Is Storytelling Embedded in our DNA?

A couple of weeks ago, I happened upon a new television show, Who Do You Think You Are? - the premise if fairly basic, take a celebrity and using all means possible trace their family heritage. I am not one for reality shows, in particular celebrity reality shows, so I was surprised how quickly I became engrossed with the program. In fact, afterwards I went online and started searching for my own family tree.

My family is the quintessential stoic, stiff upper lip New England family, so very little family history has been passed on down since our motto has always been, no matter what happens - good, bad or indifferent - keep moving forward and keep it to yourself.

As a writer, I have a hard time keeping things to myself - to put it mildly, so in many ways I have always felt like I am an odd fit for my family. If I was not the spitting image of my father, and more closely his mother, I might wonder if I were adopted or a random stray picked up along the way.

My quest for my family history is not unique, but as I searched and found connections to people I have never met, I was struck by how swiftly I started picturing my ancestors in my writer’s mind; how easily I could imagine their lives and their stories; and how alive they felt to me as if they were characters cast in my current work in progress instead of long forgotten relatives lost to an unknown history.

Then, I realized why the reality show and my searching had such an impact on me - both elicited an emotional response. The very point of storytelling.

My research proved fruitful in more ways than I could have imagined. My Dad, whose parents died when he was very young, now knows more about where they grew up, what their childhood nicknames where, when they married, where their families are from.

On my Mom’s side of the family, I learned that there are other storytellers in my family, in fact my grandfather used to write stories. He also played minor league baseball with the Pawtucket Red Sox. Pretty cool!

Like real life people, our characters are alive. They live in our writer’s hearts and minds and then upon the printed page. We want our storytelling to matter, to leave a trace on this Earth, to have a lasting impact of some kind on our readers, just like we want to leave a trace in our own lives.

I am comforted to know I am not the only one in the family who enjoys telling a story. I don’t feel as out of place now. I also got a kick out of the realization that I used the first name of my great-great-great grandmother in my current work in progress without even knowing it. Maybe just a coincidence, but something tells me there is more to the story - no pun intended.

I have had a lot of ups and downs with my writing, and I’m sure my journey towards publications still has a few more bumps in the road before I hopefully find my way to a contract, but my need to tell a story, to leave a trace, is revitalized.

Who knew a reality television show could do all that.

To learn more about your story, go to: http://www.ancestry.com/. Good luck!

Finding Your Muse While Sunning in Mexico

This past week I was fortunate enough to head to Playa del Carmen, Mexico for a much needed vacation. From the beach sand that felt like baby powder cascading across my feet, to the aquamarine ocean that felt like holy water washing away several months of stress and anxiety off my tired body, the entire trip was exactly what I needed to recharge and reconnect my long illusive muse.

So thrilled to be “away from it all”, I didn’t even care that the airline (which shall remain nameless) misplaced our luggage for a good dozen or so hours and, since for the first time in my life, I didn’t pack at least one change of clothes and a bathing suit in my carry-on bag, I was stuck wearing the same clothes for nearly twenty four hours.

Whatever. I was in paradise.

No cell phone, no computer, no daily work grind, no commute, no constant interruptions – just me, a few of my favorite family members, my notebook and a couple of great romance novels to read. Oh, and did I mention the all-inclusive bar and buffet. Paradise with a capital P.



So with no bathing suit, a Melon Bowl in one hand and my notebook in another hand, I headed for the beach and sat under an umbrella, letting the warm breeze rolling off the water caress my skin, skimming the sand with my ghostly white New Englander toes, and waited for my muse to show up.

And she didn’t. She, at least mine is a she, was pissed off at me and for good reason. I’ve been neglecting her (and me) for months now. Just because I changed the scenery didn’t mean she would magically appear. It didn’t matter that I was finally ready to be hit by some serious writing inspiration.

Deterred, but not down and out, I gulped a few swigs of my cocktail and starting free-writing in my notebook. I firmly believe putting any words to paper is soul cleansing for a writer, so even if it was gobbledygook, it was a better than the non-writing agony I had been experiencing these last few months.

I ended up free-writing for a few days and outlined a couple of new manuscript ideas, but my current work in progress was still stuck with a muddled middle. However, just before leaving Mexico, my muse was finally willing to say hello and help me plot more of my current WIP. It was a welcome exchange. My characters were thrilled by her presence as well.

