Today I am thinking of a lot of things. My old friends and colleagues at University Park are starting a new school year, and I am thinking about how excited and stressed out they are at the job ahead of them. Teaching, like so much in life, is a long process.
I am also dealing with a process. After researching Portland history for more than a year, I am realizing I STILL don’t know enough to write the history story I want to write. I know the history, but the story is not working.
Fortunately, I have good people in my life to help. Auntie Bridgett and I talk about history, truth, and accuracy, so I can understand how I feel about writing a make believe story inside an historic story as a way to make the history easier to understand. It is a tricky needle to thread.
I have Grandpa Nelson, who reads more than I do, giving me new ways to think about the plot of the story. One day he suggested making my story into a mystery! That sounded interesting, because there is a bit of a mystery in it already. Then I realized I haven’t read enough mysteries to know how to write one. How do I add clues in an interesting way? How do I write a believable young detective for 1903?
Like Hermione Granger, when in doubt, I head for the library. Nancy Drew, here I come! I checked out three of the hundreds of Nancy Drew books, and am taking notes, just as though I were in a class. I am learning the basics of character, clues, plot twists, and making a story interesting and detailed without drowning in description.
But in the midst of all this learning, I was beginning to get discouraged. Maybe I can’t write the story. Maybe I’m not smart enough, or creative enough. Maybe I am fooling myself.
Then my dear sister-in-law Christy sent me a book called The Dalai Lama’s Cat, by David Michie. Feeling pretty unproductive anyway, I sat down and read it. This delightful book is written from the point of view of a stray cat who gets adopted by His Holiness, the Dalai Lama in India. In the stories of the cat’s life, the writer teaches Buddhist precepts in down to earth ways. We see that putting others first is a true cause of happiness and that patience with one’s own failings is necessary. I finished the book and felt rejuvenated.
I had been getting in my own way. First, I stopped trying to write for a few days to sew and cook and do things for the people in my life. Having success, even in making cookies, while focusing on others instead of myself, was a wonderful feeling. I took Auntie Bridgett to a new place for lunch, the Im Jai Thai, on Belmont, and got healthy, delicious food for the body and soul.
I may not be good or smart enough to write the story YET, but I can be, and I will be.
It’s a process. And in the meantime, I will read, take notes, and make clothes for a recently homeless doll.
Love, Grandma Judy