Querying Again

Sent out two more queries for articles or press about mine and Charles' journey this year.  I want so badly for Texas Monthly to pick it up.  Why wouldn't they?  I mean, it's a jewel of a story, especially by their standards and I just can't help but think that if I keep persisting and keep sending in queries that one of these days it's going to end up in a champions hands or on the right persons desk and I'll get the call.  I think I'm stubborn enough to keep trying until I get the answer I want.  In addition to TM, I sent out a long-shot of an email to Anderson Cooper. Wouldn't that be a kick in the pants?!  

December 7, 1941



Believed to be the first bomb dropped during the
Japanese attack on Pearl Harobor - nicked from WIKI

We all know the significance of that historical date. We learned about it in school and we've seen it in movies like Pearl Harbor (2001), From Here to Eternity(1953), Tora! Tora! Tora! (1970) and the to-die-for mini-series from 1983, Winds of War. Aside from a passing acknowledgement of the day, I'm not sure that I ever paid that much attention to it. It's not a federal holiday, the banks are open and other than a flurry of newsy posting on my home page or a solemn story of a veteran's survival, I hadn't thought about how this single, catastrophic event impacted my family history and therefore, me.
 
President Franklin D. Roosevelt called it "a day that will live in infamy."  I realized today that this event and this day was the day that changed the course of Charles' life.  Granny Bob told me how important it was to him to volunteer - that he couldn't wait to enlist.  She said he wanted to be a pilot and an officer more than anything in the world.  Two months after Pearl Harbor, Charles drove to Dallas and enlisted with the US Army Air Force. 

I've read remembrances and articles today with a stoic appreciation for all that these men sacrificed. This whole year, and the surprising discoveries and experiences I've had because of Charles, have awakened a patriotism that I didn't realize was asleep. Today was another flag-waving day in the evolution of me.

Veteran's Day 2011

Charles is still very busy...

1st Lt. Charles E. Stone - 1943

That daunting "an article must be wrtiten" directive from my Normandy Angels can finally be checked off the list.  An article about my trip to Normandy and the recovery was printed this week in Linden - perfectly timed to commemorate Veteran's Day.  I spoke to G-Bob this morning and she's weepy but so proud.  She was delighted to tell me that her phone has been ringing off the hook with people calling her about the article.  I'm so happy to have been able to do all this for her.  For all of us.  

I'm in DC today and will be able to go to the WWII Memorial on the National Mall and place flowers for Charles.  I'm not surprised that all these little things clicked into place or happened at just the right time.  Charles is patient, dilligent and has a dramatic sense of timing which always surprises me.  He's constantly reminding me how important this journey is, and I remain grateful. 

Fiction is the Easy Part...

Writing the real stuff is what's really hard.  When I started this project, I thought for sure it would be the other way around.  I have hours and hours of audio taped conversations with Granny Bob, so all I have to do is put those stories into words and onto the page, right?  Technically, yes.  But I didn't anticipate how hard it would be do it right.  Writing her isn't the problem - she's a character that I have known my entire life.  I know her voice, I know her quirks and mannerisms and have loved her for 40 years.  The challenge has been developing this fictional Charles as she knew and loved him and balancing that with how I've always imagined he would have been.  Before I heard her stories about him, I don't think I ever romanced him enough.  And now that I'm spending so much time with him I don't think I can romance him enough.  I always bristle when I read books and characters are too perfect - but as I'm writing him and creating his character - I don't think perfect will do him justice. 

I wish more than anything that I'd had enough foresight, wisdom or maturity to talk to my great aunt and Charles' sister, about him before she passed away in 1996.  I was 26 then and definitely old enough to ask - but we'd all been so sensitive about him and about how tragic his death had been, that I never broached the subject.  I imagine Sister would have told me the same things though.  She would have confirmed all Baa's stories, vouched for his character and told me what a good man he was and how much she loved him.  In the end, I'm sure she would have insisted that he really was perfect. 

Writing fiction is fun.  Wriring memoir is important.  Writing a perfect Charles is a whole lot of pressure.

Charles and I at the Rocky Mountain Air Show

Charles in flight -
Brooks AFB sometime in 1943

I was invited to attend and host a table for Charles at the Rocky Mountain Air Show in the WWII Museum exhibit area.  The show is this weekend, and I've been busy all week enlarging and framing photos and trying to figure out how to share the precious peices of the plane recovered from the crash site in France so that people can see it all, but not touch it.  I'm staying the course regarding the challenge that Jean-Marc laid at my feet and I'm taking advantage of every possible opportunity to tell mine and Charles' story.  There are going to be a lot of WWII veterans who will be in attendance and I realized yesterday that I should probably be prepared for a emotionally charged weekend.  When I'm in the WWII/Charles zone, I have trouble keeping it together.  It seems I can barely hug anyone or shake a hand without tearing up.  I can't imagine stifling the waterworks when I'm talking to or listening to these sweet old men tell THEIR stories.  I'm thinking a hankie might serve me better than a whole box of tissue. 

