Word Nerd

Chloe's Bananagram

There are no more words.
Thrum, slosh, slither, whoop—yep.
I've written them all.

Is there such a thing as a store of words?

One of many corners,

Crumbling, dimpling, grousing,

Little nooks full of books

Nuzzle, clink, mutter, clamber . . .

I'm stockpiling a new cache.

Denver, CO

Where I replenish my word supply.

Are You Listening?

Accident Prone

“He burned the hamburgers and he burned the buns,” Norma complained as they walked home from the barbecue.

"And you left the door unlocked,” Sam replied. The sound of metal grated from inside the house. “There’s someone on the patio,” Norma whispered back.

Sam, forgetting that he was nearly sixty, charged towards the French door in the dining room just as it swung shut. “My hand went through the window, Norma! I’ve cut my wrist!” Blood spurted from his arm as she fastened a dishtowel tourniquet and called 911.

After a scary hour in the emergency room, Sam changed his bloody clothes. He sprawled out on the sofa while Norma sponged the blood off the drapes with a small bucket of cleaning solvent. “I got it out, and I even got it off your shirt,” she told Sam, after she poured the solution down the toilet. “The Tonight Show's on. Do you want to watch it?”

“First, I’m going upstairs to the john,” he replied. He found the newspaper, sat down and lit a cigarette to relax while he finished his business. As usual, he dropped his butt into the toilet. One smell covered another and Sam didn’t notice the prevailing odor that should have warned him.

Solvent was still clinging to the sides of the toilet bowl; the sparks ignited, and the water blew up! More burnt buns.

Norma called the ambulance again, and the same men came to the rescue. “So he’s sitting on the toilet . . .” Norma began, as they hauled a charred and moaning Sam face-down on the stretcher. His wife bit back a smile and the other two started laughing so hard they dropped their patient down the stairs.

