I Shouldn't Be Alive

 Two scuba divers surface in open ocean to find the dive boat has left them behind, miles from shore. ~~ On a ski vacation, a father and his eight-year-old son are caught in an alpine storm and find themselves miles off course, somewhere in the Sierra Nevada wilderness.~~ A cinematic photographer and his crew are filming footage of an active volcano when their helicopter crash lands in the crater. ~~A married couple in their late sixties becomes stranded in the mountainous Mexican dessert when their jeep overturns. 

The scenarios above share several common denominators: They are all true stories. Each was immortalized as an episode of the reality television series I Shouldn't Be Alive. They each possess elements of an exciting Action/Adventure plot. And -- (writers take note) -- they epitomize the drama of the human experience when victims are faced with their own mortality.

For anyone unfamiliar with I Shouldn't Be Alive, a typical episode takes viewers through that fateful adventure when the spotlighted victim(s) nearly lost their lives. Beginning with the morning of Day 1, actors reenact the victims' movements leading up to a cataclysmic event, during the chaos as all hell breaks loose, and through the long days of survival and despair that follow until finally, mere moments before rasping their final breaths, they are rescued. Intermittent with the action are snippets of testimony by the real-life victims, stoic yet teary-eyed, which hammers home for viewers the realization that harrowing events like these could happen to anyone. Even you.

Now that's drama.

I'm a reality survival show addict. And yes, it's a bit embarrassing to admit it. So, to rationalize my dedicated viewership, let me tell you what I observe in every episode that relates (thank God) to writing.

Every episode contains the following:

 The inciting incident, usually an accident involving a combination of human and mechanical failures, terrorizes the victims and sets off this chain of emotional responses: Blinding Fear (We're gonna die!)  Euphoric Relief (We're still alive!)  Cautionary Optimism (They're looking for us; we'll just tend to these wounds, sit tight, and wait.)  Utter Dismay (They'll never find us; we're out of water; I think this is infected...)  Courageous Resolve (I have a plan...)  Abject Despair (I'm out of ideas. My God, this is it. This is really it.)  Exhausted Elation (We're saved. Oh God, it's really over.)

 As the events unravel, we observe absolute proof that human beings are resilient creatures. With every step forward the victim takes to reverse his perilous situation, he inevitably falls three steps back. For example, in the episode with the helicopter crash in the volcano crater, the radio was damaged and the photographers realized their only chance of survival was climbing out of the crater. They made it pretty far up the crater wall. (GOOD). The air was less toxic and easier to breath higher up (GOOD). The crater wall was unstable and tiny shards of volcanic glass sliced their hands each time they slid down in the ash (BAD). Unable to continue up or go back down, they became stuck under the crater lip, out of view of rescue choppers (BAD). One guy made it back to the crash site and repaired the radio (GOOD). Alerted rescue chopper couldn't approach due to sudden inclement weather (BAD). And on, and on, and on.

 At one point in every episode, the least injured or fittest victim must make the decision to leave the hurt or weaker person behind and try to find help. This is an excruciating choice to make, never more poignant than in the story of the father and his eight year old son. The dad made sure his boy was tucked into a tiny cave, out of the elements. Still, frostbite had already stiffened the boy's feet, and the wilderness surrounding him was home to hungry wolves and bears. The dad knew it could be days before he returned with help, meaning his young son would be alone, without food, those long days and nights. And there were no guarantees the dad would make it out, at all. Heartbreaking!

 Almost every victim reaches a moment when they are resolved to the futility of their predicament. They will likely die, in a few hours, in a few days. With this acceptance comes the need to express themselves to those they will leave behind, so they write a letter to their loved ones. Last words of endearment, final requests, apologies. Their words are beautiful and emotional. Just thinking about writing a letter like that inspires stories in my mind.

Fiction writers can take plenty of notes on the craft while watching survival shows like I Shouldn't Be Alive. There are a couple other reality series like it, such as I Survived which focuses more on victims of violent crimes than man verses wilderness stories, and When Vacations Attack which is all about life-or-death crises that happen to people while on vacation. Each of these series showcases again and again the resilient human spirit in the most dangerous of circumstances. For me, it's the drama within the action/adventure that makes it so impossible to turn off.


Question For Next Time: What's your television addiction? Tell me how your TV guilty pleasure impacts your ability to write stories.

[By Nicole Ducleroir. Published October 3, 2012 in Writing.com's Drama Newsletter.] 