Hoping for some Jo-Mojo



Elephant House Cafe' - Edinburgh, Scotland

When I was in Edinburgh, Scotland last month, I had a pretty big 'to do' list.  Since I was there on a work trip, organizing and shuttling nearly 230 people on a Harry Potter-centric fan trip, it was all about the boy wizard and the books and the movies for the first few days.  Once the tour was over though, I got busy ticking things off that list.  I spent a full day at the Scottish Genealogical Library with an ornery Scot, researching and eventually confirming the Scottish Royal lineage I'd discovered a few months ago.  When I found the link that made me a direct descendent of Robert the Bruce, my research advsor just looked at me with a completely bored and droll expression and said, "Well if you want to be related to that line, then good for you."  HA!  I love a surly Scot.  I wanted to see all of the sites mentioned in the Outlander books and shop on the Royal Mile.  I needed to find the famous Thompson's toffee for Tim and a FRASER clan magnet for Jos.  See...lots to do. 

After I'd seen the sights, shopped and done my geneaology homework, I had one more thing on my list.  I spent a lovely morning at Elephant House, drinking coffee and writing...just like J.K. Rowling.  It's been widely publicized that one of Jo's favorite places to write is in a quiet cafe'.  I just happened to be in her Edinburgh and my hotel was in close proxemtiy to one of her more well known writing spots.  Of course I was going to go completely cheeseball - order a coffee, claim a table and do some writing of my own.  I had my spiral notebook (thanks, Lisa!!), a decent pen and enjoyed a really great mocha while I scribbled a few lines.  I didn't get a lot written as it was busy and they needed my table, but I did write.  I was going for a little Jo-mojo but the experience in and of itself was cool no matter if I gleaned an ounce of her success for having been there or not. 

Someone to Watch Over Me

 





Charles and We Three 1944

My Charles Odyssey is getting bigger and bigger and continues to bear amazing gifts.  The deeper I dig, the bigger and more significant the returns.  If I wasn’t already convinced that the path I’m on is lit by some cosmic or spirited tour guide, I am now.  

When I knew I was going to the UK for a great work opportunity, I began to plan a trip to Normandy.  Ahead of my trip, I had contacted Jean-Marc Bonnet, Secretary for the volunteer organization, Normandy for Air Remembrance (NAAR), to see if anyone might be available or willing to help me locate and visit Charles’ memorial placed near his crash site in Bréhal, France.  Jean-Marc’s response was more than I expected.  The memorial was identified, the crash site located, interviews and testimonials from village residents recorded and a visit was being organized.  Two days before my arrival in France, Jean-Marc sent me an email and asked if I would prepare a speech to deliver at the ‘ceremony’.  Of course I said yes, and then the panic and anxiety set in, along with the realization that something so much bigger than I ever expected was waiting for me in Normandy.  That’s when the emotions took hold and the tears were a constant companion for the next few days.

Meeting Jean-Marc

On July 7, 2011, I crossed the English Channel by ferry from Poole, England, to Cherbourg, France.  Bridget (a lovely American) and Felix (Jean-Marc’s son), representatives from NAAR met me at the landing and told me they were taking me to Bréhal and that we’d be meeting Jean-Marc there.  The drive from Cherbourg to Bréhal was beautiful.  About five kilometers from the village, I noticed the poppies, which of course tuned up the tears because I knew it was Charles welcoming me, telling me he was happy I was there. 

Jean-Marc met us in Bréhal and then things got more interesting.  I started to notice a large group of men gathering, wearing suits, wearing military medals on their lapels, and some carrying flags.  The anxiety and emotion were ratcheted up again when Bridget confirmed, “Yes, they’re here for you.”    



Reception in Bréhal

We went to City Hall where I was introduced to a lot of village officials and politicians, other memorial group representatives, and countless other community folks.  There was a reception and a toast of friendship and respect and lovely little French pastries.  Then I was asked to sign a document that would be an official proclamation acknowledging Charles and my visit to Bréhal and I was given the Gold Medal of Bréhal honoring Charles’ service and sacrifice.  They were all so thankful and grateful.  The sincerity and gratitude expressed that I had made the trip and that I was there honoring someone who had become a part of their village history was as overwhelming for them as it was for me.  There was a moment when one of the ladies was talking to me, in French mind you, that even though we couldn’t understand her each other, I fully understood the importance of my visit.  She held my hand and with tears welling up in her eyes, she said in English with a very thick accent, “I’m so happy you are here.” 