Even Sam chuckled a bit as the doctor cast his broken leg.

~~~

This is a true story. I wrote it based on the first-hand account of the doctor on the scene.

We were in a restaurant in Amsterdam in 1982, and a man sitting right behind Dee was talking to a couple in English. We started listening in. He had been the ER resident who took care of Sam's wrist, leg and bum-burns several years before.

As the story progressed we became hysterical. Dee was laughing so hard his chair kept bumping into the chair of the story-teller. With Dee's head blocking my view, I couldn't see any faces at first, but when I got a glimpse, the doctor looked familiar. I told Dee I recognized him from TV.

When they got up to leave, Dee turned around and blurted out, "Dr. DeVries!" The doctor stopped and Dee jumped up and stuck his hand out. "Dee Halverson from Salt Lake City," he said. Dr. DeVries didn't know him from Adam, but put on a good show, and said, "Of course! How are you?"

Dr. DeVries and Barney Clark

The University of Utah was the site of the first artificial heart transplant in 1981, performed by Dr. William DeVries. Barney Clark was close to death when he was chosen for the surgery, and lived for 112 days with the Jarvik heart. We'd seen Barney and his doctor every night for months on the local news. To accidentally hear this famous doctor tell his side-splitting experience was priceless.

*Homework:

~Have you ever overheard something juicy? Turn it into a story.

Ten Steps: Find the Story in Your History

A bookie.

When I was fifteen I knew a girl who had plague.

"Her head ached violently, as though a tight steel band had been bound about her temples and was drawing steadily tighter. She was sweating and there were stabbing pains throughout her stomach and along her legs and arms. Her throat was as dry as if she had swallowed dust . . . All at once she gave a convulsive shudder and the retching started again. By morning she lay flat on her back, her eyes fixed and wide open but unseeing. There were dirty green circles beneath her eyes and the lower part of her face was shiny with the bile and saliva which had dried there."—Kathleen Winsor

She looks pretty healthy here.

The year was 1644 and it was the first time I visited London. Every detail of life in that period—food, fashions, architecture, interior design and politics—was covered in the fictional tale called Forever Amber. Kathleen Winsor made the time of my great-greats vivid and authentic through years of research, before publishing her best-seller in 1944.

"That crumb of far-off Lincolnshire was the only place in the world entirely her own."

In high school I met Katherine Swynford, great-grandmother of kings. She lived at Kettlethorpe, a small manor in Lincolnshire, England very close to some of my own greats. Born in about 1358, Katherine had a love affair with John of Gaunt, and later married him. Their descendants became England's royal line. Anya Seton wrote this about her research for Katherine:

"In telling this story I use nothing but historical fact when these facts are known—and a great deal is known about the fourteenth century in England. I have tried never to distort time, or place or character to suit my convenience."

"I'm measeled with mosquito bites, all of an itch."

Anya Seton also introduced me to Elizabeth, The Winthrop Woman. Just like my 10th great-grandmother, Elizabeth was born in England, and moved to the New World in 1631 with Governor John Winthrop of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Though told as a novel, her story is authentic history. She has thousands of descendants today. So does Sarah Colby, and I'm one of them.

Taking some cues from historical novelists, here are ten suggestions I have for finding the story in your history.

1. Identify the time period and places your ancestor lived.
   
2. Check Wikipedia or Google, and list historical events that happened then and there.
   
3. List prominent people of the time period, since their lives are probably documented.
   
4. Go to the library for history books to look up events and people on your lists. Check the children's section, too.
   
5. Make a timeline of your ancestor's life, and plug in the information you've discovered.
6. Check census records, court documents, vital statistics registers. The LDS Family History Library, local archives, local museum curators, and the Internet are some good sources. Read local histories, old newspapers, etc. looking for a mention of your guy. You want to find out if he owned property, the number of marriages and children, his age at pivotal times of life, his level of education, if he was involved in lawsuits, whether he held public office or attended a church, who lived with him, where he fit in his family, his service record, etc.
   
7. Outline a story with your facts. For instance: He was a younger son (who wouldn't inherit,) Catholic, a widowed father of five, educated, lived in Ireland during the potato famine, was sued for assault, received a pension for war injuries. Add in the local flood, his father-in-law's murder, his illegitimate son—he sounds intriguing.
   
8. What was happening on the economic, political and religious scene at the time? Using a vintage map, pinpoint how close he was to the action. How do you think these events influenced his actions?
   
9. Google fashion, architecture, art, music, food, laws, etc. of the time period. Determine how these details fit in.
10. Now—sit down with your new best friend and write his story. You'll be surprised at the understanding, insight and connection you feel. After all, his story is your history.

*Homework:

~How did your forefather treat your foremother? What was marriage like in that time and place? Google it, then write a letter about your marriage as if you were your ancestor.

Time-TravelinOma Part Two

Time-TravelinOma

Synopsis of Part One: Oma and the little girls opened a magic matryoshka doll, which sent them on a time-travel adventure. They just arrived in Medieval England.

"The past is a foreign country—they do things differently there."

The first thing they noticed was the smell. Trudging along the muddy road they saw piles of garbage, animal bones, rotting meat and a stream of foul, lumpy water. It was an open sewer! A small brown pig that used to be pink was rutting around in the muck, while men took barrels from the back of a cart and poured the contents into the reeking slime.