                                   

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Mormon Diaries

It's my pleasure today to promote Sophia Stone's autobiographical essay collection, Mormon Diaries. It is a personal and honest story of one woman's faith crisis, and the journey she took to find answers to her burning, questions on spirituality.

"Brought up in a religious home, Sophia believes the only way to have a forever family is by following church leaders and obediently choosing the right. She goes to the right school, marries the right man in the right place, and does the right thing by staying home to raise her children. But when she starts asking questions about grace, love, and the nature of God, she realizes her spiritual struggles could rip her family apart." -- Sophia Stone

I wanted to ask Sophia some questions about the journey that inspired this book. Her answers were insightful and encouraged me to read more, in Mormon Diaries.

Thanks for joining me today Sophia. I've never been a religious person, even though I was raised in the Catholic Church. People of faith don't easily accept when you question their tenets or beliefs. I always dealt with that by keeping my questions and my disbeliefs quiet, private. Why did you hide your faith struggles from those closest to you?

I was afraid my faithful Mormon family and friends would think me either prideful or influenced by Satan if I admitted to doubting The Church. There’s a common phrase faithful Latter-day Saints use to explain away uncomfortable issues: “The Church is true. The people are not.” Those who leave the church are often labeled as angry, easily offended, prideful, lazy, or deceived. There’s no good reason to doubt, no good reason to question, no good reason to stop believing. Faith yields loyalty and obedience.

How is your family coping with this? Do they support you?

Well, it depends on what part of my family you’re talking about. My kids have been great, but they’re pretty young. I’m continually amazed by the open mindedness and trust of small children. I really think Jesus knew what he was talking about when he said that unless we become as little children we cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.

My husband, on the other hand, is having a really hard time. We’ve had to do some negotiating about the kid’s religious education. He wants them to believe in Mormonism and is very much attached to the outcome. The thought of his kids choosing to leave the LDS church is absolutely devastating to him. 

There are certain things that (for him) are non-negotiable. The kids WILL get baptized at age eight whether I want that for them or not. The kids will continue to go to the Mormon church each Sunday until they turn twelve. (He’d said eighteen originally, but has since softened). 10% of his income will continue to go to The Church whether or not I agree with that particular donation. We’re a single income family so that’s a pretty big deal, but he’s frightened, truly frightened that if he stops paying a full tithe, he’ll lose his job.

Although, in fairness, he say it has nothing to do with fear. Rather, he has faith in the principle of tithing. God will bless him for his financial sacrifice.

As for the rest of the family, my mother is struggling, the brother just younger than me acts as if he doesn’t know, my older brother has been accepting, and my sister is unpredictable. I’m not even sure how to characterize that relationship at this point. So overall it’s been a mixed bag where tolerance is concerned. As for support—no, I do not have family support. Nor is it something I can reasonably expect.

My husband is also a non-religious person, so I never had to wrestle these tough, faith-based issues with him. It's testament to the strength of your relationship that you're able to work through it with him. My extended family, however, is very Catholic. So, I can relate to the last part of your answer. So basically, I wonder how do you get someone who thinks you’ve been influenced by Satan to consider your point of view? 

Short answer: you don’t. 

Long answer: It’s odd to be on the other end of the “hate the sin, love the sinner” rhetoric. I always considered myself a fairly good, honest person. And I have to admit that I don’t feel like a different person just because I don’t believe in Mormonism like I used to. Certain things just don’t change, you know? I still like chocolate milk shakes. I still like people. I feel, in many ways, closer to God than I did a year ago. So it’s been kind of shocking to have people who always trusted me assume the worst.
 
Yes, that is the hardest part, for me too. So, how do you build relationships with people who think you are broken?

Oh, man, I wish I knew. Honestly, it depends on how important their Mormonism is to their identity. Those who are capable of accepting my brokenness without trying to fix it are much easier to have relationships with than those who work extra hard to fix me.

Yes! I live in the South, and people here (in general, so not everyone) feels the need to "fix" me so I'm normal again and want to go to their church. But what people on the outside think isn't important. It's what's going on inside your inner circle that counts. So, how has your change in beliefs affected your marriage and children?

I think it has benefited my children in a number of ways. First, by showing them that goodness isn’t based on legalistic rules, they are more accepting of themselves and others. Second, by helping them see that there isn’t one right way to be a decent human being, they are able to think the best of people. Third, by opening up to other ideas and spiritual philosophies, they are more open as well. 

