Writing Our Life Screenplay: Guest Ron Easton

         Today I welcome a dear blogging friend, Ron Easton.  Ron has been an A to Z Blogger since the 2011 Challenge.  For the 2012 April Challenge Ron was the inspiration for the A to Z Video Contest which I hope will become an annual prelude to the April event.  Ron blogs at Dads UnLimited.

       First of all, thank you to Mr. Bird for his friendship and welcoming attitude that allows us a place to come and connect.

      Second of all, thank you to all of you reading this. I know how valuable time is.

Cover via Amazon

      I read, a few weeks ago, a really fun memoir by Donald Miller. In it,  A Million Miles in a  Thousand Years, he recounts the writing of a screenplay from an earlier book of his, Blue Like Jazz.  In the writing, he drops an interesting idea. While revising his own life for the big screen, (an act he struggled with, ethically) he began to wonder whether we really can write our own story, through living deliberately.  This really has caused me to think.

       His premise is that the best stories, the epic stories, are the ones with great sacrifices, great acts of service for another or for the globe. From that point, he investigates why we settle for boring lives when we would never let our books or movies away with such banality. Why do I praise others for their sacrifice and not pursue it in my life.

       He considers his own attempts at living a full life by training for and then traveling to Machu Picchu in Peru to climb the mountains and hike the long trail to that ancient wonder. As majestic as the journey was and as good as it was for him physically to get in shape for the trek, at the end of it all, he wondered at his own motivation. In the end, it was for him. As great as that adventure would be to tell about, as fun as the pictures will be to show friends, relatives and total strangers, there was no long lasting good conceived outside of himself. What a great realization to come to. While self fulfillment and self-improvement are great, he realized those themes were becoming the goal of his life.

       That realization of his has sparked something in me too. A quiver full of kids and too little dough does not allow for Machu Pichu trips in my own life. At the same time, I do allow myself to fill my minutes with “me”, and not “us”, or “they”.

       Added to that book have been the last two books I’ve read, Calico Joe by John Grisham and Real Marriage by Mark and Grace Driscoll. The first a baseball novel, the second a how-to book on great marriages from a God-first point of view. Both of these books deal with the end redeeming and being better than, the beginning. Grisham has one of his characters doing the right thing for the first time in a long time because he doesn’t want to die a loser. The Driscolls suggest that more important than the first day of our marriages is the last one, does it end in divorce or death, have we endured or enjoyed?

      How do I script my own life then? From here on this becomes theory, not reality, for we can’t do anything about those unscripted lightning storms, tornados, cancer cells, job losses, etc. However, if life is all about choices, as everyone tells us, and as I preach to my own children, then why do I choose the mundane over a mosaic, maudlin over magnificent? If I choose others ahead of myself, then I’m writing something great. That is so hard to unlearn in our culture of ease, leisure and look-out-for-number-one attitudes. If I look to the final chapter, to read the ending I want to see there and plot out the moves to arrive at that point, what an epic tale I could write and live. As a Christian, I want to hear the words, “Well done good and faithful servant.” But don’t we all want that, whether it’s in our obituary, at the funeral, or just in people’s minds? Then I actually have a memoir worth writing, and reading.

      To a better script!

And there may not ever be anything new here to say, but I'm fond of finding words that say it in a different way- T Taylor

roneaston.blogspot.com

Opening up: The benefits of publishing straight from your diary (Guest Post from Dana Sitar)

          Dana Sitar is making a return visit to Wrote By Rote.   Earlier in the year she visited with a post of encouragement.   Today she offers some more helpful thoughts about memoir writing. 

Opening up: The benefits of publishing straight from your diary

Dear Diary,

Thank you for always being there for me. I think it’s time to take this relationship to the next level.

Sincerely,

Dana

Writers, your journal or diary is the rawest (and probably the original) form of this art. Amidst all of the writing prompts and tips for free-writing that are supposed to encourage creativity and improve your skills, journaling seems like just a compulsive hobby and personal therapy. Maybe it is a little. But it’s also a great way to develop first drafts of stories you didn’t plan on writing.