A group of children with dirty faces and tousled hair ran alongside a small herd of sheep. Their clothes were filthy and their feet even filthier from manure droppings and oozing puddles smothering their path.

In the distance a church-bell chimed. Wagons creaked, cows mooed and a brown-robed friar preached against sin to a circle of admirers. Suddenly the sounds took over and the smells were forgotten. “Hot cross buns . . . if you haven’t got a penny, a ha-penny will do . . .” Medieval England rang in their ears.

Mickelgate Bar, York

Oma recognized Mickelgate Bar as they were jostled through the city walls. “We’re in York,” she said. Chloë glanced up and promptly screamed. “There’s a skull! Don’t look, Ashley!”

The blackened heads of criminals were stuck on spikes above the gate, their eyes plucked out by birds. Legs and arms hung by ropes, riddled with maggots and covered by flies. These were warnings to thieves and traitors that punishment for breaking the law was harsh.

It was as if Oma and the little girls were invisible. No one seemed to notice them. Ponies, laden with grain, ambled toward a marketplace in the middle of town, guided by peasants from local farms. Priests passed by, robed in their habits, with crucifixes and rosaries hanging from their girdles. Carts filled with eggs, milk and cheese lined the street; signs painted with pictures swung over shops, advertising goods to customers unable to read.

The Shambles, York

A servant opened an upstairs shutter and shook the dust from a rug. Wooden beams from the house projected out so far that a woman across the street fanned the dust from her face. She reached across and handed another neighbor a basket filled with strawberries. Shoppers below them couldn’t see the sky because the street was so narrow, and the houses so close together.

Wandering the crooked streets, Ashley heard the church bells again. “Wow, there are lots of churches,” she said. Oma looked up. “I wonder if the Minster has been built yet,” she said and walked a little faster.

Half-naked men were sweating in the sun, laying stones in a herringbone pattern on the ground. Over the hubbub of the morning’s business a town crier called the news of the day as he strolled through throngs of richly dressed merchants buying scissors and knives from the ironmonger. Chloë noticed that both French and English were spoken, and even some Latin. It was hard to understand anything the people said.

York Minster

As they rounded the corner, bells sounded the hour. DONG! DONG! DONG! The air vibrated, and brilliant panels of glass glittered high on the side of a massive cathedral. “I’ll show you how to read a window,” said Oma.

Inside, the church was cold and dark, but it was easy to see the pictures made of stained glass high above their heads. “Do you recognize the stories? They’re from the Bible,” explained Oma. She seemed preoccupied. “Opa once climbed around that highest balcony, and examined the windows close up—after lightning struck the cathedral, ” murmured Oma after a minute. “We lived in York in 1985, hundreds of years after all this happened.”

Jessi had been thinking. “Are we time-traveling?” she wondered. “What are we doing in England so long ago?”

“It’s because of the magic Matryoshka doll,” whispered Ashley. “When Oma twisted the one that was stuck, it opened up a new world.”

“You mean an old world,” Chloë said. “I just hope we can get back.”

Oma noticed something in her pocket and realized she still had the two halves of the tiniest doll. “I don’t want to lose these,” she said as she put them back together. Instantly a musty smell of incense mixed with a dusty smell of smoke, and the spinning sensation swirled them back through leaves, lilacs, licorice and lemon.

Ashley

Ashley’s eyes focused slowly, until she recognized assorted pieces of the Matryoshka doll scattered on the family room floor. “Wow, guys,” she said. “I just had the weirdest dream.” Chloë looked dazed, while Jess thought, "Was it a nightmare, or a dream come true?"

"It's too bad we didn't meet anyone," said Oma to herself. "I've got to go back."

Related Posts:

Our house in York, England, 1985

Daily life in York, 1985-86

*Homework:

~Write a paragraph describing a smell.

~List 5 things that conjure up memories for you.

~Tell me about something scary you saw as a child.

Time-TravelinOma

"Gather round grandkids, and you will hear,
Of your beginnings back many a year.
We'll have to visit some foreign lands,
But Time-TravelinOma has made the plans."

(The following is an excerpt from my introductory chapter to Bagley Beginnings:

A young adult chapter book where we meet ancestors from Medieval England.)

Jessica

“Did you bring the Oma kit?” asked Jessi, searching for the familiar red and blue box Oma always brought when she came to baby-sit.

The little girls fluttered as Oma took off her coat, scarf and shoes. “I want to play with the buttons,” said Ashley. When she couldn’t find the yellow tin filled with balloon and heart-shaped buttons, she started foraging through Oma’s purse.

Ashley

“Not so fast, Ladybug,” said Oma. “I brought something new.” Out of her pocket Oma took a blue paisley silk hankie. Wrapped inside was a Matryoshka doll.

Oma had a shelf in her apartment with a collection of Matryoshka nesting dolls. Most of them looked like Russian peasant grandmothers, with yellow scarves, rosy cheeks and flowered aprons. Her grandkids loved opening them one by one and making a parade of the various figures inside, lining them up from biggest to littlest.

Matryoshka Dolls

Some of the Matryoshkas had five dolls inside, some had seven and one had thirteen, with only a sliver of wood for the tiniest doll. But the Matryoshka Oma unwrapped was different. “Opa had this one specially made for me,” Oma told the girls. “It’s supposed to be magic.”

Chloë

Chloë looked it over carefully. The doll had short chestnut hair, green eyes and red glasses perched on the end of her roundish nose. “This is strange,” said Chloë. “Her bandana isn’t tied under her chin. It’s around her head, like a sweat-band.” The other girls pushed in closer to see. “Oma, she looks just like you!”

“How many dolls are inside?” asked Jess. Oma had been wondering the same thing. She’d already counted twice and come up with a different number each time. The smallest doll was stuck and Oma wondered if there could be even more dolls inside it.