As for my marriage, my change in beliefs has brought to light problems I’d been ignoring for years. Things having to do with power dynamics, issues with inflexibility, and some fundamental disagreements in parenting styles between my husband and I. My marriage has suffered and I worry about it often. But I also know that without the insights I have now, the relationship would continue to grow more unbalanced and necessary change would never occur.

I’m crossing my fingers and holding out hope in the marriage department.

I'm rooting for you guys! I have room for one more question. Tell me, who should read your book?

Anyone who wants to better understand how religions indoctrinate children, how they can unite and separate families, how they can bring peace and turmoil at the same time. Anyone who wants a more personal understanding of how it feels to grow up in a legalistic religion that values trust and obedience more highly than free thought, or anyone who wants to understand Mormonism. 

Please don’t misread that to mean my book is factually perfect. It’s not. It is based on my experience, and everyone’s reality is different. But I stand by my claim that people who leave Mormonism are often in an isolating place. It’s hard for an orthodox believer to understand why anyone would leave. It’s hard for those who’ve never been in a fundamentalist religion to understand why leaving one is such a big deal. To both these groups, I’d say, “please read this!” Understanding is vital.

Thank you so much for spending time with us today! I wish you the best of luck with Mormon Diaries continued success.

Mormon Diaries is available through these links:

Barnes and Noble

Amazon

Also, follow Sophia's tweets at Twitter.com --> @ask_a_mormon. Sophia will take any questions about Mormonism and answer them minus the usual spin, under the hashtag #mormonquestions.

                                   

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It's In The Mail

                                                                September 6, 2012

Dear Blogger Friends,

         I used to write letters. I guess we all did, right? As a society, I mean. Back before the computer age brought us lightning fast email and instant messaging, we wrote letters to each other. Remember the excitement of dropping that envelope in the mailbox down on the corner, knowing that in just five to seven days the recipient would slip his or her finger under the glued-down flap and read your words? How about watching for the postman each to day to see if, nestled among the bills and shiny sales circulars, a hand-addressed envelope from a friend waited for you? (Okay, a bunch of you have no idea what I'm talking about. Bear with me and read on, K?)

         You're probably wondering where I'm going with all this. Let me start by saying I recently received a special gift that brought my attention back to the art of letter-writing.

         I was sipping coffee with my cousin, Melanie, at her dining room table, listening to her talk about her visit with our extended family in upstate New York. She described the morning she spent with our ninety-year-old grandmother, beloved family matriarch and lifelong pack rat, who is on the decline and succumbing to ever-longer bouts of dementia. Nona was having a good day, though, and seemed to know who Melanie was as they chatted in her sunlight-flooded nursing home room.

         When Nona had tired, my cousin kissed her good-bye. In the hallway, an aunt offered to drive Melanie down to Nona's house where, she explained, she had found a box of old letters which my cousin may be interested in saving.

         Melanie held up two stacks of yellowed envelopes for me to see. Turned out, some of the letters had been written by her father in the seventies, when he and his young bride were stationed at the Army base in Germany where Melanie was born. My hand went to my heart. These, I knew, were a true treasure. We were all devastated when my uncle passed away, but none more than my cousin. Melanie had barely been a teenager.

         Melanie held the second stack up. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled, pushing it across the table to me. These letters, she explained, all have "Skeldon" written in the return addresses. Skeldon is my maiden name. 

         Two of the letters were written by my father to Nona when he was away at college. One of them even tells his mother about a girl he met named Diane, who he planned to make fall madly in love with him. It worked. Diane is my mother.

         The other letters, all postmarked in 1943, were penned by my paternal grandfather, James Adam Skeldon. 

         This is what I already knew: Nona, a blushing bride, had learned she was pregnant with my father just a month after my grandfather had shipped out with the Navy during World War II. He had come home on leave for three weeks in 1944, when he met his one-year-old son for the first time. James Adam Skeldon, Quartermaster, Third Class, died at sea on January 12, 1945 when his submarine, the USS Swordfish sunk off the coast of Japan.

My grandfather, James A. Skeldon

         With my cousin's gift, I realized I was poised to learn much more about my grandfather, and in his own words, too! I tucked those fragile, yellowed envelopes safely in my bag and left Melanie's house a much richer woman than when I'd arrived that day.