It was then I realized my muse was with me all along. I had just let life get too cluttered and claustrophobic in the past few months to realize it. So, if I’ve learned anything from my vacation it’s that we can’t let life strangle us too much, and we need to find time to recharge every day so we don’t get separated from ourselves and/or our muses. My muse, she likes me just fine, and doesn’t try to punish me. She’s around even when I’m too busy to notice her. She wants to help me, her vessel, write the love stories that fill my heart.

Another vacation lesson: whenever you get a chance, do things you have never done before (actions that might inflict bodily harm to yourself and/or others excluded, of course), especially if you are uncertain of the outcome, like:

• Go to the swing set bar and actually sway on a swing while drinking a Cerveza.
• Claim that you are allergies to most knits, break out in hives easily and the Benadryl is in your make-up kit when your luggage is “delayed” and an airline is uncooperative...luggage is mysteriously located and brought directly to your hotel room expeditiously.
• Go snorkeling even though you have never worn flippers a day in your life and its pouring rain outside. You are going to get wet anyways. Just remember to get out of the water if lightning starts.
• Tell your deepest secrets to trusted confidants while gazing up at the stars and lying on the beach.
• Flirt with a “pissed” British chap with a killer accent. When in Mexico....

P.S. If you are wondering what a Melon Bowl is it’s a fruity drink with lots of different liquors thrown in that I highly recommend, preferably two at a time.

Writing is like shoveling snow!

So after shoveling for what may be the tenth time in a month, I’ve decided that writing is like shoveling snow.

Sometimes, the snow is fluffy, light – it sparkles like fairy dust. The bright sun kisses your face as you inhale clean, crisp air, your body moves with ease and grace as you lift the snow from one spot to another, going about your work with purpose. Other times, it’s soggy, heavy, messy, and each move you make is a major chore. Every time you lift the shovel, the snow feels like you are moving a mountain one rock at a time.

Over the years, I’ve found my writing can follow much the same pattern. There are days when I can write for hours, the words pour out of me like music flowing from a secret symphony only writers can hear, but few understand. My mind, my heart, my body soar in unison as I attempt to bring my characters and my story to life. I can write chapters at a time, thousands and thousands of words.

And then, there is that other kind of day. I struggle with every word, the page before me taunting me. Hours go by and I manage only to string a page or two of words together and I’m not happy with any of them. Again, the pages mock me; remind me of all the other things I should be doing other than writing; all my insecurities churning inside me, chipping away at my resolve to continue.

But…then I remind myself. If I write a paragraph, a page, a chapter or a whole manuscript, I’m writing. And, as all writers know that’s the whole point. Whether it’s fifteen minutes a day, two hours a night after all the chores are done, or a glorious all day writing extravaganza, writing feeds my soul, writing is an essential part of who I am, so any writing is meaningful writing.

No one said it would be easy. In fact, if it was so easy everyone would do it. Simply put, it’s the difficulties and disappointments we go through as we move along this writing journey that make the special moments so poignant and the successes so joyous. So pick up your pen or start typing at your keyboard….and write.

Writer's Journey

Okay, so I received another rejection letter for my submission of a historical novel.  After the proverbial punch to the gut passed, I realized I was fine with it.  Unlike a standard form letter, the editor took the time to give me positive feedback about my work.  Her words encouraged me, softening the edges of my initial disappointment.  Of course, rationalizations will get you everywhere.  However, Confucius says, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step," and that is how I view this writing process, as a journey.

The road can be a long, winding, uphill battle.  Sometimes I fly along, the creative juices flow, while the miles breeze by and the pages turn.  I see 'the end' just over the horizon.  Other times, the ideas dry up, I'm out of gas, and I grind to a halt.  This all comprises the writer's journey. But as long as I'm enjoying the ride, I will continue and I am.

Why wouldn't I?  I have my characters to keep me company.  They often take the lead, surprising and delighting me with the unexpected turns they choose to take -- whether I plan for these detours or not.  My story brings me to different time periods and on exciting adventures.  In writing historical novels, I also pick up fascinating tidbits along the research route. Just the other day, one of my critique partners shared with me the origins of the expression "cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey." Great stuff.

Through joining writing groups, attending conferences and workshops, I have met wonderful people and formed lasting friendships along the way. These women share similar interests and experiences.  They can relate to characters talking in their heads, jotting down ideas in the middle of the night, or struggling to drive and write at the same time.  They also understand the many hours spent holed up alone, immersed in another world, and the annoyance of reality snapping you back to the present.

Writing is a journey.  I may not reach my destination today or tomorrow, but as along as I can enjoy the ride, I'm on board for the whole trip.