Taking them apart, Chloë noticed that every doll had a unique costume. Several were boys: one wore brown linen pants with suspenders, another had funny tights and a short wool tunic tied with a rope. A woman had a fur collar with a rabbit’s head still attached, and a girl wore a long dress with a shorter, sleeveless dress over it.

“Thirty one, thirty two, thirty three,” counted Ashley. “There couldn’t be that many,” said Oma. “Let’s start again.”

Just then Ashley came to a doll that was stuck. “I’ll try to twist it open,” said Oma. “It has something inside . . . it’s sticky like chapstick but it smells like lemons and licorice, lilacs and leaves. Sniff it girls. I think it’s a perfume holder. This must be the magic part.”

Oma had no idea just how magic it was. As they each inhaled the heady scents, they felt dizzy, remembering sun burnt days, nippy nights, sweet and sour all at once. The aromas recalled impressions so far back in their memories they couldn’t even identify them. Abruptly something jolted them out of their reverie.

“Yuck! What’s that?” “It stinks!” Oma looked around for the offending odor. “What happened?” asked Jess. “Where are we?”

The past is a foreign country—they do things differently there.

(Tune in tomorrow for the conclusion of chapter one.)

Links to related posts:

Oma Kits

Button Box

Matryoshka Dolls

*Homework: (Link your assignments via a comment so I can see what you're up to.)

~How do you imagine time-travel could work. Ask your kids or grandkids for suggestions, and pass them on to me.

~If you could travel back in time, where would you go and why?

~If you were up writing at 3:04 in the morning, day after day, what would you be writing about?

Life Coach

Somebody's Dad

"Football was my sport," he said. "I could feel it. Mom was worried I'd break my nose or crush my knee so she never let me play. Finally I wore her down and got on the sophomore team. The whole family showed up for my first game, cheering as I ran onto the field in my green and gray uniform. I was giddy with football fever. Apparently the coach wasn't feeling my vibes, because he left me on the bench all four quarters.

"My sisters didn't even notice, but my brother gave me a hard time. 'Next week,' whispered my mom. Next week was just the same. I sat out the following game, too. After that my siblings stopped coming. Mom missed the day it snowed, and it was getting colder in the afternoons, so I understood why she didn't come again.

"But Dad was in the bleachers every Friday. He acted like he had nothing he'd rather do than shiver through somebody else's son's football games. Although I was embarrassed, he brushed it off, patted my back, and took me for a hamburger on the way home.

"The last game of the season was a bust. They were ahead by 36 with only a minute left in the 4th quarter. Most of the crowd was gone, and even the cheerleaders were packing up their pom poms. Coach Stone wandered down the bench and gave us 4th-stringers a nod. 'Go in and finish this up,' he said. I grabbed my helmet and glanced up at the bleachers as I strapped it on. There was only one person left in the stands and he was cheering like we'd just won the Super Bowl. My dad."

Who sat in the stands and cheered for you?

This idea came from a comment I heard in Sunday School.

Metaphorically Speaking

Mack and Chase with the write idea.

Make your writing sizzle.

Metaphors are woven through the English language. New ones add brilliant color; old ones recall threadbare clichés. Even then, they glitter between faded, worn-out words.

Do these phrases jump out at you?

• She has a special place in my heart.

• I’m at the height of my career.

• Education is the gateway to success.

• He's living in the fast lane.

• She followed in her mother’s footsteps.

• A blanket of snow fell last night.

Have you caught the drift of this post? Metaphors lead us to images stacked in our minds. I'm shaping this bunch of metaphors to make a point: black and white words can draw colorful pictures. Just follow the dots . . .

• First write a black and white sentence: "Jane wrote a boring cookbook that needs something."
  
• Now pick a word that needs more color: "boring."
• "Boring" + color + cookbook theme = stale.
  
• Reach into the sentence for another word: "wrote."
• "Wrote" + color + cookbook theme = baked.
  
• Grab one more word: "something."
  
• "Something" + color + cookbook theme= shortening.
  
• Rewrite the bland sentence using the spicy words: "Jane baked a stale cookbook that needs shortening."

Want to play?

*Homework:

~Scour this post for metaphors—there's at least one in every sentence. Example: "Do any of these phrases jump out at you?" (Although sentences can sound jumpy, words can't really jump.)

~Twist a classic cliché. Examples: "She blew my cover." "You send me." "He puts the ring in my bell." A twist could be, "I'd like a diamond ring in my bell."

~Write a paragraph stuffed with metaphors. Here's the key: a metaphor is a comparison that doesn't use the words like or as. Just super-charging a verb revs up a sentence. Go crazy! (Metaphorically speaking.)

I'm Quoting Here

"People will accept your ideas much more readily
if you tell them Benjamin Franklin said it first."
—David H. Comins

I began, "Her long ears dragged in the dirt as she hid amongst the flowers. It was fitting because my dog's name was Flower." Mr. Greaves, my 8th grade speech teacher, interrupted to remind me that the assignment was to start a speech with a quotation. So I improvised: "Someone once said, 'Her long ears dragged in the dirt as she hid amongst the flowers.' It was fitting . . ." Instantly my words rang with authority. I was quoting.

Here are a few of my favorites:

1. "Careful grooming may take twenty years off a woman's age, but you can't fool a flight of stairs."—Marlene Dietrich
2. "An archeologist is the best husband any woman can have: the older she gets, the more interested he is in her."—Agatha Christie
3. "I'm tired of all this nonsense about beauty being only skin-deep. That's deep enough. What do you want—an adorable pancreas?"—Jean Kerr
4. "I want my children to have all the things I couldn't afford. Then I want to move in with them."—Phyllis Diller
5. "Experience is what you get when you don't get what you wanted."—Ann Landers