         I become emotional every time I read my grandfather's letters. In each one he addresses Nona as "My Dearest Mary," and he signs off with "As Ever, Jim." He talks about the ups and downs of life at sea, the day-to-day activities with his shipmates, his loneliness, and his frustrations. There is also hope in his words. It's the hope that gets me. A knot forms in my throat every time he writes, "When I get home..."

         When the gamut of emotions have run their course in my heart, I'm able to turn my attention to the art of letter writing, to the beautiful ceremony imbued in each: The date in the upper right hand corner, surely written before anything else; the greeting, a prerequisite formality that's softened by my grandfather's delicate terms of endearment; and the body of the letter, rich with voice, so that I can almost -- almost -- hear him speaking.

This reminded me of something I read in Bird By Bird.

         In that book, author Anne Lamott shares her knowledge on the creative writing craft and how to deal with the blockages writers often face. She devotes a chapter to the concept of using the letter form as a writing tool. She says, "When you don't know what else to do, when you're really stuck and filled with despair and self-loathing and boredom, but you can't just leave your work alone for a while and wait, you might try telling part of your history -- part of your character's history -- in the form of a letter. The letter's informality just might free you from the tyranny of perfectionism."

         I say, why not take this exercise one step further, and allow your character to write the letter? Maybe even to you! Because just like my grandfather's voice floats off the paper when I read the letters he wrote, so too will your character's voice come through.

         And listen, I can't be the only person with a pack rat grandmother who's kept every scrap of paper ever written to her. The next time you need some inspiration, seek out those old letters I'll bet are tucked away in a family member's attic. Trust me, they are filled with amazing stories to tell!

   As Ever,

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Mary Sue, I Can't Stand You!

Artwork by ~Neeja at DeviantArt.com

"Mary Sue" (or her male counterpart, "Marty Stu" or "Gary Stu") is a character who is perfect in nearly every measurable way. She is drop-dead gorgeous, amazingly intelligent, and highly skilled in whatever urgent task needs performing. Her biggest flaws are trivial, like being younger than every other character, or having a short-temper, or possessing powers so strong that she has trouble harnessing them. These flaws never stop her from saving the day or being admired by everyone who encounters her. Everyone, unfortunately, except the reader.


"In 1973, Paula Smith first coined the term Mary Sue by writing a piece in 'A Trekkie's Tale' in Menagerie #2. The piece was satirical in nature, lampooning the original Star Trek female characters who became love interests for the central characters in the story."(Source ) Since then, fanfiction as a genre has grown in popularity, and with the rise of the Internet, Mary Sue characters today are more prevalent, and more reviled by fans and critics, than ever before. This may be because the fanfiction genre attracts some authors who are first and foremost fans of book or television series, and not necessarily experienced writers. They may not understand the importance of crafting multidimensional characters who must overcome inner struggles in order to face the ultimate challenges they'll encounter in the story's climactic scenes. Fanfic authors who fall into this category are simply enamored by the original, canon characters, and they enjoy weaving their own tales where those beloved characters go on new adventures with a character(s) born from the fanfic author's imagination.


When the fanfiction author creates a one-dimensional character which is based on the ideal version of him or herself, a representation of the person the writer would most like to be, and puts this flawless character at the center of their universe so they may right all the wrongs in the world, they bring to life a Mary Sue. "Basically, (Mary Sue is) a character representing the author of the story, an avatar, the writer's projection into an interesting world full of interesting people whom she watches weekly and thinks about daily. Sometimes the projections get processed into interesting characters, themselves. Usually, though, they don't." (Source) 


But inexperienced fanfiction authors are not the only writers who are capable of producing a Mary Sue character. In fact, many contemporary authors have crafted Mary Sues in their original works. Two of the most widely recognized canon Mary Sues are Bella Swan from Twilight and Wesley Crusher from Star Trek, The Next Generation.


