On being a storycatcher

When I first proclaimed the title "Storycatcher" for myself, I was not really aware of its implications. It just seemed like a fitting label when I innocently attached it to me and my works. I've written books from the stories I've caught, yet there are many personal stories shared with me from other people who never intend to see them in print. These people just want to unload the heaviness or find a common ground with my humanity.

Storycatching comes with baggage, for sure. When I capture a story someone shares, I tear off a bit of their soul and pin it into mine. Amazing fact, there's room aplenty in the many corners of my own soul for them to unburden on me. Saying the words aloud for the first time ever often brings them relief. Sad fact, often those stories tear at my soul so much, I toss and turn and think on them at three o'clock in the morning. Knowing what secrets lie behind a person's masked smile is an onus that I have learned to accept.

Last week, for one example, I was walking laps at the gym. I've been there long enough that I have become acquainted with stories of others walking beside me, talking as we go, so when one particular man waited at the curve and asked if he could talk with me, it was nothing out of the ordinary. He didn't hesitate and blurted out right away, "Today's the day my brother was killed, seventy-seven years ago." 

The anguish in his voice, even though muted by the required mask, brought tears to my eyes. "He was returning from a bombing mission over Germany. The plane was almost back over England, but then was shot down by enemy fire." 

We kept walking and my heart began breaking for the soldier killed, and as he continued, for his family. "We didn't know he was dead for eight days when the telegram arrived. Eight days of praying the daily prayers that he would be safe in the war, and he was already dead."

He went on, "There were survivors. One came to visit my mother after the war ended and told her about his last hours."

I asked questions. He had answers, rehearsed and rehashed over the seventy plus years. His brother was only twenty-one years old. That's what kept me up at night. His life was ahead of him, but it ended in a fight for my freedoms. A man I would never know. A promising life cut short.

Storycatching is not all fluff and "Mama in the backyard chasing chickens." It is down to the core capturing. It is never-forget-the-past retelling. It is a necessary part of being human.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Ghost Gardens

I heard a new term recently. I knew the concept, but never realized it had a name attached to it. 

Imagine a bunch of daffodils as if in a flower garden in the side yard. House gone. No life around. No explanation for a garden in the middle of nowhere.

Hence, ghost garden - 

I've witnessed several ghost gardens in my hiking the backwoods of the Carolinas. These clumps of flowers appear faithfully every year for no reason at all except that they can. I've thought often of the flowers. Who planted them. Why there is no house.

As a storycatcher I yearn to know the story behind the story, but in nearly every case where I've seen a ghost garden, the land is as bare as the explanation. As a writer I am compelled to create the reason. I can't help myself. 

And then I start. What if?

My mind will weave a story, build a cabin, add characters to come alive and plant bulbs.

That's what writers do, so please excuse me while I mull a while.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Ernestine and Me

 

Introducing my new friend. Ernestine Paschall Shade.

We've worked together for over two years to write her life story, and what a story it is! It's out in the public now and I can't wait for you to read it. 

As we worked through the personal interview process, Ernestine repeatedly gave credit to God and her mother's prayers for how her life turned out. When time came to select a title for the book, I knew that phrase somehow had to be included. Although I came on the scene years after her mother Inez passed, I feel like I know her from our many discussions.  

Ernestine and I are involved now in a zoom workshop with NC Poet Laureate Jacki Shelton Green and a group of talented writers from our area. We were to select an artifact from our home that would introduce us to the others in the zoom meeting. I was caught off-guard at first, but after a week of walking around my house, I found the one item that defines my past and the reason I live in North Carolina, a model coal miner my mother kept on the top of a bookshelf as her reminder of a life once lived. It represents the job loss my father endured when I was a young child and our migration from the mountains of western Pennsylvania to the Piedmont of North Carolina.

Through this amazing series of zoom-sharing activities, both Ernestine and I have dug deeper into our pasts. One such activity has been to develop an imaginary "Human Museum" of artifacts that tell our individual stories. Coal miner goes first into mine, along with the tiny lantern that hooked to my grandfather's safety hat when he entered the mine each workday. 

I talked with Ernestine as to what artifacts from her early years (she's over ninety) she would include. The oldest item she could think of was the piano her father gave her as a child. She talks lovingly of it in the book, still has it, and cherishes it greatly. There's also the autograph book from her senior year at Bennett College where her mother led off the signature pages with words of wisdom.

Most precious of all is the Christmas card she received from her seventh grade boyfriend that she saved through all the years of moving from east coast to west and back again. Their love story is one for the "Human Museum" for sure, full of miscues and star-crossed love. How it unfolded was the best part of the book to write.

With God and My Mother's Prayers is available at Tybrisa Books in Lenoir or from Ernestine herself. Start with the preface and imagine you are walking through a museum that tells a compelling story of love, faith and devotion to family. It's a must read.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

He is risen!

 Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed!

A penny post card from the thirties.

The message still rings today.

Have a blessed Easter.

Gretchen