Quotations are great to back up your opinion, to add a touch of humor, to get you thinking, or to give you something to do while you're procrastinating your writing project.

These are some of my go-to sites:

Quoteland.com

Amusing Quotes

Brain Candy Quotations


*Homework:

~Find a quote you disagree with and write a post about it.

~Collect ten quotes on your subject, print them out in a cool font, and hang them on your inspiration board.

~Perfect one of your own sayings so everybody else will quote it. "They're all too self-absorbed to pay any attention to me."—Stie

Gimmicky

Father of the Groom, 2006

Looking for a gimmick? Some writers call it a hook, some an opener. Whatever you call it, it's the thing you use at the beginning to catch your reader's attention. And I've got some ideas.

My husband Dee is the master of the gimmick. He loves a unique visual aid. At our son Pete's wedding he gave a toast he called The Last Farthing. Holding up an ancient English coin, he explained its meaning and passed it around as he developed his theme into advice on creating a happy marriage. (His listeners never realize they're being taught history.)

Surprise is a gimmick. One time Dee stood at the pulpit at church and started singing our family song. This was totally out of character, and had the congregation riveted (except our kids, who were writhing with embarrassment on the floor by then.) Another time he tossed a life-like rattlesnake at some Cub Scouts to start a presentation. He had them hooked.

His books have the same quality. Dee usually has the whole book written before he knows how it will start. Then he lifts the most gripping part of the story out of it's chapter and puts it first. The English Patient is a movie that uses this technique.

Readers are ruthless. We give a magazine a quick thumb-through and put it back on the rack. Two or three sentences convince us to chuck or check out a book. As writers, we have to catch attention immediately or nobody will get to the important stuff we have to say.

Six Gimmicks to Start a Post

1. Personal story—"I heard the window shatter in my dreams." The trick here is to get right into it. Don't waste words telling us you're going to tell us a story.
2. Question—"Does the computer scare you?" Make sure you provide a solution.
   
3. Quotation—"I love being a writer. What I can't stand is the paperwork." Take it from there.
   
4. Confidence—"Writing is what I do." Don't lose our confidence with "I'm sorry I'm not a very good writer . . . I really have nothing to say . . . my life is boring . . ." Why should we keep reading after that kind of introduction?
   
5. Analogy—"Nursery rhymes stick with us. Maybe we should give our kids advice in rhyme." You can use the analogy throughout the article to tie it all together.
   
6. Dramatic Short Sentence—"Gimmicks work!"

*Homework:

~Go back to your last five blog posts. Do you start with a bang? Why or why not?

~Think of a viewpoint you'd defend hotly in an argument. Now, start in the middle of the debate and write a passionate post. Do you sound confident?

~Pretend your article is featured in a magazine. What is the headline on the cover that would make somebody buy it? Use that to start your next post.

That's Mine!

"Same-same."

When is something ours?

Years ago I combined Sandra's Chocolate Cake with my mom's Texas Sheet Cake, and added a teaspoon of cinnamon—it became my chocolate cake. Candice now makes it more often than I do. She's adjusted a teaspoon here and a degree there to make it unique. It's mine when I make it, but definitely hers when she does.

Dad was known as the optimist. I believed his ideas. Putting them into practice, they were supported by my own experience; now his philosophy has become mine.

A famous scholar, D.W. Winnicott, refused to give credit to others for his theories. He said, "My mind works differently than yours. I gather this and that, here and there, and form my own theories. I never interest myself about where I stole what."

"Is that mine?"

T.S. Eliot said, "A minor poet borrows, a great poet steals." When a writer uses a quote in the context it was written, to support the same idea, it is borrowed. But when writing inspires some new thinking, the words can be used again, and be original again.

"Are you copying me?"

Everybody has known somebody who copies. An outfit, a decorating touch, a unique style—they're all up for grabs. Just stroll through the blogosphere for many examples. But a copy can't stand on it's own for long; originality is what lasts. We can't really steal ideas. Our own unique combination of experience and understanding puts a personal imprint on anything we collect from others. After that happens we can claim, "It's mine."

(That being said, if my cake falls, remember it was Sandra's recipe.)

*Homework:

~Post a favorite recipe you consider your own.

~Write a post using this prompt: "I loved what she said, but my mind went in a whole new direction. I thought . . . "

~Has someone copied one of your ideas? How did you feel? Write about it.

Don't Jump to Conclusions

Micah, 1978

Back in the day, distressed furniture was cool. All the fancy furniture stores sold armoires, dressers and hutches with fake scuffs and scratches, and faded faux finishes. Saving hundreds of dollars, we created the real thing. Our coffee table looked unfashionably new but we topped it off with a couple of brass ducks. The kids took care of the rest. Eventually we had a coffee table to rival something out of a 17th-century farmhouse. The ducks sat contentedly in a pool of gouges.

While on a little getaway, Dee bought me some smaller ducks of the same brass. Late that night I unpacked them and put them on the coffee table. The next morning when the kids raced upstairs to the kitchen for breakfast, Micah's footed jammies skidded to a stop. He did a double-take in front of the living room and squealed, "Oh my gosh you guys! The ducks had babies!"

It's easy to jump to conclusions when you don't have all the facts. In fact, it's sometimes easier. I remember writing my first research paper in 6th grade. It was about Magellan. With my little recipe box and a stack of 3x5 cards, I went to the Evergreen library and started exploring the card catalog. Whenever I discovered a fact about Magellan I'd jot it on a new card. The research was enjoyable, the time flew by, and I was startled when my mom tapped me on the shoulder and said it was time to go home.