Journals are a safe space for writers, a place to release the lines that are constantly forming in your mind. Because the words are intended for your eyes only, they’re also the most honest and shameless that you’ll ever write. Drawing from this unplanned collection of thoughts for blog posts, stories, or your full-length memoir offers your readers a glimpse of that unscripted honesty in a way that pre-planned writing can’t quite achieve.

When you start to think of your journal as a viable place from which to pull material -- instead of just a dumping ground for your secret thoughts -- you’ll notice a great improvement in your free-writing without making it a forced exercise. In my experience, because building my blog is always at least at the edges of my mind, my journal has naturally morphed into a collection of blog post first drafts scattered among the usual Dear Diary entries that help me sort out the complications of life. I approach many journal entries with a conclusion in mind, sometimes even start with a title or [pitch line] to center my stream of consciousness before I begin writing.

I don’t discount the merits of free-writing or brainstorming without a goal or direction in mind. But occasionally approaching your journal as a support to your major projects will quickly improve your first drafts -- in turn, creating stellar final drafts. You learn how to turn a stream of personal thoughts directly nto a well-organized piece with an ultimate purpose. Especially in memoir or personal blogs, pieces like this can be much stronger and make a much greater impression on readers than those created around the conclusion.

That, ultimately, is what sets journaling apart from other writing. Even personal blog posts generally start with a goal, and the thoughts are formed around that goal. A journal entry, on the other hand, often comes from a simple, desperate need to put your thoughts on paper. The thoughts come first, and the purpose is found through the writing. When you can combine those raw reactions to the world with the structure that will become innate with practice, you can create pieces of writing that are more uniquely YOU than anything you’ll develop from outlining and planning ahead.

Let your guard down, and try it! As an artist -- and a memoirist, no less! -- you have to let a bit of your soul loose into the world. If you’re not yet good at opening up in front of people for live events or interviews, for example, pulling words from your personal diary is an easy crash course in self-exposure. You get to be selective about the pieces you pull from your stream of consciousness, and you’ll quickly learn that it’s not so bad to share parts of yourself. Readers, in turn, will appreciate your candor and enjoy the glimpse into your personality.

If not for creative growth, try it for the sake of your career. For you marketing types (of which I’m kinda also one),  that connection is vital to building a dedicated audience who will be eager to buy your books.

Have you ever blogged stories first developed in your diary? If not, I challenge you to try it! Share a link to your story in the comments.

Author Bio:

Dana Sitar is a freelance journalist and indie author. She shares writing tips and anecdotes for dreamers in search of a path through her blog and newsletter, DIY Writing. Grab her DIY Writing Toolkit to guide and inspire you in your writing journey -- including 15 writing prompts for those days when the stream of consciousness doesn’t flow as smoothly as you’d like!

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A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood: guest post by Wendy Mathias

        I first discovered Wendy Mathias's blog Jollett, etc. during the A to Z Challenge.   I was fascinated with her detailed accounts about her family history.  Even though it wasn't my own family, I found the stories and accompanying photos to be interesting as well as entertaining.  Wendy accepted my invitation to visit us here at Wrote By Rote with a story from her childhood.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

  

        I’m a lousy neighbor. If it weren’t for our neighborhood directory I wouldn’t know who lives three doors away. But I can tell you the names of every family on Frailey Place where I grew up. There were eight houses on our block, and each one had kids to play with. And each one had a mother who gladly offered me a sandwich and Kool-Aid and who wasn’t afraid of offending my mother by calling me down for not playing nice or sending me home for staying too long.

       For a short time my family lived in the apartment that my grandparents rented above their house. Their yard and their garage were my playground and the main neighborhood hangout.  It was my grandparents’ property, so I was the boss and I made the rules. That’s only fair, right? Honestly, it’s a wonder anyone put up with me and this nonsense.

My grandparents' house and garage
at the corner of Gillis Road and Frailey Place

       The garage made a suitable playhouse where we could construct walls from old window screens and chairs from old paint cans. Sometimes it was a house. Sometimes it was a school. Sometimes it was a hideout for robbers or for eagles that kidnapped children.