 After the reception, a group of about twenty, including a local reporter, took the short drive to the memorial site for the ceremony.  It was a landslide of emotions when the memorial finally came into view.  French and American flags flanked the pretty little patch of land where the monument had been placed.  It was shaded by trees and across the little road was a quiet little pond, and no big surprise at this point, more poppies.




The color guard lined up alongside the monument and the ceremony began. They gave me a quiet moment to read and touch the monument and then Jean-Marc and I placed flowers at the foot of Charles’ memorial.  I gave my little speech - thank goodness Bridget translated after every sentence so I could catch my breath and wipe the tears so I could keep going.  Then Jean-Marc spoke.  I didn’t understand a word, but I was so moved by his emotion and the chin quivering pauses HE had to take while he spoke about Charles. When the ceremony concluded, everyone hugged me and did the double cheek kiss and we just kind of milled out for a bit.  I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. 





The man leading the way is a resident of Bréhal - he was five years old when
Charles crashed and he remembered where the plane had landed.  

Bridget told me that we were going to the crash site.  There wer more tears.  But then the men who were hosting me went to their cars and started pulling out shovels, picks and a metal detector.  They weren't going to just show me the crash site, they were going to find pieces of Charles’ plane for me to take home to my grandmother.  The ugly cry got even uglier.  

At first, they couldn’t find it.  They apologized, saying they hadn’t had enough time to pinpoint the exact location but that they’d come back and try again and would mail me whatever they found.  I wasn’t disappointed – I was so impressed and thankful that they’d even tried.  Then a local resident happened by and asked what we were doing.  For the thousandth time in a span of about four hours, I wished that I knew French – but the gist of the conversation was that the passerby knew the landowner and knew the exact location of the crash.  He went off to talk to the landowner and promised to come back with news.  I knew that Charles wouldn’t let me down.  He’d not abandoned me or steered me south in this journey so far, so I knew that when that man returned, Charles would show us what we were looking for.  Again, I got so much more than I hoped. 



First peice of the plane presented by the land owner to the group.

When we arrived at the crash site, the man who owned the land was working the field.  He quickly jumped down off the tractor he was driving and began to lead the group to a section of the field.  So much of the conversation was lost as I don’t speak French, but one of the men came to me and said, “You’re a lucky girl.  The land owner already has a piece of the plane.”  When the farmer reached into a patch of brush and pulled out a large chunk of metal I burst into tears.  After a quick inspection by the NAAR team, they told me that the serial number on the piece of metal proved that it was an exhaust pipe from a P-51 Mustang, the kind of plane that Charles had flown.  The landowner handed me the bent metal, with tears streaming down his face said to me, “Please take this to your grandmother.”     

The land owner Bréhal

Jacques went to work with the metal detector and they were deligthed and excited every time it pinged.  They took turns digging at the hot spots and with each new discovery, they handed the little peices of metal over with pride.  They found a peice of the engine block, three small peices of aluminum from the plane and a rusted out chunk of German anti-aircraft bomb - likely the kind of flak that took Charles down.  The man I mentioned earlier, the resident who happened by, was even helping dig.  Before he left, he came to me and hugged and kissed me and in English he said, "Please give your grandmere a hug and a kiss and tell her thank you for her sacrifice."  It was a sentiment that was repeated over and over to me as- others joined in the search and when every small piece of the plane was recovered and presented to me.   The sincerity and gratitude that was shared with me was beautiful and made me feel an incredible sense of pride. 



Charles' Memorial

When I spoke to Granny Bob to tell her about my day and my experience, we cried together.  She was overcome and surprised to know that anyone outside of our small family would have any interest in keeping Charles’ memory so dear.  Realizing that the life and sacrifice of a 19 year kid old from Linden, Texas made such an impact on a little village in upper Normandy has been a really big deal for our family.  Knowing that his life and death means as much to others as it does to us, has been an incredible gift and has gone a long way to soothe my grandmother’s broken heart and to bring Tara, Pete and I together.

