Write What You Know

One of the first instructions given to writers is to write what you know. Most of us know much more than we think. This is what I know:

I’ve spent the last two years thinking about my experiences. About what I’ve done, what I’ve learned. About my teachers.

I took my first writing class in the sixth grade from Mrs. Mildon. She taught me how to see things, she taught me empathy, she taught me another way to read and though I already loved books and reading, she taught me another dimension of reading. How to study a book. She taught courage and how to stand up to things that knock you down.

She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1963, in the middle of the school year. We had to cut the writing class short, but she kept on teaching for several years, missing few days, despite the cruelty of treatment back then. Teaching meant everything to her and she showed me just how to honor what you love.

She taught the students in her creative writing class many basic writing skills but first and foremost, she taught us to be true. True to our writing.

Her words:
· Beauty and sharpness of expression, yes, but sincerity first.
· We work for sincere, meaningful descriptive writing
· And her most repeated: Give your words wings—but remember: “I’ll never write a line I have not heard in my own heart. —Rostand

Reading and writing are cornerstones of who I am. My most lasting memories are of my parents reading to me—at bedtime, while braiding my hair, at lunchtime.

I talked early (according to my sister, I never shut up). Words are a security blanket comforting, real, understood. If I want to learn how to do something, I need the written instructions sets it in my head best.

I like words straightforward and simple. I like them turned on their ear and played with. I love playing word games. I love rolling words on my tongue just to try out their music. Words have lead me to and through many things. It is how I see the world. It’s how I navigate the potholes of my life.

I always thought I was destined to be a writer and have thought so since I first took up a pencil. Self-published (I was ahead of my time), at seven. I sold short stories, mostly western historical, (horses played a prominent role, of course), to my mother for a nickel. (A Butterfinger cost a nickel. See where I was going with my pricing? As you can see, I’m also an avid chocolaholic.) I tried selling stories door to door. That didn’t go over very well, but I could always count on my mom to buy my latest work.

More recently, I’ve had short stories and essays published in national magazines, wrote an inspirational column for URWA for four years, won several poetry contests. I also have a drawer full of unpublished work. Tons of poems, short stories, essays, plus nine novels. I admit, some probably shouldn’t see the light of day but some should.

I’m owned by two cats (Zoie and Maddie Rose) and master to no one but my dog. (and L.E. ( my dog) might dispute that) As of this moment, I have been owned by eleven cats and have owned nine dogs.

I’ve waited up all night, heart in my throat for a new teenager driver to come home and held many a dinner for a hard-working husband. I’ve been a grieving daughter, an angry wife, a frustrated mother.

I’ve been a baby, a fey child, a tomboy, a little sister, a daughter, a girlfriend. I was a daddy’s girl, a rebellious daughter, a flower child, a straight-A student. A high school newspaper reporter and a poet. I’ve been an introvert, an awkward daughter-in-law with her foot in her mouth. A carhop, a pet-shop worker, a dog groomer, a dog obedience instructor, a bookkeeper, a bride and pregnant.

I’ve been a vegetable gardener, flower gardener, home-canner, seamstress, crocheter, knitter, quilter, cross-stitcher, decorator. A movie-theater custodian, a PTA mom and the proud mother of graduates, grooms, and adult children. I’ve been a soccer mom, a t-ball mom, a neighborhood chauffeur and a salesperson. A supply clerk, building contractor, designer, cook, columnist, member of the RWA and URWA, grandma and the primary-care giver to an elder breast cancer survivor. And a friend to many, I hope.

I’ve survived childhood, the 60’s, Mr. Hansen’s current events class, dating, marriage, motherhood, sister-in-laws, mother-in-laws, daughter-in-laws, grandparenting, aging, illness, more than one recession, lost jobs, lost hope, downturns, upturns and everything in between. Survived three broken arms (not my own), chicken pox, measles (both kinds), mastitis, gout, anemia, rickets and MPGN. Survived childbirth, a D and C, a hysterectomy, a colonoscopy, an upper GI, a CAT scan, a cystoscope and a kidney biopsy. Car accidents, a broken tailbone, heartache, headache, laughter, tears, and despair. I’ve done emergency care for cuts, rebar speared through a child’s leg, more than one head trauma, blood infections, HS purpura, a Woolly monkey, and a hit-and-run cat. Lived through countless sleepless nights, police calls, loneliness, blame, abandonment, over-whelming chaos and peace.