       For my friends Peggy and Mary “Eagles” was their favorite game. (I think they made it up.) Peggy was oldest, which gave her first dibs at being the Eagle who would chase the children in this hybrid game of Tag and Hide’n’Seek.  And it scared the living daylights out of me. Evidently I believed that kidnapping part.

       My grandparents also had the longest sidewalk on the block, making it the preferred choice for Hop Scotch, Red Light Green Light, and Mother May I. It was also an acceptable place for roller skating, but the best skating spot was across the street at the Horniks’. Their driveway was divided by grass separating the two tire lanes leading to a carport. Our skates became cars as we drove up one tire lane and down the other. Round and round we went. Sometimes we lived dangerously zipping past “the car” ahead on one skate.  In the carport we spun in circles, skated backwards, and practiced figure eights.  Meanwhile just on the other side, the Horniks were conducting their accounting business out of their house, but never once did they shoo us away or tell us to hold it down.  They don’t make adults like that anymore.

        In the late afternoon, we played in the street. Yes, IN the street! The high school girls would gather to practice cheerleading.  They jumped and touched their toes, then jumped again, contorting their bodies with backs arched and arms over their heads to form the letter “C” for Cradock High School.  Oh, to be like Sherry, Barbara Ann and Betty! 

Anne, Mary, Peggy, and ME in dress-ups 1961
I was inspired by a movie star
dressed in short shorts with a long flowing top.

       But we were years away from such coolness. Peggy, Mary, Anne, Katherine, Donna, and I amused ourselves with jump rope instead. The slap of the long rope against the road always invited everyone to join in, even the cheerleaders from time to time. Games like High Water Low Water, Blue Bells Cockle Shells, I Love Coffee, I’m a Little Dutch Girl, Not Last Night, Peas Porridge Hot, Mabel Mabel Set the Table, and Down By the River tested our ability to jump, to turn around, to touch the ground, and to jump in and out without missing. If the rhyme called for “hot peppers,” it was sure to draw a crowd to help count.

       As afternoon slipped into evening, Crack the Whip, Freeze Tag, or a game of Hide’n’Seek brought the boys out to play too.  Not my game.  Usually it was “my yard-my rules,” but this was a game I could not control.  I was not a good hider and certainly not a good runner.  Maybe I just didn’t like being a loser. I preferred to call it a night. 

       I’m not going to say my childhood was enchanted or magical.  Nobody ever believes that.  But it was pretty darn good. 

        Be sure to visit Wendy at her blog http://jollettetc.blogspot.com/

         Do you have childhood memories similar to Wendy's?   What are some of the games that you played as a child?    How have things changed for kids today?   What has become better, if anything, and what are the biggest losses from yesteryear?

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Using Less Traditional Archive Resources

                       In my previous post I addressed the role of the archivist in preserving history and recording it in published works such as memoirs.  Acting as archivist we may keep photo albums or scrapbooks, diaries or other written records, and other collections of mementos and heirlooms.  These all provide good touchstones to connect us with our past and even the times before we were born.

            Our personal collections of artifacts can help us to remember previous events with greater clarity and bring the eras associated with those events back to life in our memory.  This is especially helpful when we are writing accounts of the past and want to recreate the broader picture of the world as it was in those times about which we are writing.  


             Historical or genealogical websites, historic sites, libraries, and museums are all good resources to use when researching the past, but what about some the archival sources you might have right at home?   Have you ever considered some of that "junk" you have stuffed in drawers, tucked away in closets, or stored in the attic?


            On those infrequent occasions when I've started combing through the closets to organize and cull the clutter, I've found many unlikely items that can help to jog my memory about days gone by.  Things like checkbook registers, bank and credit card statements, and other financial documentation that I'm sometimes reluctant to throw away can remind me of when I was spending money and what I was buying.  Even more helpful, these records can help me determine where I was on a certain date.


             Also, in my case (and I'd bet many of you have similar types of records) I have record books from the years I was managing a touring theater company.  These records include the gate receipts from the shows, promotional income and expense, attendance at shows and most importantly the time and place of each show.  With these I can reconstruct our yearly tours.  This is important for me since many of my memoir accounts would be about those interesting years I spent on the road.  I can remember a lot about those days, but it's very helpful to have precise data so my accounts are more accurate.


