What I Wrote on My Summer Vacation
It’s summer. Even if the economy makes a world cruise out of the question, you will likely be out and about more, at parks, at community events, at family reunions. These are all great venues for writers. Characters abound, ideas hang in the air like humidity, and family stories are as abundant as the ants at your family picnic.
So, sharpen your observation skills and get out there.
At the family reunion, ask Uncle Albert about his time in the Navy. Rave about Aunt Moonbeam’s potato salad, and then ask her about being arrested at the Chicago convention in ‘68. Tell your grandfather you remember sitting on his lap when he played poker with his buddies and see if the stories about Earl and Woody and Little Red don’t start to flow.
At theme parks, you are stuck in line with strangers. Observe them. Strike up conversations. Where are they from? How did they get here? What funny or frustrating stories do they have about their trip. Watch how they interact with their children and with the park personnel. When you take a break at refreshment areas, listen to the conversations around you. Imagine the back stories of the people around you. Complete the conversations from the bits and pieces you overhear.
At World’s of Fun in Kansas City, I was waiting in a line for a ride with my son, when I spotted a biker father and his pre-school age daughter. Biker Dad was tricked out in tattoo sleeves, wallet chain, boots and a faded bandana tied around what I imagined was a bald head. A pony tail trailed down the back of his leather vest. He was one bad-ass in line for the Snoopy Spinners. Across his knuckles he had written “born to lose.“ A cherubic little blond girl held onto one of his fingers. (I believe it was the one that bore the letter S.) I was wearing cutoff jeans and a Mortenson Elementary School t-shirt. “A Mortenson child has more fun.“ Lame, I know.
The line moved at a glacial pace. I admired Biker Dad’s cool. He watched the Snoopy Spinner spin from behind mirror aviator shades. Then, his little girl bent down and picked up a pacifier lying on the ground. The little girl examined the pacifier and prepared to pop it into her mouth. Biker Dad swept his free hand down in front of her and grabbed the pacifier. He tossed it into a trash can several feet away, a clean shot, nothing but can. Then he leaned down to his pouting little progeny and said, “Don’t put that in your mouth, honey. You don’t know where it’s been.” I could not believe what I was hearing. Biker Dad was quoting my mother, and every parent going back to when cave toddlers picked up a smooth stone and started to suck on it. Biker Dad was more like me than he was different. His parent gene had been turned on just as mine had, and he was about two years away from wearing an elementary school t-shirt under that leather fringe. I could hear him uttering all the admonitions: ” Don’t cross your eyes or they will stay that way,” “No one wants to see your ___,” and “I’ll stop this car,” or in his case “I’ll stop this hog.” I had a revelation that day. Deep down, Biker Dad was as lame when it came to his kids as I was with mine. Or, looked at another way, I was just as cool as any biker dad.
It’s summer. Kick back, relax and while you’re keeping cool, collect some characters and stories for those long winter nights of writing.
What are your summer writing plans?
So, sharpen your observation skills and get out there.
At the family reunion, ask Uncle Albert about his time in the Navy. Rave about Aunt Moonbeam’s potato salad, and then ask her about being arrested at the Chicago convention in ‘68. Tell your grandfather you remember sitting on his lap when he played poker with his buddies and see if the stories about Earl and Woody and Little Red don’t start to flow.
At theme parks, you are stuck in line with strangers. Observe them. Strike up conversations. Where are they from? How did they get here? What funny or frustrating stories do they have about their trip. Watch how they interact with their children and with the park personnel. When you take a break at refreshment areas, listen to the conversations around you. Imagine the back stories of the people around you. Complete the conversations from the bits and pieces you overhear.
At World’s of Fun in Kansas City, I was waiting in a line for a ride with my son, when I spotted a biker father and his pre-school age daughter. Biker Dad was tricked out in tattoo sleeves, wallet chain, boots and a faded bandana tied around what I imagined was a bald head. A pony tail trailed down the back of his leather vest. He was one bad-ass in line for the Snoopy Spinners. Across his knuckles he had written “born to lose.“ A cherubic little blond girl held onto one of his fingers. (I believe it was the one that bore the letter S.) I was wearing cutoff jeans and a Mortenson Elementary School t-shirt. “A Mortenson child has more fun.“ Lame, I know.
The line moved at a glacial pace. I admired Biker Dad’s cool. He watched the Snoopy Spinner spin from behind mirror aviator shades. Then, his little girl bent down and picked up a pacifier lying on the ground. The little girl examined the pacifier and prepared to pop it into her mouth. Biker Dad swept his free hand down in front of her and grabbed the pacifier. He tossed it into a trash can several feet away, a clean shot, nothing but can. Then he leaned down to his pouting little progeny and said, “Don’t put that in your mouth, honey. You don’t know where it’s been.” I could not believe what I was hearing. Biker Dad was quoting my mother, and every parent going back to when cave toddlers picked up a smooth stone and started to suck on it. Biker Dad was more like me than he was different. His parent gene had been turned on just as mine had, and he was about two years away from wearing an elementary school t-shirt under that leather fringe. I could hear him uttering all the admonitions: ” Don’t cross your eyes or they will stay that way,” “No one wants to see your ___,” and “I’ll stop this car,” or in his case “I’ll stop this hog.” I had a revelation that day. Deep down, Biker Dad was as lame when it came to his kids as I was with mine. Or, looked at another way, I was just as cool as any biker dad.
It’s summer. Kick back, relax and while you’re keeping cool, collect some characters and stories for those long winter nights of writing.
What are your summer writing plans?
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Hi Marcia,My sister Jodi just turned me on to your blog...Great stuff!! I read the book you wrote about your son many years ago when we lived in Nebraska....so nice to find you out there again. I have a fond memory of being at my great grandmothers house as a child, where she kept an enormous drawer full of black and white photos (guess she didn't have time for scrapbooking) from the late 1800's through the 1960's. I used to pull out handfuls of them and would ask one of the elders in the room to tell me who was in the photo, and then the stories would start. Photos would get passed around, the tales would begin, and around the room there would be joy, sadness, and everything in between as the family stories were repeated. I sure do miss that, and I sure do wish I could remember all the stories!
Thanks for the great ideas.
Best to you,
Marcia Powers Henderson
Hi, Marcia. So nice to reconnect. I still make the chicken soup from a recipe I stole from you with orange juice concentrate added at the end. Opps, I just revealed my secret ingredient. We are all part of a big story, I think, and it's fun to be able to keep it going with my little additions.
Thanks for sharing!