A Milestone

I took my daughter to visit Grandma yesterday. We spent almost as many hours in the car as we did at the nursing home, but it was worth every mile. They played peekaboo and pat-a-cake, sang songs and recited nursery rhymes. Three years ago, I doubted that I would have a daughter or my Grandma in my life. My heart was filled seeing the two of them together.

After the kids went to bed, I finished drafting the first novel. Coming in at 17 chapters and about 75,000 words, it is my gift to Grandma and my both of my kids. The process of writing it has been a gift to me.

Now the revisions begin.

Writing and Empathy

In working to write round characters, I’ve had to reevaluate the images of family members that I formed as a child. No person is all good or all bad. In writing, it means that heroes are flawed and villains have backstories. This aunt wasn’t always loony and that uncle wasn’t always mean.

As I’ve searched for and created interactions that may have shaped the people in my quasi-fictional world, I’ve found myself having more empathy toward the villains in my real life. Once upon a time, they were just kids, too.

Country Girl

sitting on Granddad's tractor

My writing group complimented me on my use of dialogue. In particular, they commented on my ability to capture the dialect of the time and place without being heavy handed. They said it sounded very natural.

I appreciate their kind words, but I’m afraid I can’t take much credit as a writer. It would be like a Parisian taking pride in how natural his French sounds. “Country” is my native language. My husband used to say that when I was around my family, my accent became more pronounced and I would use phrases he’d never heard. After working to speak publicly without saying y’all and to remove colloquialism from my academic prose, it’s nice to be able to put my first language to good use. Along with my Grandma’s stories, I have the opportunity to preserve the language of her people.

Church

Many of my stories about Grandma take place relative to the life of the Inez Methodist church. The church and its building were central to the community. I find myself wondering what it would be like if church membership now looked like it did then. There were no deliberations about where to attend, because only one was readily accessible. You had to find a way to get along with everyone because their help might mean your survival, and you couldn’t just pick up and move if someone rubbed you the wrong way. 

Oral Histories

https://library.biblioboard.com/anthology/28fd5bd2-49d5-4491-8dc6-9b9730b6399b/collections/masonry

I discovered a treasure trove.

In the early 1970s, faculty at ENMU along with members of the community began recording oral histories of people who had lived in Roosevelt County for over fifty years. The collection can be accessed from the library’s website and through the free biblioboard app.

I’ve listened to several hours of local stories, always hoping that I’ll hear a familiar one. It is exhilarating to hear the voices of people I feel like I’ve come to know. The reality is that I have imagined most of what I know based on government documents and a handful of second-hand stories. It’s an odd feeling, at times unsettling.