Stories in my head versus stories I’ll never write
Ideas can come from anywhere but why are writers often treated as if they are an empty vessel in need of filling?
‘Oh, you’re a writer, that’s so interesting,’ says the woman next to me. We are on our backs, pushing our reformers back and forth, warming up for our class. ‘There’s a lovely lady I work with. She’s 99,’ says my classmate.‘She’s got so many stories.’
Camperdown Street, 40 or so years ago
By day Nell wore her hair in a bun, at night in a long plait that fell past her waist. She came to town as a child, swung in a basket from ship to the jetty.
You should write Nell’s story people said. I wrote one story about Nell, for her birthday, squeezing 90 years into 500 words.
Nell’s book was the first of many I would never write.
‘Oh, you’re a writer. If you want a story, I’ve got one for you. It would make a great book.’
‘That’s interesting,’ I say.
What I really want to say is. You could write it.’
As if the writer is an empty vessel in need of filling.
As if.
I receive ideas all the time. Anecdotes, a throwaway line by a friend, chatter in a waiting room, a single sentence from a passer-by.
In front of the weekend market in Greenwich, London, I once overheard a passing man say three words to his companion.
‘I never fart.’
Was that it, or were his next words ‘in bed’ or ‘in company’?
An idea pops out, that’s not a fart, but a sweet blossoming epiphany and I smile, then groan because it’s going to take up YEARS of my life.
What must it be like to simply hear an anecdote or idea, to enjoy it, resonate with it, then let it pass, never considering if it would make a great short story, essay, or novel?
How peaceful that must be.
My Pilates classmate hears the stories of the 99-year-old woman she cares for and thinks they should be in a book. Whereas the writer who knows something about writing a book, thinks, maybe, yes, YES! Actually no. You must trust your gut. This is not to discard the 99-year-old woman’s story. She tells her story to willing listeners. This is storytelling. She might find someone to record it, or she might write it down. Everyone has a book in them. Whether it’s worthwhile to publish that book is another matter.
A story I wish had been told
I think of a man who spent 50 years doing business in China from the 1960s. He’d journaled everything and we worked through the entries to select the best for a book. For months we met for working lunches in a coastal café, now flattened. Each time he would ask, ‘Will anyone want to read this sh*t?’
‘That’s such a writer thing to say,’ I’d say smiling.
He wrote as he saw things and had a gift for taking you, the reader, right there. A friend of his, a successful commercial publisher told him the book would not be lucrative. Soon after he stopped the project and said what I knew, that any attempt to dissuade him would be pointless.
But I yearned for that book and wished that other people could have read those stories that I’ve never forgotten, rich observations of recent history all the more valuable in these more restrictive times.
I have more ideas than time, even if my life is long.
My dream is not of a gated resort retirement and bowls but of writing till the end.
My favourite obituaries and eulogies are about people who worked ordinary jobs all their lives and were poets or songwriters too. I heard Elizabeth Gilbert say you should keep your real job and your writing self apart, not add the pressure of survival on your writing. What do you do about that when your real job is writing too?
I’ve never quite figured it out.
When I worked as a reporter people would often lean forward during interviews, lower their voices, and say, ‘Don’t quote me on that.’
‘Of course.’ The promise came easily because almost every time this was said to me, the detail they shared was not newsworthy. To tell me the story that needed to be told, I’d have to earn their trust.
But I understood their fear. They were not used to their thoughts and words being out in the open.
How things change.
I hold many thoughts, notions, ideas, and fears at one time, acutely aware since an ADHD [Attention Deficit, Hyperactivity Disorder] diagnosis, I understand why my mind is so busy, and know ways to cut down the noise, to better distil what’s important, and which ideas to spend time on.
So when people say to me, ‘If you’re looking for an idea,’ I smile to myself.
‘Don’t quote me on that.’
‘Of course.’ The promise came easily because almost every time this was said to me, the detail they shared was not newsworthy. To tell me the story that needed to be told, I’d have to earn their trust.
Hahaha this rang true. Loved this piece, as always, Marian!
I got my first message from a friend re someone wanting to capture their 90+ year old Chinese speaking grandma's live stories 😂 I said "thanks for thinking of me!"