             Some of the other documentation that has ended up stored away includes maps, brochures, directories, newspapers, and other literature that I thought worth storing away.   I have since discarded many things over the years, but still there is a treasure trove of archival material waiting for me to reexamine.  I was always somewhat prescient to the fact that I might need some of the things I kept for future use.  I've always jokingly referred to these items as being a part of my future museum.


             The true fact is that it is difficult to save everything unless you've got adequate storage space or are living in hyper hoarder squalor.   I've gone through many weeding out periods over the years where I separate that which truly seems useless from that which might have potential value someday whether that value be real or intrinsic.  I've have attempted to maintain a semblance of order to my archive by sorting things into boxes labeled by appropriate subject matter (e.g.--travel information, show records, personal data, etc) and storing them as neatly as possible.


           My basic rule for assembling my personal archive is if I've managed to keep something and it's at least 15 or 20 years old, I won't throw it out unless it's pure trash.  Some items can be sold on Craig's List, Ebay, or other sites.   I've sold some of those items already and plan to sell others in the future.  Older might mean interesting to the right person so I'm hesitant to call anything landfill additive.  


            So remember, next time you're gathering research for your memoir or some other written history, don't forget some of those unlikely sources that are part of that story.  Whether it be what prices were or how the weather was, little details can help you better relive past times so you can more effectively write about them.


             Have you ever used some of these things I've mentioned here for help with research?    How much "old stuff" do you save?   Are there other types of archival material that you can think of?


            I'll be having some great guests over the next few weeks.  I hope you'll stop back in to hear what these folks have to say.   And if you'd like to contribute a guest post be sure to let me know.  I love hosting guests at my blogs.         

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Are You a Storyteller or an Archivist?

Lakota storyteller: painting. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

         We all tell stories.  We relate what happened to us at work or school or while out running an errand.  We recount memories of past events as we remember them.   The storyteller gives color to a past event whether or not the facts are accurate.  In many families the oral tradition of the family storytellers is the primary connection to family history.  The stories may be passed down through the generations with names, dates, and facts confused or forgotten.  Some of the stories may disappear entirely from the collective family memory.

          This is where the archivist becomes useful.  Many of us keep photo albums or scrapbooks that record parts of family history.  The serious archivist will label photos or mementos with names, dates, places, and other notes that will help identify what has been preserved.

            Archivists may also retain documents such as marriage licenses, diplomas, report cards, or other such things from parents or other relatives who may have passed.   Artwork, antiques, and other heirlooms can also be part of an archive.   The home of the expert archivist may take on the elements of a museum.  When well organized and displayed, such a collection can be an absolute delight to ponder.

           Then there are the hybrid methods of maintaining historical record.   Some who keep a diary may be simply archiving facts and data as a chronological record, while others may embellish that record by expanding their accounts into stories.  Some blogs do something similar to this.

           The "newsletters" that family and friends often send to others during the holiday seasons are another type of hybrid record that archive the events of the year in letter or story form.  Sometimes we may not care about or even know the people whose lives are recounted in these, but they are all part of a history--our history.

           My pack rat tendencies incline me to keep things like those newsletters, meaningful cards and letters, or other things that might represent some point in the timeline of my life.  I am an archivist, albeit a poorly organized archivist.  Eventually I intend on organizing everything properly, but at least I have many things that provide some clues and records to who I am and who I was.  I am also a storyteller who plans to compile my stories into book form.

            Hopefully the things we save, the archives we maintain, and the stories we record will be one day be appreciated by our children, grandchildren, and generations down the line.   Thankfully many generations of the past had the foresight to do this to give us the knowledge of history that we have now.  Not just the big picture of the history that we study in school, but the little bits of lives of people like ourselves who lived in times before we arrived on this Earth.

            It's human nature I guess.  We want to leave something behind to let others know that we were here.  It's our legacy.   Our archive.   Our stories...

            Are you a storyteller or an archivist?    Or are you a bit of both?   What are some of the things you do to leave a legacy and continue your family story?   Do you think what you are doing will help you or has helped you in writing a memoir?

