Mistaken Identity

October 22, 2015October 22, 2015 / Lisa / 5 Comments

‘Mistaken Identity’ is the writing prompt of the day.

A friend posted a photo of us from back in the 1970s. In looking at it, I realized I have lived a life of mistaken identity. And not only lived it, but worked at making it a reality.

Once there was a writer in a cabin.

Have you ever done that? Had such a strong inner vision of something that the reality ceased to exist? Or that you never knew there was an alternate reality, maybe a reality you wouldn’t have believed in, or still don’t believe in?

Once there was a writer who hiked.

Do you look into your past and wonder at the things you knew were true, only to now realize that truth was something you created?

Or do you look back into your past and realize that truth can be pulled forth and carefully molded, fine-tuned into exactly the reality you want to carry along on the road of life?

No writer ever did this. Nope. Nosiree bub…

Maybe what we envision as self now, will some day prove to be yet another case of mistaken identity. Is that what personal growth is? Or is just that we continue to fool ourselves in new ways?

It’s possible I’ve been mistaken about my identity for all these years. But what is more likely is that there’s never been mistakes, just changes.

And now I challenge you to the writing prompt. What does ‘mistaken identity’ mean to you?

Rock Art

Memories

October 6, 2015 / Lisa / Leave a comment

Have you ever thought about how different each person’s memory of a certain event can be? A cousin of mine has been asking about all our uncles and it got me thinking.

I would see that often in my EMT/firefighter days when responding to calls. There, shock obviously played a huge part in how a person remembered events.

Then there are those moments when I’m telling a hilarious story and everyone is laughing while my husband sits there thinking ‘I don’t remember it happening that way…’. An author once talked about listening in on family conversations and thinking how more dramatic they would be if this person said that, and this person responded with this – and before long he’s telling that story as fact. Am I guilty of the same thing?

I think not.

No matter what the husband says.

Then there’s simply our interpretations. I have four siblings. We can be together talking about the same event (such as who put pennies in the fishbowl and killed all the fish) and each one of us will have a different memory, or a different interpretation. Even though we were all there and even though I was not the guilty party.

Obviously, what was important to me at the time is not necessarily what made an impression on the other people connected to the event and what they choose to remember.

My cousin remembers his father as having a bit of a temper. I remember him as one of the gentlest uncles.

My brother remembers being tortured listening to one song by the Bay City Rollers on a cross-country trip – the song being a scratchy cassette recording from a radio station. My sister and I remember that as a glorious, exciting road trip listening to the new release by the love of our lives and anticipating the upcoming concert.

My adult memories of our mother differ drastically from memories my siblings have. And their memories allow me to bring back the wonderful, caring memories of my mother when I was a child.

I remember snow six feet deep in the 1960s. My father remembered snow two feet deep at the same house during the same time period. I blame an alternate reality thing.

I’m curious why something sticks in one brain and not in another. I love the stories that come from those memories. I love seeing the person resurrected by memories – the other side, new insights, contrasting opinions. Enrichment of all.

And of course this can be used in writing, too, where you allow characters to have these different memories and opinions.

I remember…oh so many things. So many stories.

Prompts, Exercises, and Those ’70’s Songs

September 13, 2015 / Lisa / 4 Comments

Seems like writers can’t go anywhere without being challenged to do writing prompts or writing exercises. It used to be I felt they didn’t teach me anything, especially when compared to books on writing that made me learn the craft better. Then when artist Lisa Hsia sent me regular prompts, I realized they work great for warming up preparatory to working.

Yesterday, while trying to clean the office, I got distracted by piles of paper scraps – those vital pieces that aren’t organized so we can find them when we need them. And yep, I found a list of writing prompts/exercises. This one caught my eye: Seventh Grade Soundtrack.

Knock Three Times by Dawn. This was hugely popular and I was embarrassed when it would play. Why? Because what kid wants a mom who loves the same song they do? It would play on the TV and mom would sing along. She’d sit in her chair with dad on his end of the couch, puffing his pipe. I’d be lying on the brown and yellow shag carpet in the middle of the living room floor with siblings scattered around. We were the remote controls of the time.

Black Magic Woman by Santana. I liked this song but always felt a little uncomfortable, a little lost, knowing there was something I was missing out on, didn’t understand, didn’t yet know. Of course that meant I also felt just a little racy and grown-up listening to it. A future not yet grasped but on the distant horizon.

Mr. Bo Jangles by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. There was a deep craving when I heard this song, that I also didn’t yet understand. I was writing stories by then but didn’t know how deep that went in my soul. I only knew that when I heard this song I ached to know the story, what happened, why, what happened after. I wanted beginning and ending, not just middle. I still do.

He Ain’t Heavy He’s My Brother by Neil Diamond, during the year we’re talking about. I still listen to this song and it still brings up melancholy feelings, the hope for society, the sadness that we’ve never attained the goal; back then the realization that the hippy era was fading without having accomplished world peace. And now, the realization that so much time has gone by and we still haven’t. I wish this was a theme song now when reading the news about the refugee horrors.

Oh my gosh – One Bad Apple by the Osmonds, I Think I Love You by the Partridge Family, I’ll Be There by the Jackson 5. Instant flashbacks to slumber parties. With girls, now women, some now grandmothers, all still my best friends.

Slumber parties!

And way too many to write about all the memories attached to them. But I’ll list the titles here as my Seventh Grade soundtrack – the songs I loved as I transitioned to Junior High wearing the hated skirts and knee socks (no pants allowed, let alone jeans), cat eye glasses, freckles, not fitting in, horribly shy, blushing at everything, a story world more real than the real world, daydreaming on the school bus.

Indian Reservation (Raiders), Here Comes That Rainy Day Feeling (Fortunes), Ain’t No Sunshine (Bill Withers), Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves (Sonny and Cher), One Tin Soldier (Coven), Sweet City Woman (Stampeders), Draggin’ the Line (Tommy James), Rainy Days and Mondays (Carpenters), The Drum (Bobby Sherman), Me and You and a Dog Named Boo (Lobo), Joy to the World (Three Dog Night)…

I need to stop. I’m starting to sing out loud. And now I’m warmed up to go do some writing.

How about you? What memories are attached to your seventh grade soundtrack?