When Learning Sort of Sneaks Up on You
Returning guest blogger, Kathleen Delaney, talks about what she learns from books.
Last night I watched Julie and Julia. Again. The first time I watched it with an eight year old and a six year old. I got more out of it last night.
Iāve been a Julia Child fan for years. I guess thatās why I received two copies of the movie for Christmas. My kids grew up on Julia Child recipes. They got very used to seeing me in the kitchen, dishtowel over my shoulder, Mastering The Art of French Cooking spread out on the counter while I tried to figure out how to properly truss a chicken or dodge bubbling olive oil while I browned stew meat.
My mother was a good cook. I donāt know why, my grandmother was a rotten cook. Mother ran to chicken fried steak (we used to tenderize it with the hammer), meat loaf and fried chicken, dishes we now call comfort food, and she did them well. My father had grown up on a farm and that was the kind of food he liked. I didnāt know there was any other way to eat until my first trip to France. I came home determined to learn how to cook like the French. And then along came Julia.
It seems to me that the knowledge I treasure most I got from reading. Recreational reading, not textbooks. And, before you say anything, I know cookbooks arenāt fiction, at least most of them arenāt, but for me, cooking is recreational, and reading cookbooks is just as much fun as the mysteries I was, and still am, addicted to. I learn something new with each new one I buy, even if I donāt try every recipe.
Iāve learned other things from the novels Iāve devoured.Ā Iāve peeked into the lives of lawyers, doctors, hotel maids, dairy farmers, and Iāve lived through terrible tragedy and experienced wonderful joy with those same people.Ā Iāve not only learned a lot from those books, but have spent many pleasant hours doing it. But what I didnāt realize was that, just as Julia Child taught me how to cook, the authors of those books taught me to write.
Iāve learned how to construct a plot, how to get rhythm into a story, how to build that story to a crisis, then back off and build again to a greater one, never letting go of the tension as the story builds. I learned that all action springs out of character, and that characters must stay true to who they are. By that, I mean you canāt make someone a meek little mouse, hiding in a corner, and then suddenly, without warning, turn him or her into a super hero. That kind of thing takes time, in real life as well as in fiction, and that personās journey out of the corner to super herodom just might be the story.
Iāve also read many books on āhow toā construct a plot, build characters, keep the story moving, and most of them have been more than helpful, but the people I go back to, time and time again, are the ones who weave those stories you canāt put down, who introduce you to people whose lives you share for two to three hundred pages, and who you donāt want to leave when the last page is finally read. Those are the ones who, like Julia who taught me to take joy in cooking well, are the ones who taught me to take joy in story telling, and who, like Julia, set the bar high. So my most heartfelt thanks to all of them, for the pleasant hours Iāve spent with them, and the pleasant hours Iām spending creating my own characters. And now I must end this, for Iām off to the grocery store, roast chicken sounds pretty good right now, and I think Iāll stop by the library on my way home. Just as soon as I finish writing this next chapter.
February 16, 2010
Posted in: Guest Blogs
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One Response
It’s a nice analogy, and not one I would’ve thought of. I wonder how many cooks also write and how many writers feel connections as they plan and execute a meal. And now I definitely have to see the movie!
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