Jean-Marc and Felix spent the next day taking me to all the memorial sites in Normandy, each location being more emotional than the last.  The history regarding the biggest and most well known memorial in Normandy, The Normandy American Cemetary, is that it was started by the US Army on June 8, 1944.  There are 9,387 graves and an another 1,557 names inscribed on the Wall of the Missing - most of those honored here were lost on D-Day landings or operations soon after.  The care and sensitivity in which these mostly French volunteers and caretakers of these American monuments express, is phenomenal.  It’s very important to them that the US contribution to the war and more importantly, their liberation from German occupation is not forgotten.  It was an incredible experience.  Normandy should be on everyone’s bucket list. 

 

Jean-Marc and me athe
Normandy American Cemetary

I asked Jean-Marc about how I could make a donation to The Normandy for Air Remembrance so that this volunteer organization could continue their work locating unidentified crash sites and service men, notifying families when discoveries are made and also hosting ceremonies and experiences like I was so fortunate to have had. His reply was that I couldn’t and that Charles’ blood and our families sacrifice was payment enough.  Then he said, “An article must be written.”  I’ve sent out story inquiries to every newspaper outlet I can think of and to Texas Monthly and O Magazine.  I’m hopeful. 

My friends Elizabeth and CJ think my Normandy experience should be another book.  Tara thinks it should be a movie.  But until Spielberg knocks on my door, I think maybe I should try to get through the first one and see how it goes.  Charles may have other ideas, but for now I’m going to spend some time in my little fiction bubble and focus on the project at hand.  

Ridiculous Rant: No More Hollywood Reboots!

My sweet friend Jack just told me that his uncle just got a gig in Hollywood. Very cool that Jack's uncle is John Terry, who played Jack's father, Christian Shepard, on LOST.  Not so cool that yet antoher one of my childhood treasures is being rebooted and hooched up.  Apparently, he's going to be on the new and 'improved', Charlie's Angels.  Sigh.  Happy for Jack's uncle, but this Hollywood trend of recycling classic television and movies makes me so sad.

 

 

When I was a kid, I watched the original series - first with Farrah, then with Cheryl Ladd and then with Shelly Hack.  By the time they cast that Tanya chick, I was over it.  I loved that stupid show.  Angie, Heather, Elizabeth and I played pretend Charlie's Angels (we were in elementary school at the time) at the football field/track at the North Campus over and over.  When it was three of us it was all good and the only fight was who got stuck being Sabrina.  When it was all four of us, it got ugly because one of us had to be Bosley.  Our mission was always the same:  we were sent to Dallas to infiltrate the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders organization to find a mystery killer!!  Dun dun duuuuuun!  I think that might have been an acutal episode but I could be wrong.  I have such a vivid memory of the Christmas I got all three Charlie's Angels dolls from Santa.  I couldn't wait to show the girls!  Of course it was also the year I caught my mom playing Santa and putting said dolls in front of the tree.  But I digress...

I'm such a purist when it comes to my pop culture and while I wish Jack's uncle well and loads of good juju for this project, I have to admit that I'm always so peeved by Hollywood pilfering and pillaging through my childhood with these kind of revamps. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with Gene Wilder was genius and I pretend that Tim Burton's Willy Wonka doesn't exist.  The A-Team was a television show in the 80's with Mr. T, not a flashy action movie with Bradley Cooper, Jessica Biel and Liam Neeson.  Jessica Simpson is no Daisy Duke, Chrisopher Reeve IS Superman, Alice in Wonderland is a Disney cartoon, True Grit starred John Wayne, not Jeff Bridges, and Star Wars is a trilogy.  I can't really complain about what happened with Land of the Lost because I boycotted it and evidently so did everyone else in the free world, and it tanked. I worry what will happen with WonderWoman and a film version of Dallas starring John Travolta as J.R. Ewing.  I could go on and on.  I'm waiting for the day they cross the proverbial line with me and try to retool The Six Million Dollar Man, The Bionic Woman or God forbid, Dynasty.   It's coming...you mark my words.

Jack, meet Sam

Jack at Chico Basin Ranch, CO

This was a week or sharing and confessing.  I've been telling more and more people about the project and sharing the blog deets.  I usually get one of two responses when I let people in on my secret: 1. Shock and confusion and then they ask for clarification as if they didn't quite understand what I said.  I get a lot of, "Wou're doing what?!" or 2. They ask if they're going to be in it. 

When I told my friend Jack about it and sent him a link to this blog, he didn't do either, but he thought it was cool just the same.  Jack and I have known each other for six or seven years - first professionally, then we just got on so well, that over time we've managed a real friendship.  He introduced me to Hayes Carll and I gave him the gift of Mumford and Sons.  We keep in touch but don't see each other often.  This summer he was in Colorado and we've been in more frequent contact.  That's when I realized that without intent or thought, a character profile I wrote more than a year and a half ago for this project, is a whole lot like Jack. 

