At one site I was visiting this morning, someone asked for people to contribute a 29-word 'story' in honor of Leap Day.
Here's what I submitted:
It was on this calendar day,
I proposed to my lovely fiance'.
And though eleven years have came and went,
It is only the third anniversary of our engagement.
No one said it had to be poetic, but I decided to nix grammar in favor of rhyming.
So...I'm putting this out there for you: anyone have a 29-word story/statement/poem/confession they'd like to post for this once-every-1,461-days day?
Friday, February 29, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
The Story of Writing a Story
Here’s my recommendation of the week: if you have a life, write a life story.
Okay, I know, I know. Some of you might complain you’re not good writers or good spellers or your life is boring. But come on, do it for me. It doesn’t have to be a long book (why not shoot for that minimum of ‘official’ book status: 96 pages?), it just has to be a book that no one else could ever write: your own autobiography.
I long thought about writing an autobiography. Alas, I felt my life was too short, too common, too trite. All that stuff. Moreover, I worried that it was impossible to sum up my life with one overarching theme. Life is more like a recurring TV show than a single novel…and I didn’t know how to compress family, friends, jobs, hobbies, schooling, weddings, funerals, and beard-growing all into a single tome. More than that, there were big chunks of life I didn’t want to think about or share with other people. I worried that people would get offended or upset or bored.
In November 2006, I began (for the second time) writing my autobiography. I’m still plowing through; I’m almost done. Actually, I’m almost done with the first draft. I forget where I read it (I wish I remembered…) but in one book the author said that every book tells two stories: The story itself and the story of writing the story.
I’ve often expressed to my wife that I feel like I’ve relived everything while writing about it… When I detailed events from my elementary school days, I pulled out old dusty papers from the ‘80s. When I wrote about my first public speaking experience, I listened to the cassette tape of that day. When I wrote about the bus trip where I met my wife, I rewatched the footage I shot during that vacation (and subsequently edited it). When I wrote about my wedding, I looked through the guest book. And now that I’m writing about my son, I keep referring back to a book I wrote from that time period. I’ve contacted people to verify events from decades ago, and I continually check calendars and mementos from the past to verify chronology. I didn’t think my life story would have an appendix (heck, even I don’t have an appendix), but there you have it.
After a verbose 530 pages, I am finally writing about the present. Or, more correctly, I am writing about the most recent year that I will write about. For now. I am hoping to wrap this monstrosity up pretty soon so I can work on my next project: editing my book.
Through all this, I keep thinking that many of the people in my story should write their own story.
I encourage anyone out there to write their life story, too. Don’t be nervous…you can set your word processor to autocorrect spellig or punctuation, errors.
Okay, I know, I know. Some of you might complain you’re not good writers or good spellers or your life is boring. But come on, do it for me. It doesn’t have to be a long book (why not shoot for that minimum of ‘official’ book status: 96 pages?), it just has to be a book that no one else could ever write: your own autobiography.
I long thought about writing an autobiography. Alas, I felt my life was too short, too common, too trite. All that stuff. Moreover, I worried that it was impossible to sum up my life with one overarching theme. Life is more like a recurring TV show than a single novel…and I didn’t know how to compress family, friends, jobs, hobbies, schooling, weddings, funerals, and beard-growing all into a single tome. More than that, there were big chunks of life I didn’t want to think about or share with other people. I worried that people would get offended or upset or bored.
In November 2006, I began (for the second time) writing my autobiography. I’m still plowing through; I’m almost done. Actually, I’m almost done with the first draft. I forget where I read it (I wish I remembered…) but in one book the author said that every book tells two stories: The story itself and the story of writing the story.
I’ve often expressed to my wife that I feel like I’ve relived everything while writing about it… When I detailed events from my elementary school days, I pulled out old dusty papers from the ‘80s. When I wrote about my first public speaking experience, I listened to the cassette tape of that day. When I wrote about the bus trip where I met my wife, I rewatched the footage I shot during that vacation (and subsequently edited it). When I wrote about my wedding, I looked through the guest book. And now that I’m writing about my son, I keep referring back to a book I wrote from that time period. I’ve contacted people to verify events from decades ago, and I continually check calendars and mementos from the past to verify chronology. I didn’t think my life story would have an appendix (heck, even I don’t have an appendix), but there you have it.
After a verbose 530 pages, I am finally writing about the present. Or, more correctly, I am writing about the most recent year that I will write about. For now. I am hoping to wrap this monstrosity up pretty soon so I can work on my next project: editing my book.
Through all this, I keep thinking that many of the people in my story should write their own story.
I encourage anyone out there to write their life story, too. Don’t be nervous…you can set your word processor to autocorrect spellig or punctuation, errors.
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