Bella Swan is everybody's darling, a straight-A student who is beautiful but clumsy and stubborn, and the only person on the planet with private mind powers. Though she does nothing more than show up, she is immediately popular in her new school, particularly with the male characters, two of whom fall desperately in love with her and battle for her affections. Bella's physical descriptions ("...very fair-skinned, with long, straight, dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. Her face is heart-shaped—a wide forehead with a widow's peak, large, wide-spaced eyes, prominent cheekbones, and then a thin nose and a narrow jaw with a pointed chin. Her lips are a little out of proportion, a bit too full for her jaw line..." Source) match Twilight author Stephanie Meyer's exactly, right down to her heart-shaped face and prominent widow's peak. (Check out the photo of Meyers below. ) 

Star Trek fans will remember young Wesley Crusher, son of Beverly Crusher. He is handsome and his intelligence is off the charts. Despite being brilliant and considered a child prodigy, he is unable to pass the Starfleet Academy entrance exams. Despite this "flaw," he saves the Enterprise-D on seven separate occasions, each time coming up with disaster-thwarting solutions that none of Starfleet's best and brightest crew members could figure out.


Overwhelming criticism of the Bella Swan and Wesley Crusher characters exemplifies the biggest problem with Mary Sue characters: Fans can't stand these too-good-to-be-true creatures of perfection. 

People don't want to read about perfect characters. We can't identify with their unrealistic abilities and freedom from challenging flaws. So what if a character has waist-length silver hair naturally streaked with purple, and gold-flecked, emerald eyes? Who cares is she's tall and willowy, with delicate hands and whimsical habits? We don't buy it, that her inability to remember to close the refrigerator door despite being telepathic, constitutes a character flaw.

Characters that readers want to embrace are three-dimensional. They have capabilities we admire and defects we can relate to. It is through the characters' struggles that we identify with something to root for, something of ourselves.

If you're unsure your original character is not a Mary Sue, there are several "Mary Sue Litmus Tests" available online to help you decide. I recommend this one: The Original Mary Sue Litmus Test. After all, a Mary Sue can be an annoying distraction from an author's heartfelt attempt to entertain his or her reading audience. With a few inner challenges though, woven into the fabric of the character that provoke angst and cause the character to battle with herself, Mary Sue will be forced down a path of personal growth, one that will draw cheering fans to her sidelines.

What examples of Mary Sue or Gary Stu characters spring to mind from books you've read, television series you've enjoyed, or movies you've seen? 

Thanks for reading!

[I originally published this article in the July Newsletter at Writing.com.]

                                   

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No Longer (New Poem For the Broken-hearted)

No Longer

It’s over,

this day and a lifetime

of love; of love 

I have known 

nothing but 

his tender goodbyes.

Hello! Hollow sound

drowned by the roar of the surf,

Solitary footprints in the sand 

gilded in the glow of 

a setting sun, a sun setting 

on my fool’s paradise.

Wash them away, heartless ocean

Tide me over ‘til death, ‘til death…

…Do I part

from dreams unrealized,

when years of hanging on

have failed?

Grasping for the glittering horizon

a risen wind slaps my face

He loves me not

He loves me not

I stare at the waves as they lap at my feet

again and again and again...

Each time the sea ebbs

I sink

a little deeper

until one day

I'll disappear completely.

Enough, enough

Begin anew ~ I pledge

Loyal, devoted dog, I am no longer

No longer willing

to wait for tomorrow’s sunrise

to live.

To live.

~by Nicole Ducleroir, 6/2012~

Thanks for reading!

                                   

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Life's a Beach

It'd been five years since we'd vacationed on Cape San Blas, a narrow peninsula that points its finger away from the Florida panhandle and out into the Gulf of Mexico. Coming back to one of our favorite beaches was exciting, but for me, it held a special significance. The fall following our return from the Cape in 2007, I discovered Writing.com. And the first fictional story I posted there that was written for an audience, (unlike all the journal-format scribblings I'd done up to that point), was inspired by my real-life events that took place on Cape San Blas.

Last week while I walked on the beach, I thought a lot about that story and reflected on my writing journey from 2007 until now. My mind wanders when I beach comb; it is one of my favorite activities, a peaceful time when I marvel at the beauty of the sea and all the treasures she holds. The sound of the surf, the salty smell of the sea air, and the sun's heat intoxicate and inspire the writer in me.

The first day of every vacation we spend at Cape San Blas, I decide on a certain and specific item I hope to find while combing the beach. One year, it was a whole, intact sand dollar. Another year, I searched for a perfect, unbroken spiral seashell. Walking the beach becomes a sort of Where's Waldo scavenger hunt, with a prize hidden out in plain sight.

This year, I decided to find a shark's tooth on the beach.

