Story Telling

Live from Eight-Mile

“A story begins somewhere in space and time, when you step onto the path beside the writer. Where could that be? Mars, one girl says. Hogwarts. Hawaii, and my fovorite, Nicasio, three towns away, population ninety-six. But, oh, what some of those people gone and done.”

Anne Lamott (Almost Everything: Notes on Hope, p.95)

Anne Lamott writes in Almost Everything, “Flannery O'Connor once gave her neighbor at the end of the road some of her stories, and when the neighbor returned them, she said, 'Well, them stories just gone and shown you what some folks would do.'” (p. 91) I laughed and laughed, thinking, I might know that lady. Southern people are plain-spoken and don't care much for the King's English. But you get the gist, right?

I had a similar experience with a writer/editor in my early days of writing. I trusted her with a beginner's manuscript, and her advice was, “Stick with you're art.” She couldn't understand why I would put so many of those “trashy people” in my story, which of course was based in truth and characterized by folks I knew well. When I explained this, she informed me, “I'm an elitist!” That was true enough and fine for her to be, too, because those were the people she knew and identified with, and those “trashy” mountain folks were mine. We have to tell the stories we know or at least the ones our imagination can cook up.

When Anne Lamott teaches writing classes, either to children or to adults, she encourages them to tell stories about ordinary people—people they know. They don't have to be on Mars, though if you have a vivid imagination, like Ursula Le Guin, you may feel right at home writing about Mars, but you'd better do the research and get your facts straight or nobody will believe anything else you write. I like to write stories about mountain folks for several reasons—one is that you can't make up what “some of those people gone and done.” Truth is always more fantastic than fiction. Real-people-crazy stories are usually totally unbelievable, and hilarious. Also, because I love their vernacular—a mixture of old English, with traces of Irish, Scottish and African rhythm and pronunciation. Their sentences are oddly chained together and at the same time, understandable.

One thing I love to do is listen to other people telling their stories. My friend, Ellen, can absolutely split my sides telling about family events in Eight-Mile, Alabama. Tell the truth, would you tell anybody if you were from Eight-Mile? Now, those people gone and done some stuff. Everybody has an Eight-Mile in them, in their childhood or their past. In my own, there was a community called Sweat-Heifer up the road, and my daddy was always on the look-out for “Miss Sweat-Heifer” when we watched the Miss North Carolina pageant every year. Alas, she never showed up, but we rolled on the floor laughing at Daddy's description of what a choice woman she would be on the runway.

Our stories are our lives, they are our memories and the substance of our every day, every year. We are meant to cherish them and share them. Never be ashamed to tell the truth, especially if it's funny or poignant. Other people will enjoy your honesty enough to tell their own. That makes life good.

                                                         In the Spirit,

                                                             Jane