Somehow I never got back to Magellan that weekend, and the due date crept up. Around midnight one Sunday night (even then I wrote best in the wee hours) I got out my cards and strung the facts together for my paper. Unfortunately I ran out of facts before the conclusion, so I took a flying leap.

Re-creation

Mr. West wrote on my paper, "A clever angle." From then on, I wrote one paper per class using this tactic: when I ran out of time or material, I killed my character off with a long dying squiggle. I continued to get rave reviews, until 9th grade when I had Mrs. Hathaway. Forgetting I'd had Mrs. Hathaway in 8th grade, I turned in an assignment where Anne Frank died right in the middle of her diary.

I expected the usual A, so I was surprised when the papers came back. At the bottom of my book report, right after the C-, there was a little note. "You've jumped to the wrong conclusion. Check your facts. And this ending was better the first time."

So this week I'm fact-checking. Orlando Bagley's father was married twice: one record says the first wife was his mother, and another says the second one was. A third record has his grandmother listed as his mom. And the same Orlando died on six different dates. Hmmm . . . Is somebody reusing my favorite ending? Corroborating all the facts is tedious work, but I don't want to jump to the wrong conclusion.


*Homework:

~Type up a sheet of your vital facts and file it with your important papers. Most people in the USA don't know their grandmother's maiden name! Make sure your grandkids know yours.

~Ever jumped to the wrong conclusion? Write a post about it.

~Record a memory of someone saying something that still makes you laugh.

Oral History: Pass It On

Jiggs and "Unk" about 1935

"We were rich compared to the lady up the hill. She would come down and ask mom if she was going to wash. She wanted mom to save the wash water so that she could run her load."

Jiggs grew up during the depression. "In those days, you started out with the hottest water to do the whites, and then you did the colors and finally the dark clothes, all in the same wash water. You'd put the clothes through the wringer and then in a tub of medium warm water to rinse. Another tub had 'bluing' in it to help whiten the whites. You'd wring them out again and then hang them on the line.

"The woman up the street wanted the water after Mom had done the black socks and overalls. Then she'd use it for her whites. It was encouraging to know there were people poorer than us."

Jiggs was my father. He continued his story. "Dad was always out of work, looking for a job. Mom said she wished she could worry about something important instead of how they'd afford heat in the winter and new clothes for us kids. Thrifty doesn't begin to describe her. When our clothes were beyond mending, Mom removed the buttons and tore them into strips, sewed them together, and wound them into a ball to weave rugs for the house. I think she sold some of them.

"Dad was a great gardener, so we didn't worry about having enough to eat. Peaches, raspberries, apples, vegetables . . . he was famous for his corn. People came from all over hoping to buy a bushel of corn, but he wouldn't sell it. Instead, he gave it away. Dad wasn't a great businessman, but he made sure we were blessed with what we needed.

"Work was our lifestyle. By the time I was eight I was contributing to the family coffers; I herded cows, picked worms, fed pigs, anything for a quarter. My dad would say, 'Jiggs never quits. Give the job to Jiggs, he never quits on anything.' That was the main quality I had. I used to gripe that I never quit.

"Saturdays my mom plucked chickens to earn a chicken for our Sunday dinner. When I was ten she started taking me along because I could kill and clean a chicken in less than a minute. I'd wring the chicken's neck in my hand, take the knife, slit it and pull it right out of it's skin. I hated that job, but I had to live up to my reputation. I never quit."

Born with a cataract in one eye, Jiggs was noticeably cross-eyed from birth. Glasses were prescribed before he was two, and the doctor said he'd probably never see well enough to read, but his dad was not discouraged. "Dad always had high expectations. From the time I was little he bragged about how smart I was. I learned to read by the time I was three—I think it was easy because I only had to use one eye. Eventually my other eye straightened out, but they never worked together.

"In 3rd grade I was skipped to 5th grade. From then on I was the littlest kid in the class, but it didn't matter. I knew I was also the smartest because dad told me I was. He'd show me off to his friends by giving me long, complicated math problems I had to do in my head, which I always got right. I couldn't let him down. When the kids in my class started driving, I did too, even though I was only thirteen. That was one of the perks. I could drive on my paper route, and to my basketball games."

Church basketball was a big deal to Jiggs. "We were playing down at Granite High School to get in the All-Church tournament. Wandermeer Ward beat us. Afterwords, all of us down in the dressing room decided to go get drunk—drown our sorrows. Dad was down in the dressing room with us and got wind of what was planned. Quietly he came up to me and said, 'Be sure you drive if there is going to be drinking.' His high expectations kept me from getting drunk that night."

Years later, when Jiggs had a teenage son, he tried the same strategy. Tom's friends pulled up in a convertible and June saw cartons of beer in the back seat. She went inside and said to her husband, "Jiggs, you have to tell Tom he can't go." Jiggs said, "I remembered the way my dad had handled it, and I said, 'Hey Tom, be sure you drive if there's any drinking.'"

Jiggs was a natural story-teller, and his stories were fascinating. But he didn't write them down. In 1997, two years to the day before he died, I interviewed him about his parents for a family history book I was writing. None of the questions focused on him—my plan was to interview him again about himself. I never did. Luckily, he meandered a little bit that day, and I got a few of his stories in his own words.

Now that I have grandkids of my own, I want them to know what kind of folks they came from. I think it will help them decide what kind of folks they want to be. At least that's my expectation.