As my eyes drifted up and down the wet, hard-packed sand at the sea's edge, I thought about how similar my beach combing quests were to the way I approach story writing. Ever since that first story back in 2007, I've started each new piece of fiction with a specific challenge in mind for myself. I try something new, something I've never attempted before. I wrote my first story in third-person, which is the natural, organic comfort zone for my muse. So in subsequent stories, I've tried first person, second person, and omniscient narrations. I throw myself into new genres, experiment with unreliable narrators. Once in a while, I write with pen and paper instead of typing on a computer. The idea isn't to rigorously challenge myself, so much as to give fresh focus to each new project, to heighten each experience and invite the unexpected into the mix.

In past years, I've successfully found the beach object of my desire. And next to pristine sand dollars and perfectly curvaceous spirals, I have bowls of broken shells, each beautiful for a special, one-of-a-kind reason, collected along the way. This year, I didn't find a shark's tooth. But that's okay; some challenges push you further, make you wait while you work harder for your results. This happens in my writing, too. Some stories fall short and don't capture the magic I intend, the first time around. Sometimes, I have to carry that focus into the next project until I master that which I grasped, maybe held for brief moments, but let slip away by the end.

One thing's for sure, while I hunted for that elusive shark's tooth, the balmy breeze and sugary sands of Cape San Blas inspired the writer in me, just as it did five years ago.


What new writing technique have you challenged yourself with lately? How'd the story turn out?

[Written for and published today, 6/12/2012, in Writing.com's Drama Newsletter]

                                   

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Remember when...?

My fourteen-year-old son was born into a comfortable world of modern conveniences. 

His parents have always driven their own cars, carried their own telephones, and possessed their own personal computers. His home is an ambient 74˚F year-round, thanks to central heat and air. There has always been a television in his playroom, where over the years Sesame Street and Barney tapes and Disney DVDs have been replaced with Wii and PlayStation consoles and games. Twenty-four-hour grocery stores ensure he'll never go hungry; gardening has just been a hobby his parents enjoy, when there's time and seasonal conditions are good. My son has enjoyed these things, without ever thinking about them. 

Until, that is, a recent school project for his Georgia Studies class asked him to.

The assignment was laid-back in structure, as the school year has nearly wound down and teachers and students alike are pining for the upcoming summer break. My son was asked to come up with a short list of questions on specific historical events of his choice, from the past seventy years. The questions would guide him during an informal interview he was to conduct with someone who is at least sixty years old and who has lived in our state the majority of his or her life. My son chose to interview a seventy-three-year-old family friend we affectionately call Granddaddy.

The first question my son asked was about the Civil Rights era. Granddaddy began by telling him about the all-white school he attended, and about the all-black school in town. His memory flood gates flew open. It was wonderful to see the light in Granddaddy's eyes as he reminisced for the next two hours, describing life in rural Georgia during his childhood. He talked about the small house he grew up in, heated only by the wood-burning stove his grandmother cooked on. Quilts kept him warm on winter nights, and during brutal Georgia summer nights, they dragged their mattresses out to the porch where it was cooler. And every morning, the cow was milked and the eggs collected from the hen house before his grandmother could prepare breakfast. 

My son's eyes grew large when Granddaddy explained that as the youngest in the house, it was his job to empty the "slop jar," used during the night when the grown-ups didn't want to go to the outhouse.

From describing the route he drove in his grandfather's truck, selling their farm produce door-to-door, to buying twenty-five cents worth of ice from the traveling ice man, to assisting the grown-ups when a snake fell into the well, my son learned secondhand how different life was just two generations ago. 

For me, the story ideas swirled in my mind as I listened.

A wealth of knowledge and information about a bygone era resides in our elder generation. I encourage everyone to spend an hour or two with grandparents, older neighbors, or friends with the intention of asking them about their lives. Stories from their childhoods, memories of what life was like during wartimes, and their recollections of important milestones achieved during their lives (scholastic accomplishments, marriages, pregnancies, first jobs, etc.) will enlighten and inspire you, while bringing you closer to the friend or relative who's doing the sharing.

After Granddaddy left, my son and I talked about the differences in our daily lives compared to what Granddaddy described from his past. And what modern conveniences from my son's lifetime, we wondered, will he describe years from now to wide-eyed, disbelieving children? Fun to think about.

And, oh the stories that continue to come to mind... 

Have you asked your grandmother or grandfather about their childhoods? What was the most surprising thing they shared with you?

Thanks for reading!

[I originally published this article in the May 16, 2012 Drama Newsletter at Writing.com.]

                                   

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