car engine
• a baby crying
• a dog barking
• a tractor in a farmer's field
• chewing ice cubes
• thunder
• a jet taking off
• church bells

Some of the words in the list above are ones that are in a category called onomatopoeia. I've always liked that word. It means a word that makes a sound, ones like whack, hiss, boom and clang. You can use a search engine to find lengthy lists of these words. Go back to the list and pick out the ones that qualify.

A sound can definitely trigger a memory. Church bells often bring me back to that top step at the old mansion on that quiet Sunday morning. Take advantage of those memories that return to you when you hear a certain sound. Include it within whatever you are writing or write an entire piece about that particular sound/memory. 

When you write, don't only tell your reader about a sound. Show them what the sound is like. Use some of those words in the onomatopoeia listings or describe it in such a way that the reader can almost 'hear it.' The sound that triggered a memory for you can do the same for a reader.

Don't underestimate any of the five senses when you write. Each of them will evoke sensation in your reader. Evoke sensation was a term used in one of our poster images a few days ago. I liked the thought conveyed it made so here it is again in a different context than used the other day. 

For this week, concentrate on the sense of sound as you write. 

Grandpa's Town--A Travel Essay

Friday's post illustrated a personal essay with travel as the topic. Read it here if you missed it.  Since this is the time of year many of us are on the road, I decided to give you one more example of a travel/personal essay in hope of inspiring you to give one of these a try. 

This time, it is of a more personal nature. One summer, we rented a car and did the back roads, small towns and villages in southern Germany. One of our prime destinations was Lahr, the town where my husband's grandfather grew up. This piece was published at Dave's Travel Corner along with another about a special hotel near Munich on a different trip. Take good notes as you travel as it's far too easy to forget little things once you are home. How about submitting something to this travel website?

Grandpa’s Town

By Nancy Julien Kopp

My husband wanted to go to Germany, rent a car and travel the scenic southern area. He had a yen to visit small towns and villages instead of big cities, which we’d already seen on earlier trips. Ken planned to drive the secondary roads and stay off the autobahn. For people who had relied on tour guides in the past, this was definitely an adventure.

In January, we started planning. I did multiple google searches on hotels, restaurants, attractions, transatlantic flights and car rentals. Ken’s job was to map out the route. He spread a huge map of Germany across our dining room table, leaving half of it clear for us to eat meals. He agreed to fold up Germany when company came.

Pointing to the map one morning, he said, “Here’s Lahr, the town where my Grandfather Kopp grew up.” His finger circled the immediate area. “It’s on the edge of the Black Forest. We could stay there for a few days and take in the surrounding area.”  

With that simple statement, our understanding and love for his grandfather grew tenfold, but not until we’d experienced Lahr.

We arrived in Grandpa’s town on a fine June day. We’d had good luck winging it as far as hotels went, but Lahr proved a different story. One hotel didn’t meet our standards. Three others were open but we could never get assistance. They appeared deserted, even though the front doors stood open. We began to wonder what kind of place we’d come to.

We continued to drive up one street and down another. Around a curve, we happened on a place I warmed to immediately. I sent Ken in to look and book. It proved fit for kings and queens, and that’s who could afford to stay there. Ken kept driving, while I had visions of sleeping in the car. Then I grabbed Ken’s arm.

 “There! The Hotel-am-West-End. It looks nice.”

I liked the all-white building and the big, leafy trees that lined the street. The open deck on the second floor, ringed with colorful, overflowing flower boxes beckoned. Ken went in and returned smiling. We had a room.

We climbed to the second floor reception area, and Ken introduced Dirk, the owner. Dirk must have lost his razor—either that or he liked the stubble on his face. His clothes were clean although a bit rumpled, but he gave us an effusive welcome, his smile warm and genuine.

Ken told Dirk that his Grandfather Kopp had grown up in Lahr. Dirk looked at the register where Ken had signed in. “Kopp? Ja, we got lots of them here.” Ken knew of cousins who had moved away but not of any other relations here. Apparently, our last name was a common one in this part of the world.

We ambled down the hall on oriental carpeting, dragging our luggage behind, mouths opened as we tried to take in the amazing antique art and furnishings that lined the walls

We learned later that Dirk ran the small hotel and dealt in antiques on the side.

 After a quick look at our pleasant room, we met the Guest Relations Manager in the hotel restaurant. Schef was a short-legged, fat amiable dog, who plunked himself next to my chair, hoping perhaps for a morsel of my wiener schnitzel to fall his way while we planned our agenda. We’d only been in Lahr for a few hours but already felt warmly welcomed. 

Schef, Guest Relations Manager

Lahr was not a tourist stop but had its own charm. The town was surely much smaller in the late nineteenth century when Grandpa lived here--where he went to school, played games

and maybe gave a wink to a pretty girl now and then. Maybe some of these shops were the same ones where his mother sent him on errands.

Each day, we thought of Grandpa as a little boy, a teen, and then a young man. In this clean, working man’s town, he learned values and formed opinions that lasted a lifetime. His cheerful outlook on life had been cultivated here on these streets. Every letter we’d received from him in our early married years began “I am fine and dandy. How are you?”

We did venture to the surrounding area each day, visiting the Black Forest region and crossing the border into Strasbourg, France. After one of these daylong excursions, Ken went out for a walk by himself. He seemed a bit surprised that he felt so much emotion while visiting his grandfather’s hometown. He wanted to see as much of it as possible in the time we had, and he snapped myriad pictures to show his brothers when we returned home.

Ken in the shopping area of Lahr

Wilhelm Kopf moved away from Lahr at age twenty to try his luck in America. He left mother, father, and baby brother as well as friends. More than fifty years later, he returned for a three-week visit telling Ken’s family in Illinois that he’d see them soon. Three months passed before he journeyed to America again. I have a feeling long-buried memories flooded back as he walked his boyhood paths and visited family and friends. He must have been reluctant to let them go again. But the pull of his family in America proved great enough to make him return.

Our visit to Lahr touched Ken deeply. Even more than a century after his birth, this was still Grandpa’s town, and a part of his own heritage. Ken’s connection may have once been a fragile thread, but by the time we left, it had strengthened considerably and had drawn me in, as well.