Oh, and Happy Birthday, Dad!

*Homework:

~Plan and conduct an interview with someone you love—a kid, a parent or a grandparent will do.
Record it, transcribe it, and treasure it forever. Tips for a successful interview:

1. Make a 60 to 90-minute appointment when there will be no distractions. (Interviewing more than one person at a time gets confusing.) Plan to do it face-to-face or over the phone.
2. Send a list of items you want to cover. Some questions should be specific so they will be prepared with important names and dates. Some should be open-ended to get them thinking: Describe the home you grew up in. Tell me how your parents interacted with each other.
3. Be prepared with extra batteries, and a notebook and pen.
4. Start the interview by stating the date, your name, and the full name of your loved one. Include the name you call them (Uncle Don.)
5. Don't be afraid of silence. If you don't rush to fill in the gap, they'll usually think a few seconds and add important details.
6. Have them spell out any names, and print them in your notebook.
7. Write down emotions and facial expressions the tape will miss.
8. Get them back on track with phrases like "You mentioned your job at the bank" or "Let's go back to your parent's reaction" or "I'm interested in hearing about your courtship."
9. Listen carefully, with an interested expression. React to what they're saying to draw them out more. (Don't let yourself talk very much. This is about them.)
10. Not everything they say will be valuable. You will be sifting for a few precious nuggets, but it will be worth it.
    
    

Punctuation: Explanation Points

—Mary Engelbreit

I hung out with my writing mentor this afternoon. Mother Goose is the master at getting her point across with memorable language, and unforgettable rhythm. She encouraged me to re-read my favorite book on punctuation. I know that does not rank up there on the list of Good Reads, but I love this book. I am smitten with commas, semi-colons, (and parentheses.) Explanation points? I love them!

Consider this: just twenty six letters, organized with periods and question marks, became To Kill a Mockingbird. Good prose is a matter of interior design. A few things I've learned about writing:

1. Use variety. A sentence can be a long, wordy string of words, with commas breaking things up, like this. It can actually be two sentences; just put a semi-colon in the middle. Do you see how punctuation adds visual interest? It's amazing!
2. If you want to tell your reader something confidential (like a secret) whisper it in parentheses.
3. Long paragraphs are intimidating. Without some visual space we get claustrophobic. Compare reading a magazine to reading the little warning sheet that comes inside the Tylenol bottle. The contrast is a reminder to hit the return key often. Short paragraphs make readers feel welcome.
4. Use your dictionary; spell check can only do so much. A precise word conveys the right meaning. Is your sister erratic or erotic? (The computer doesn't pick up the difference.)
5. Quote an expert. In Writing With Style, John R. Trimble said, "View your reader as a companionable friend–someone with a warm sense of humor and a love of simple directness. Write like you're actually talking to that friend, but talking with enough leisure to frame your thoughts concisely and interestingly."
6. WRITING IN ALL CAPS SOUNDS LIKE YOU'RE YELLING.
7. if you adopt a style for creative purposes, be consistent. you want your readers to know it's intentional.
   
8. Unless you're training for a marathon and have to keep going even when you're exhausted remember to put commas in to give your readers a chance to take a breath before they faint.
9. Ellipses are used to show that you've left a word out of a quotation. Rudolf Flesch said, "Punctuation . . . is the most important single device for making things easier to read." When . . . are used incorrectly . . . we wonder . . . what we are missing . . .
10. Explanation points! They can be overdone! Use them sparingly!

Any questions?


*Homework:

~As a rule of thumb, whenever you've written three longish sentences in a row, make your fourth a short one. And don't fear the super-short sentence. It's arresting. Sometimes just a single word will be plenty long. Experiment! Write a paragraph using sentences of various lengths.

~Read something you wrote a while ago out loud. Can you read each sentence without stumbling or running out of breath? Does it easily communicate what you wanted to say? Did you pick up any unconscious word repeats? Do your sentences sound choppy, or do they have a comfortable rhythm? Edit it just a little and see how you've improved it just using punctuation.

~Pull out a favorite book, and read a few pages. Notice the punctuation, the length of the sentences and paragraphs. Pay attention to the style of what you read. When you thumb through a book or magazine, what catches your eye? If a blog has long paragraphs do you save it for later? Write your next piece using this new perspective.

How to Start Writing a Book

Snoopy's Guide to the Writing Life

"To me, writing a book is a two-part process. The first part, and probably the toughest, is starting the book. The second part, which I've always considered much easier, is completing the book. It's much longer than starting, but also considerably easier—because now, momentum is on my side. It's kind of like jumping out of an airplane. The first step is nearly brutal, but the rest is just a matter of going with gravity."—Jay Conrad Levinson

How I Started My Book:

1. I opened a new folder on my computer and named it Bagley Beginnings.
   
2. Next, I opened Microsoft Word for a blank page, and created a title page. I saved it as Title Page in the Bagley Beginnings folder.
   
3. Then I opened a new blank page and named it Contents, and saved it in the folder.
4. The next page I called Chronology, and I saved it, too.
5. Finally I made ten separate pages for Chapter 1, Chapter 2, etc. and put them in the folder.
   

Examples from another project.

Now I had somewhere to actually start writing. The next step was to decide what I want to include in my book and write preliminary chapter headings for the contents and chapter pages.

Chapter 1: Helen de Baggiley, 1178.

Chapter 2: Lord Richard de Baguley, 1243.

Chapter 3: Sir John Colepeper, 1404.

Chapter 4: Joan Reade, 1423.

