Maya Angelou once said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
Don’t let that happen to you. Tell your story. You know the one I’m talking about. It’s the story that taps you on the shoulder and whispers in your ear. It’s the one that nags and pesters you. It’s the story that most wants to be told.
What is that story? Looking back on the life you’ve lived so far, what would you want people to know about you if you were gone tomorrow?
What’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened to you? What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done? What has been your greatest struggle? What is the source of your pride?
If you had your family and friends around a campfire under the stars on Tuesday, March 20th, World Storytelling Day, what story would you tell about yourself or someone you love?
How would you tell it? With what tone of voice? With what body language? How can you inject that act of storytelling into your writing?
Give it a try. Share a bit of what you’ve written. Then, don’t stop writing until that entire story is told.
Don’t get overwhelmed. If you haven’t already, read my book, Eating an Elephant: One Bite at a Time. Let me know how else I can help.
2 Comments
Beverly Bailey
Years go by–some quickly, others slowly, and still some simply meander through birthdays.They mark the stories of my life. I have a friend who writes about her life in snippets, so here’s a snippet of my own for the limited space.
My granddaughters spent a weekend with my husband and me about two weeks ago. Our six-year-old decided the old grapevine rocking chair in the bedroom she slept in was the best chair in which to rock Ducky, a well-worn and faded yellow stuffed duck who has felt hundreds of hugs.Little did she know the story of how it came to be until I told her how old the hand-made rocking chair was. When my dad was serving in the army during WWII, and Mother was home with me, just a baby, a friend of hers went out into the woods and gathered thick, woody vines to twist and tie into upside-down U’s to frame the back of the chair. He added slats, hewn from saplings, for the seat bottom and armrests. Setting the whole chair on handmade rockers completed the adult-size chair. Our granddaughter said,”Nana, this rocks just fine for Ducky. See? He’s asleep.” I wish my mother could have seen this precious one in the chair she treasured.
Patricia
Beverly, this is such a precious snippet from your life. I can almost see your mother rocking you in the grapevine rocker when it was still new, and thinking to herself, “This rocks just fine for my Beverly.” Now, another generation has discovered the same truth about this rocker, in the arms of a babe herself. How interesting, too, that you included visuals and details on how your mother’s friend constructed the rocker. Indeed, your mother would have loved to witness her great-granddaughter delighting in that rocker. Thank you for sharing such a tender story.