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The Crooner: Memoir From Author Barbara Briggs Ward

          My special guest for this post is Barbara Briggs Ward.  As has often been the case of late, I first met Barbara through a writer's forum at LinkedIn.  When I visited her blog and looked at some of the work she is involved with I thought she would be a great choice for a guest post at Wrote By Rote.  The delightful piece that Barbara presents here confirms my supposition.   Enjoy her peek at the past and then be sure to visit her blog The Reindeer Keeper and say hello.  Barbara's author web page is http://barbarabriggsward.intuitwebsites.com/ .  The web page for her book is at   http://www.thereindeerkeeper.com/ .

The Crooner

         When I was young we lived out in the country surrounded by my mother’s side of the family. With four houses in a row all full of relatives, we were constantly sharing meals and holidays together. But many times at those gatherings, my father wasn’t there. Being a funeral director, he was at work, comforting families in their time of sorrow.  My father was very good at what he did. He also provided my cousins and me with a little fun.

         Ever so often in the summertime, he’d drive a big, black transport-of-coffins type van home at lunchtime. It resembled vehicles depicted as getaway cars for gangsters in a Godfather type film. We didn’t care. It made the vehicle all the more intriguing. So while my father was eating lunch, my cousins and I would take the van for a marvelous joy ride out amongst the clover and hay. We told him we’d be careful.  We told him we’d be right back but once we made it over the plank bridge spanning the creek and then up the hill it was a straight shot to the backfields and we went for it! I can’t remember how old we were. I don’t think that old because my mother had a fit.

      Once we were on the straightaway, the fun began. Down came the windows as I stepped on the gas. Our hair would be flying in the breeze as we flew over one bump and then another--turning in circles, dodging trees and shrubs and little creatures that may have been curious. We never wore seat belts but no one did back then. Our heads would hit the top of the van and we never felt a thing. We were free spirits. Nothing else mattered until screeching around that raceway we saw my father in the distance flagging us in. Lunchtime was over. So was our joy ride in the backfields--until the next time.

     Summertime also meant staying up and watching late night movies. I’d curl up on the floor. My father would curl up in his chair and fall sound asleep. He tried staying awake. Sometimes he’d almost make it to the end. This was when it was a favorite movie--meaning one that starred Henry Fonda or Gene Kelly or Rita Hayworth to name a few.  My mother never understood why we’d stay up so late. Looking back, I’m glad we did.

     When graduating from high school, there was a series of events before getting to the ceremony itself. One such event was Class Night. It was an evening of dressing up and mingling with friends. In my case, that included my father. I can’t remember how it happened but there I was in this establishment with my father by my side. But he didn’t stay by my side for long. He became the hit of the evening. You see, many of my friends really liked my father. If able, he’d take the time to talk to them and to listen. It was obvious he cared about what they had to say. Chaperoning was not the reason for his presence. He was there to celebrate the moment with young people he’d come to respect.

      In his day, my father had been a singing waiter. Pennies from Heaven was his song. It was that night too. A friend of mine’s mother once told her what a heartthrob my Dad had been. He’d been nicknamed Nookie by girls in the area. Whenever he was working at a certain restaurant girls would fill the place, including my friend’s mom. So this night when the party got rolling, this friend of mine got up and announced to the senior class that they were about to be entertained by Nookie, one hip crooner. The place went crazy. Although the Beatle-like band didn’t know that song it didn’t matter. My father didn’t need music. Once he started everyone got behind him. He had to sing his song more than once! When my father passed away many who’d attended Class Night stopped to pay their respects. In the course of conversations, that night of long ago was remembered fondly over and over again.

      My father was fortunate as were the families who sought his services. With an ability to listen and a genuine compassion for people, he’d found his calling early in life. Those attributes were spilled over to his role as a father, offering the four of us fortunate to call him Dad little bits of wisdom now and then. At the time much of what he’d say didn’t make much sense. Youth has a way of doing that. But now I realize he was right about so many things. I try not to waste good energy on tomorrow. All that really matters is that you have your health. And yes Dad. Funerals are for the living as I realized during your wake in your funeral home.

     Looking out into the audience that muggy June graduation evening of long ago, I saw my father crying. I understood from knowing him his tears were tears of joy. Graduation, as he’d say, is one of those markers in life just like funerals. For me, Pennies from Heaven has taken on a whole new meaning since his passing.

