My younger brother turned 57 yesterday and the fact of it left me listless until I read Brenda's post where she mentions grandmothers and their potential value. Why have I told you this? Is there a story brewing? I suspect there is and it may or may not be one I wish to tell . . .stay posted.
Yesterday's exercises left me 'free'd up for some reason. I love poetry - I love to read it, hear it, and think about it, but I never really thought about why. As I heard the sonnets read aloud and listened to my classmates' discussion, I began to think about why I chose Thomas Caulfield Irwin's #5, A roadside on on a Summer Day. We did our class exercises and participated in 'conversation' about our story threads and then it hit me - Irwin is telling my story. Somehow, through words, I am in his story and he is in mine - our eyes see the same things but with different lenses.
Way back on page 36 in Tell me a Story, Schank writes about firsthand stories, saying 'the art of storytelling involves finding good ways to express one's experiences in a way appropriate to the listener.' For me, that is what Irwin accomplished in #5. How to translate that knowledge into my own work is the challenge.