We humans are like the magpie that hoards shiny objects for its nest; we accumulate things. We are collectors, hunters and gatherers, keepers of stuff. And for us writers, within every object around our house, in our pockets or bags, in our attics and basements and storage units, and in every collectibles shop and antique store is the genesis of a story.
Several years ago I had a moving sale. Out in the yard and along the driveway, I lined up stacks and piles and furniture and treasures and what apparently some people thought was trash… all that stuff we collect when we live in one place for a while.
As people asked me about things at the sale, I found myself telling story after story.
How I came to have the poster of “42nd Street,” a musical I saw in Paris with my daughter one Christmas season a decade ago and what a time it was for us in cold, gray beautiful Paris. How I had come upon the blue glass bowl when we were dissecting my mother’s house, and that it came from my grandmother’s house before that and how I remembered the smell of ripening peaches in that blue bowl, and how my mother canned peaches and made peach cobbler and how delicious her cobbler was and that once I tried to make a cobbler and the crust was so hard my friend Pinetree Bill nearly choked on a piece he couldn’t quite get down.
Digging through a box of old CDs, a friend came upon the “Best of the BeeGees,” and I found myself telling him the story of how my husband worked with them on a Coca Cola commercial in Australia long before the days of disco and Saturday Night Fever. And then the story continued to the part about my husband and I getting one of the first CD players in our camper, which we drove in a great 15,000-mile circle around the country. And though I didn’t talk about it, I remembered that trip because it was his last trip… and we were crossing the country so he could say goodbye to his friends…he was dying of cancer. And still, every time I happen to hear a song by the BeeGees, I remember that wonderful and sad trip.
Every object, every item, article, icon, and thing holds a story, and we writers find them out or make them up or use them as a jumping off point for our work. Who knows what might be the beginning of another Red Violin or Girl in Hyacinth Blue or Picture of Dorian Grey. Think of Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, Bobby Thompson’s home run ball in Don DeLillo’s Underground. Anything can happen once we begin writing.
This week’s Lively Muse writing assignment: find something on your writing desk or in your kitchen or a bedroom drawer that interests you. Some thing that makes you go, “hmmmm.” Really, look at the object, pay attention to it, listen to it, notice its scars and wounds and other telltale signs. Interview it if you’d like (and if you don’t feel too ridiculous), and in a 17-minute timed writing (set your timer), write the story held by the object.
Maybe put it on a recorder first and then write it one sentence at a time. You’ll do it if and when you’re ready to, Judy.
The story about your camping trip is so amazing and touching. There’s a story of a lifetime for sure. (And thank you for all your inspiration in your blog and books!)
Hi Candace, You know I have tried to write the story about the months-long trip Tom and I took before he died, but I have never been able to get it on the page. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying. Thanks so much for visiting here and commenting. It means so much to hear from others.
I felt the same way about writing about losing my mom. My friend kept insisting I write just 500 words on something little. One day I wrote about cleaning out her fridge after she died – so mundane, right? But as I wrote it, I realized how much of her food that my dad had left in there and it’s one of my favorite pieces now. How he couldn’t throw away her food even though he hated half of it! I loved him so much for that, and it never crossed my mind until I started writing about it! Maybe someday you’ll find you can do it. It took me many years!
Kandace, I’m actually posting a reply to your second comment, about writing about your mother’s death. What a beautiful story, the detail about your father not being able to throw out the food she liked, even though he hated it. I remember having to learn to shop for groceries all over again after Tom died. I didn’t even know what I liked different than what he liked. Maybe that’s the small detail I begin with. Or what it was like when we camped in El Paso, the mesquite around the campground; its desert scent. Thank you so much for writing.
The detail of learning to grocery shop again is something I never thought about for my dad. But when you said that, it really hit home – made me think. I love writing that really makes me identify with real life, how it is, how it was. Write it!
Write it all! Thanks, Candace.
Beautiful post. Am working on my assignment from afar.
Great to hear from you from afar, Betsy. Thanks for your comment and happy noveling.
Wonderful. Thank you.
Thanks for commenting, Cris. Did you find a story somewhere on your desk or kitchen cabinet? I swear, once I start looking at things this way, I have to pause for stories at every turn. Like the stone that has “imagine” engraved on it and … oh well, that’s for another time.
Judy, you sold that blue valuable antique? That moaning you hear from way up north is not the wind. I gave mine away, a lattice edged warm orange bit of glass that when I checked was worth a couple thousand dollars. The recipient doesn’t remember it so she can’t even sell it because she likely let her kids smash it.
This exercise is wonderful, did it with my grandmother’s mirror which hangs on my wall and faces my bed. The glass is getting smoky and striated but oh those stories. I ran across one the other day looking for something else.
Thanks for a great post.
Hi Linda, Actually that picture is only representative of my grandmother’s/mother’s beautiful blue bowl, which I sold at the yard sale (or maybe gave away). The peach-holding one didnt have that kind of monetary value, but in stories… priceless.
Beautiful and thought provoking. I love how you weave the stories, your story, into the things we collect. Thank you for sharing this with us and for giving a wonderful writing assignment. I look forward to writing more with you.
Thanks for commenting, Chris. I sure loved writing with you this summer and getting hear your stories. I look forward to more and would love to read some about your garden in Mexico. Those plants that have survived eons certainly have much to tell us.