Many of you who stop by here for a word or two are from this area (West Virginia) or near enough to be familiar with the locale. Some of you visit from lands far away. This occurred to my friend, fellow writer, and neighbor a few doors down, Larry Ellis, and he has written a nice little essay about our neck of the woods. You might enjoy getting to know this area through his words and photos. If so, click here and jump on over to his site.
Editor’s Note: The following account is basically true, in the sense that high drama has eluded the author’s life. And in the sense that the author does not have a particularly engaging personality. And in the sense that the author is pretty much forgettable. It’s not that he hasn’t experienced a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. He has. And there will be more such times. Nonetheless…
Everyone has a story to tell.
I heard that most recently from a writer at a gathering of St. Albans Writes.
“I don’t,” I said.
A lot of people do.
Andrew does.
Chris does.
Ashley does.
Larry does.
Sharon does.
Kevin does.
Amos does.
I could tell you about the most interesting things that have happened in my life, so technically, yeah, I have a story, but it’s not worth telling. I have no great triumphs; no spectacular failures. I have not experienced war. I have (so far) dodged personal tragedies. I have not traveled the world. I have not been in the crucible. Even the lessons I’ve learned along the road of life are not associated with intriguing vignettes that might elicit empathy.
You know the guy who throws a dart on the map or closes his eyes and picks out a name in the phone book (remember phone books?) and then goes and interviews them to learn their story? If he came to my house, it would go something like this.
“So, Joe. Tell me what it was like growing up in St. Albans.”
“It was nice. We played a lot. Rode bikes. Played in the creek.”
“What was the most traumatic thing you endured as a child?”
“I remember one time I came home from school and the front door was locked. I couldn’t get inside. That was pretty bad.”
“How long were you locked out?”
“I don’t know. Maybe five minutes.”
The clock ticks in the background. He looks at the guitar setting on the stand.
“Do you play?” he asks.
“A little. I’m really not very good.”
“Can you play something for me?”
“No.”
Tick, tick, tick.
“What about your family?”
“I was found in a shoebox, brought up by welders, and educated by wolves. Then I went to Harvard.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“That’s a line from In Sunlight and In Shadow, a Mark Helprin novel. No, I’m from a conventional family. Mom, Dad, two sisters. I was a middle of the road student. At work, just a steady manager type. Been married for almost thirty years.”
He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. He taps his pen and looks around the room.
“What difficult challenges have you had to overcome in life?”
I think for a minute. “People tend to forget my name,” I say. “Sometimes they call me Jim. Or John. So I’ve had to learn not to get offended when they don’t remember me.”
He looks at his watch, but he’s not wearing one.
“Ok, then.”
He leaves. The segment never airs.
I have no compelling story to tell, but I’m not complaining. I’m glad that my life has been absent of trauma and gut-wrenching challenges. Boring can be good.
If I want to tell a story, I’ll just do what I’ve always done. I’ll make one up.
Remind me some day to tell you about Albert Einstein’s brother, Alfred.
If you stop by from time to time you know about Larry Ellis, prolific poet and award-winning novelist. Today (Thursday, February 25) at 1:00 ET, he’s going to be a guest on Frankie Picasso’s internet radio show on the TogiNet Radio Network. He’ll be talking about his latest novel, Overtime, A Basketball Parable. You can listen live here. If you happen to miss it, it will be up later as a podcast.
It was another snowy night.
Larry Ellis lives in the same neighborhood I do. The scene last night was much like the photo above. In the middle of the snow storm, he looked out his window and saw a young woman walking down the street, all alone in her world of white. He wrote this:
She walks through the snow as if walking through time
The storm had covered all, erasing the present
Yesterday’s litter, this year’s rust, the cracks in the pavement
All gone under white
The streetlights, the porchlights, the moonlight and starlight
All combine tonight
Every line is straight and even, every wall upright
.
And she comes walking through as if from the past
As if from another world: maybe this perfect, soundless world
She walks alone and seems unworried
Unaffected by this that has kept every car in its garage
And has closed the schools and churches
.
Is her coat, so perfectly fitting
From another day?
Does she walk to some grand house
Now long vanished
That has reappeared in the throes of this storm?
That house where yellow light from tall windows
Makes bright rectangles on the snow in the lawn?
Will there be someone at that door to meet her
Someone to take her coat?
Candles and wine on the table
And a fire in the hearth?
Copyright 2016, Larry Ellis
Yo.
These characters in my book, they just keep spouting poetry. I mean, what’s up with all the rhymes? I think it’s Larry’s fault.
Now Katherine, the chick lost in the woods with her new BFF, James, apparently knows a little poetry. She recites this little prayer of thanksgiving as a toast.
“Through shadow and light I bear my quest.
In forest deep I find my rest.
Till day is done and sun’s set west
and then I know I’m truly blessed.”
Cheers.
Copyright 2014
Joseph E Bird 