In this case, the names gave me birth dates for my chronology page. For other projects the chronology might be the order of your scenes and when characters are introduced, or the sequence of events you want to write about.

After listing the years down the side, I started sifting through my notes to compile them in an organized way. Large sections will get written and inserted into the right chapter as I go along.

This method can be used for any book or even a blog series. When I wrote a series called Life in the Motherhood I compiled it beforehand on my blog. First, I opened to new post, wrote the title, labeled it and saved it as a draft (like a title page.) I did the same for five other ideas that fit the category (similar to creating chapters) and labeled them the same. Over the next few days I found quotes I wanted to use, remembered stories, and searched for images, slotting them into the posts they fit. (I'd compare this to creating a chronology.) When I was ready, I opened a different draft each day, decided what was worth keeping, and wrote the posts.

"I love being a writer. What I hate is the paperwork."

Preparation pays. Remember last month when you hauled all those Christmas decorations upstairs from the basement? All the knickknacks you took off the shelves to make room for the garlands, and the piano you moved to make room for the tree? It was a long day, but you sat down after the vacuum was put away, turned on the lights and basked in the ambiance. You'd created the setting—now you could start the season.

With the hard part out of the way, I'm ready to enjoy the season.
I'm writing a book!

*Homework:

~Decide the scope of your project and where you're going to work on it (blog, computer, notebook.) Name it. Create a folder and a title page. Doesn't that feel awesome?

~Make an index page and name your chapters. Make a separate file for each chapter and save it in your folder.

~Put together a chronology page, listing the things you'll include. You probably won't compile everything in this exact order, and you may end up changing the sequence of events in your final draft, but this will help with organization.

~Sit back and bask in the ambiance. You're ready to start this season. You're a writer!

Writing About Character Flaws

John Allen Bagley
1862-1941

What if your star character was kind of a character? Here is an excerpt from a chapter I wrote about my great-grandfather.

John Allen Bagley began drinking socially during his service as Attorney General of Idaho, in 1902. He was a big fish in a little pond, and keenly aware of it. Although he was highly respected and admired in Idaho, Idaho was considered a primitive and rough place in the larger context of the United States. John was associating with educated and privileged society from the east, probably a little intimidating for a young man of humble, pioneer stock. It is easy to imagine the temptations he faced as a naive Mormon boy from Montpelier. He could not have known that alcoholism is a disease and that for an alcoholic "social drinking" is impossible. He developed an addiction to wine.

Modern medicine indicates that the same gene is responsible for migraine headaches, motion sickness, depression and alcoholism. A person with that gene can suffer from any or all of these problems. Descendants of John Allen Bagley should realize that a tendency to addiction could be genetic. Did John suffer from depression as well? The circumstances of tragic death and sorrow during his life suggest that possibility.

Some members of the family remember hearing rumors that John used laudanum, as well. Laudanum was a popular drug at the time, recommended by doctors as a pain killer, sleeping medicine and anti-depressant. It was self-administered, cut from a brick the size and texture of a pound of butter, and then diluted or "cut" with a small amount of alcohol.

Laudanum is a solution containing morphine, prepared from opium. Later, a milder but similar solution became paregoric, a regulated medication. If John did use this drug, perhaps for migraine headaches, it is likely he became addicted to it. Alcohol and laudanum would actually contribute to the very conditions they supposedly cured.

John's grandchildren had a very different experience with him than those who knew him well as a younger man. Marie Bagley was afraid of him. Gerald Bagley recalled that "he smelled funny," and Melvin Bagley said his father, Hawley, had to "carry Grandpa home from bars when he was drunk. He seemed cold and uninterested in us kids."

Some of his grandchildren thought he was mean, and that he became frightening and angry when their father would not bring him wine. John's choices probably seemed justifiable to him in the beginning, yet the consequences of those choices may have rendered him unable to escape. Alcohol and drug addiction, even if entered into innocently, could certainly have changed John's personality.

Marjorie Turner, another granddaughter, said her brothers Stuart and Ben had opposite memories of John Allen. His son Loraine gave him work in his Salt Lake law office. Loraine's son Ben remembered his grandfather as "almost a bum, begging clients for quarters." The other son, Stuart, remembered John as always looking dapper in a starched white shirt and suspenders. John apparently struck people in very different ways.

John Allen Bagley has been described as poetic, brilliant, honorable, eloquent, warm, capable and loyal to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He has also been described as a boozer, womanizer, "scheming backroom politician," and "a damned drunk." The real man was probably neither as good or as bad as he is portrayed. Like most of us, he was most likely somewhere in between. His life should be viewed with perspective, balancing the admirable qualities with the objectionable details, tempering our judgement with our personal shortcomings, appreciating his worthy contributions and perhaps pondering his mistakes.

It's fun to play the devil's advocate. I think there's something heroic in just about everybody when you know get to know them, warts and all.

*Homework:

~Discussion question:
What kind of details would you want left out of your biography? Have you ever torn pages out of your diary? Why? Do you regret it? How have you reacted to secrets you discovered about folks you love? (Comment anonymously if you want to.)

That's the write idea!