I’ve been animal-crazy, horse-crazy, boy-crazy, baby-crazy, Beatles-crazy (watched ‘Help’ nine times in one day), Neil Diamond-crazy, Kojak-crazy (don’t ask), Magnum PI-crazy. And just plain crazy.

Been too thin, too fat, on a diet, off a diet, healthy, sick, and just right.

I’ve worn sun-dresses, poodle skirts, love beads, bell bottoms. Maternity smocks, pantsuits and holey Levis. Mommy jeans, mini-skirts, granny skirts, straight leg, peg leg, flare leg, tapered leg. Round toe, square toe, pointed toe. I’ve had curls, braids, ironed waist-long hair, bleached-out hair, ratted hair, neck-length hair, perms, balding hair and graying hair.

I’ve killed and dressed chicken, ducks and doves, helped cut up deer, elk and bear, watched cockfights, dogfights, girl fights and caught craw daddies, minnows, trout and worms. I’ve shot a rifle, revolver, Saturday Night Special, muzzleloader, slingshot, bow and arrow and the bull.

I’ve saved a hummingbird, a life, pennies, S & H green stamps, Gold Strike stamps, coupons, memories, books and I hope, my friends, and myself. I’ve fried and eaten grasshoppers; dug a hole to China (didn’t make it), raised puppies, guppies, angelfish, cat-faced spiders, ants and boys. Rode horses, been thrown. Got back on. Rescued ducks, dogs, cats, lost horses and lost wallets. Moved a mountain of mud with a shovel, a heart to tears, and three children out of the house.

I’ve been to court, to prison, to a mental hospital, seen the original Beach Boys in concert, hiked the high Uintahs, lived in small town USA all my life. I’ve shucked corn, snipped beans, dug potatoes, and picked peaches, raspberries, strawberries and a husband. I’ve cut asparagus, firewood, a path through a forest and a rug. I’ve made my own ice cream, root beer, pickles, Levi’s, sweaters, rugs, quilts, afghans, samplers, rules and way.

I’ve collected bugs, antiques, precious moments (figurines and minutes), old bottles, galvanized watering cans, aluminum cans (since the 70’s), newspapers, thimbles, all things Gone With The Wind, Rod McKuen poems, stamps, pictures, poems, ink bottles, paper weights, pens, blank notebooks, books, quotes, skeleton keys, milk glass salt and pepper shakers and random thoughts.

I’ve been loved, hated, praised, criticized, spit on, thrown up on, ignored, groped, pinched, broke, fixed, dropped, picked up, kissed, slapped, spoiled, scolded, heart-broke, adrift, depressed, exalted, forsaken and happy.

I’ve planted, sowed, buried, raked, mowed, leveled, tilled, shoveled, hoed, tamped. I’ve turned, fed and talked dirt.

I’ve loved and cared for fish, piranha, horses, dogs, cats, raccoons, skunks, squirrels, chipmunk, rabbits, chickens, ducks, tortoise, snakes, iguana, ant farms, sea monkeys, caterpillar, babies, friends, father, mother, grandmother, Woolly monkeys, squirrel monkeys, Capuchin monkeys, canaries, pigeons, parrots, mice, hamsters and tarantula’s. I’ve been dog bit, snake bit, horse bit, love bit, tick bit.

I’ve watched a man walk on the moon, the Challenger crash, 9/11, the Twin Towers fall, peace riots, race riots, my kids grow into adults right under my nose, pets live and die, money come and go.

I’ve fought global warming, gas shortages (more than once,) empty pockets and depression. Boycotted meat prices, the Vietnam War, and apartheid. I remember jacks, jump rope, Drive-in movies, I Love Lucy, the Mouseketeers, Spin and Marty, That Girl, Bewitched, pony-tail Barbie, Betsy McCall dolls, American Bandstand, leather jackets, duck tails, party lines, hula-hoops, mustang 64 ½ , a robin’s egg blue pink polka-dot beetle (it was the 60s), vinyl records, ’45’s, swine flu(twice), skate keys, skateboards(the first time around), Look and Life magazine, racial riots, Elvis and the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show, the assignations of the Kennedy’s and Martin Luther King.

I’ve read, watched, wept, written, succeeded, failed, failed again, failed big, tried, given up, started over, started over again. I’ve fed the hungry, helped the illiterate, housed the homeless, been robbed, been helped. I’ve lived, thought I’d die. I am, in some way, like all of you.
These are the things I know. These are the things I write about. Make your own list. Update it as you go. It makes you think. It makes you sad, glad, mad and proud.

And remember this: Through it all, two things never failed me—reading and writing.

In other words—words.