Barbara Briggs Ward is the author of the award-winning Christmas story, “The Reindeer Keeper”, chosen as Yahoo’s Christmas Book Club Group’s 2012 December Book Selection. She has been published in Chicken Soup for the Soul Books titled, “Christmas Magic” and “Family Caregivers”, McCall’s, Ladies’ Home Journal, and Highlights for Children.

Find out more and follow Barbara’s blog at www.thereindeerkeeper.com.   Barbara’s Author Page is at www.barbarabriggsward.com.   

Time Traveling: A Guest Post by Linda Hoye

        Memoir specialist Linda Hoye returns to Wrote By Rote with some more helpful information about writing memoir.  Linda's previous post can be found here and is worth your time to read if you missed it.  Since that post, her memoir Two Hearts: An Adoptee's Journey Through Grief to Gratitude has been published and is now available from Amazon.  In the following post Linda offers some helpful tips for writing memoir.

Time Traveling

The memoir genre has been described as a story about a slice of life. That slice can be horizontal, taking the reader through several years of the author’s life focusing a specific facet of that life, or it can be vertical, taking place in a succinct period of time.

Regardless of the type of slice, it’s important to be able to convey a strong sense of place and time in the story. Our memories can take us so far but often, especially if we’re writing about events that took place long ago, we need to rely on other things to take us, as writers, back to a time and place in order to convey that sense to the reader. Here are a few things I found helpful while working on Two Hearts.

Dmarie.com. On this site you can enter any date between 1800 and 2002 and get a list of top news headlines, price of a loaf of bread, the average wage, what the popular books were at the time, and, as applicable, the top songs and what was playing on TV and at the movies. You can take it a step farther and immerse yourself in the time by reading the books, listening to the songs, and watching the movies to really put you there.

“It is 1977, almost one year after my high school graduation, and Peter Frampton is begging for someone to “Show Me the Way” on his classic Frampton Comes Alive! album. I am eighteen and appear confident; for the most part, I’ve managed to stuff down and ignore the part of me that feels unworthy and unlovable. I have the rest of my life stretching out in front of me and am pretty sure I know the way and could show Mr. Frampton if he cared to ask me.”

Google Earth. It’s helpful during the memoir writing journey if you can go to the place where parts of the story took place. Standing in the same places, hearing the same sounds, smelling the same smells, and seeing the same sights evokes memories like nothing else. During my journey I was fortunately to travel back to the city where I grew up and the small prairie towns where my roots run deep. If it’s not possible to do this, or even to call to mind the experience after you’ve been there, Google Earth is invaluable. I virtually walked the route I took to school as a child and explored the city I grew in up many times during the writing process.

“I stop at Crescent Park and walk along the paths where memories meet me at every turn—the library where I felt at home as child, down by the river where Lori was once bitten by a cranky swan, the flowerbeds I had paid little attention to as a child but which somehow made their way into my unconscious memory all the same.”

You Tube. Believe it or not I found commercials for toys like Slinky and Spirograph, and TV shows like Bewitched that I watched as a child. Watching them helped me to write about the period of time, but also to go deeper into the thoughts and feelings of little girl Linda.

“We grow up watching Granny Clampett ride into Beverly Hills perched atop a rocking chair in the back of a rickety truck on Saturday nights, and we wonder if Gilligan will ever get off of the island. Lori imagines herself as Zorro and leaves little pieces of paper with a Z on them all over the house. I, on the other hand, want to grow up to be like the cool and confident Mrs. Peel on The Avengers.”

Now it’s your turn. What tools and tips do you use to help evoke a sense of time and place in your writing?

Linda Hoye is a writer, editor, adoptee, and somewhat-fanatical grandma. Her memoir, Two Hearts: An Adoptee’s Journey Through Grief to Gratitude will offer hope and inspiration to anyone who’s life has been touched by adoption. She currently lives in the state of Washington with her husband and their two Yorkshire terriers, but Saskatchewan, Canada will always be her heart’s home.

Connect with her on her blog A Slice of Life Writing, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and LinkedIn.

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