Thursday, Ten O’clock Ayem
Day after day after tomorrow (as we used to say when we were kids) I’ll be talking at the Oysterville Schoolhouse – taking my turn in the Spring 2015 Schoolhouse Lecture Series. My topic is “Putting the Story Back in History” and I’ve had in mind to tell about some of the pioneer characters I’ve come to know through years of research and putting bits and pieces of the historic puzzle together. But, after hearing my friend Birdie Etchison talk two weeks ago, I’m waffling.
Birdie is also a local writer. In some ways, we are polar opposites. She writes fiction; I write non-fiction. She enjoys and is inspired by talking with other writers in workshops and writing groups; I spend my non-writing time in more solitary pursuits like examining old diaries and long-forgotten ledgers. She supports herself by writing; I feel lucky to break even.
Birdie’s topic was “The How, Why and What of Writing” and her audience was rapt. At hour’s end, there were many questions and comments and there were even folks interested in forming a writing group with Birdie as ‘doyenne.’ But, what has caused me to rethink my own upcoming presentation was moderator Diane’s concluding remarks that next time I’d be telling about my writing process…
“Will I?” I’ve been asking myself. “Perhaps I should,” I tell myself. And, all the while, I wonder what my audience would really like to hear. Stories or process? Maybe some of both.
Too, I want to do more than entertain and inform. If possible, I’d like to inspire. Not in a lofty kind of way – just enough so that a few listeners might be encouraged to document some of their own stories. For posterity. For future historians. For an Oysterville Schoolhouse Lecture a hundred years hence.
But fifty minutes isn’t much time…
I am disappointed to be missing this. Caregivers, eye appointment, and house hunting have conspired.
“Real-life is stranger than fiction …” and a lot more interesting.
If I were the speaker, I would start out with Mrs. Barnes’s writing assignments in 8th grade. I believe that is where your (and mine also) love of the language began. Reading, writing, forget the ‘rithmetic!
Actually, I was writing (and getting published!) back in third or fourth grade when I lived in Alameda. The Oakland Tribune had a children’s page that came out once a month or so and I just loved getting stories published there. That’s when I discovered that I couldn’t write fiction — it was SO HARD to dream up something to say! But I do think that dear Mrs. Barnes helped me hone whatever skills I had…