Tell Me A Story
Returning guest blogger, Kathleen Delaney, talks about what storytelling means to her.
Kathleen Delaney & Friends
My Christmas Tree is up. So are the lights, and there’s garland on the mantle. I don’t usually decorate this early, but two of my grandchildren were here over Thanksgiving and they wanted to decorate “their” trees. Last year I bought two of those little fake trees that come with lights for the front porch. But things didn’t go quite the way I had planned. I barely made it home for Christmas, having spent a month in the hospital, and those trees were almost the only one we had. The kids claimed them, and decorated them. For some reason they didn’t make the cover of Southern Living, but the kids loved them, and so did I.
This year they wanted to do it again. It seemed like a good idea, so we dragged them out, one thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, we were Christmased.
It seems that decorating for Christmas requires more than ornaments and bows. Hot chocolate and stories are an integral part of the ritual. Family stories, mostly, and their favorites are stories about their mother and their aunts and uncles. One story in particular is required telling. When their Uncle David was about eight, he ventured into forbidden territory, the main street a few blocks from where we lived, to buy me a Christmas present. How he ended up at the florist I don’t remember, and maybe never knew, but he came home with a small ceramic Santa’s boot, and in the boot was a fat red candle and fresh holly. My first thought was, of course, to ground him for life for scaring me half to death and my second was-where did he get the money? It seems he had saved his allowance, which couldn’t have been very much, and I believe he did some special chores for his father. David didn’t get grounded, and the boot, now somewhat battered, comes out every Christmas. I still have the candle, but it gets fresh holly and the story gets a little better. David is now almost fifty-two, so that story has grown quite a bit.
This year we had a few new stories. Dalia, who is eight, took on the chore of story teller. The characters were familiar, but the story line—well, let’s just say there were events I didn’t recognize, and I’m fairly happy about that. The child has a very vivid imagination.
It occurred to me, while we were retelling favorite stories and making up new ones, how important story telling is. We don’t often sit down and record our family history, it comes down to us through stories and it is through stories we really learn about the people that shaped our past world, and who influence who we are today. George Washington may not have really cut down the cherry tree, but that story tells us what kind of person he was, and serves to teach us the value of honesty.
But the stories about my Aunt Frank are true. She really did put on her hat and coat every time she opened the refrigerator. She was afraid she might catch cold. I dearly loved Frankie and spent many happy hours with her, listening to some pretty odd ideas, and learning that all people, even those that are a bit peculiar, have great value.
And that’s what story telling, or writing fiction, its all about. Stories about ordinary people and extraordinary people. Stories that make us laugh with someone, cry with someone else, and ones that make the hairs on the backs of our necks stand up.
The stories I like to write put ordinary people in traumatic circumstances, and then I can sit back and see how they handle whatever it is I throw at them. Mostly, its murder. Such fun.
We have to care about the characters. Peculiar people can’t be just peculiar, heroines can’t be just pretty faces, they have to anguish over something and grow through whatever trials and tribulations we put in front of them, and villains can’t be all evil. Unless you’re determined to do Hanibel Lector one better, of course. But you don’t usually want to read about pure evil, and it’s pretty hard to write about it. Humans are complex. Sometimes mean, sometimes generous to a fault, sometimes happy, sometimes in agony. So are the characters in your story, or they should be.. Don’t fail them. Breath life into them. Remember, action springs out of character. So, don’t be afraid to give your characters a little—well—character.
Dalia has it right. Her characters live and breathe. Of course, her stories are mostly about an eight year old girl, her six year old brother, their mother, and sometimes their grandmother.
The stuff about the grandmother isn’t true.
December 11, 2009
Posted in: Guest Blogs
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7 Responses
I have a six year old story teller and saw much of her in your description of Dalia. So long as there are kids like they, we have no cause to fear, no matter which specific pubs might fall or which others rise to replace them. I personally hope that bricks and mortar stores always exist in which I can curl up with a stack of finds–not to whittle them down but to glow with anticipation as I take one more look before leaving the shop, laden–but so long as the Dalias are here at least there will always be Story.
Enjoyed the post. As a storycatcher, myself, I agree completely with the power of story. Nothing holds a society together or gives it color, like story does. The power and the might of story keeps us going, http://www.sylviadickeysmithbooks.wordpress.com is my blog where I often tell story as well. I’d love folks to visit me.
What a wonderful reminder of where stories come from; thanks so much for this great post. It’s a gift.
I love Aunt Frank! Reminds me of a dear cousin who puts everything back into boxes — the toothpaste tube (after every use), soap, apirin, whatever has a packaging. I should ask what she does with those annoying blister packs!
Camille Minichino/Margaret Grace
I think you summed it all up with the observation that we all need to “laugh with someone, cry with someone else”… at the end of the day, it’s about the human condition, about finding empathy with the characters. I know that when my husband receives e-mails from fans, they never say: “What’s the next murder Li Yan and Margaret Campbell are going to investigate?” they ask “What’s going to happen between Li Yan and Margaret Campbell”. We want to make friends with characters and follow them through their adventures.
What a nice post. I really enjoyed the stories of the special gifts and Aunt Frank. Those are the kind of moments that stay with us forever and bear repeating on a regular basis. When everything else in life is lost, we do have those treasured memories.
You remind me of a time when my children were young and were excited by the fact that Mommy made up stories. They started to create their own stories, and we had lots of fun with it. When my two sons were in their teens, we collaborated on a YA mystery together called WHERE IS ROBERT? It remains in print to this day. I never could have written that book without their input. Andrew provided the plot line and Dan provided the voice. They also helped with authentic scenes of high school wrestling since they both wrestled. It was great fun and an activity we shared.
I enjoyed all of your comments, and thank you. The children are coming to spend the week before Christms with me, and is going to be fun. We’re going to bake cookies. I hope I can get the frosting scraped off the counters before its time to fix Christmas dinner. Merry Christmas, everyone, and may the New Year bring you health, happiness, and a new book contract. Kathleen
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