Joe Manganiello

As previously stated, I'm not that interested in writing MY perfect story or wish fulfillment so I went against personal type when I was defining Sam's physical attributes and I wrote him with brown eyes, brown hair and a beard...just like Jack.  I wanted Sam to be the character that you root for over and above the heroine, so he had to have a pretty rich, difficult and a past that would make readers sympathetic to his circumstances.  I knew he would be well educated, musical and a man taking a time out on his life in order to find his way back to a better path.  I had always imagined Joe Manganiello as my Sam, so he's taller and more guarded than Jack but the other similarities are pretty damn parallel.  It's scary. What's even more scary, was this weekend when Jack asked about the book, I sucked it up and confessed that as it turned out my fictional Sam was a whole lot like him, almost as if what I wrote so long ago had manifested in real life for Jack and then was shared with me when he came to Colorado.  God love him, to his credit, he didn't laugh nervously and run away from me or the conversation, he only asked if he was going to be famous.  Don't worry though - I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a crazy pants, but we've been friends long enough that I think he's ulimately supportive of this level of weird.  It'll be interesting to see how this realization about Jack will color how Sam evolves as I write more of him.

Oprah and Poppies

As a woman who grew up in the age of Oprah, I am not ashamed or embarrassed to admit that almost everything GOOD I learned about honoring myself, my spirit and having big plans or dreams, I learned from the Oprah Winfrey Show.  Oprah and of course my beloved therapist, but I gotta give credit where credit is due.   I didn’t quite mourn the end of the era when she ended the show, but I can admit that I sometimes miss her at 4:00 in the afternoon.   Anyway, one of the things that Oprah taught me was that everyone has a universal plan.  Oprah says “God,” I say “the universe.”  I don’t think anyone knows what that plan is, but I do think the universe gives you hints every now and then.  Oprah says it’s a whisper at first.  And if you’re not paying attention or you don’t hear it, the whisper turns to a scream becoming so big and so loud that you can’t ignore it.  Well, I heard the whisper, and then I started noticing the poppies. 

For Dorothy poppies were poison.  For me, they’re inspiration. 

Poppies are symbolic in Commonwealth Countries for Remembrance Day, Armistice Day, ANZAC Day and the like.  Everyone wears a red paper poppy on their lapel to acknowledge military servicemen and women on those special days.  So when the poppies started showing up for me, I had to assume it was Charles pointing me in a direction or reminding me to write a letter or do something for him or for Granny Bob.  Joe and I planted a few seed packets of poppies in my front yard and the week they sprouted up out of the ground, I got the invite to work the job in the UK, making the trip to France to see Charles’ memorial and tour the town where his plane crashed, a possibility.  June 6, 2011 was the 67^th anniversary of D-Day, not to mention, the day Charles crashed, and as it happened, I was in Linden with Granny Bob.  It That day I planted poppy seeds in her garden and later that afternoon I got a call from the War Department responding to a request I’d made more than two months ago for his military service records.  Some people might be able to ignore or brush off the coincidence.  I choose to believe that it is what, or rather who I think it is, lighting the path and showing me the way. 

Scottish, English, Cherokee...oh my!

Genealogy and the discovery of Ancestry.com, that's what happened.  Researching family history has been a fleeting hobby over the years so I had a five generation head start - including full names, birth and death information - which has made it fairly simple.  Yes, it's simple, but also ridiculously time consuming.  I'm either a super star researcher or my knack for solving puzzles translates to this kind of stuff, because I kicked this family tree's ass.  That, and I have to thank the Mormon's for keeping meticulous genealogical records.  Big ups to the Mormons!



We'd always assumed Kennedy was Irish.  Ah...no.  On the maternal side, the Kennedy branch resulted in Scottish Royalty with Robert Bruce I, the King of Scotland (Robert the Bruce - remember that for a minute), and another branch led me straight to Edward the III, the KING OF EFFIN' ENGLAND, then Edward II, Edward I (also known as The Hammer and Longshanks).  You don't have to know English/Scottish History to sort this out, but if you ever saw Mel Gibson's, Braveheart, you'll have the gist of it.  Robert the Bruce and Longshanks were on opposite sides of the big battles at Stirling Bridge and Fallkirk with William Wallace stuck fighting smack in the middle between them.  Robert eventually won the Scottish crown and things got a whole lot worse.  In that huge cornerstone chunk of Scottish/English history, our bloodline was on both sides of conflict, not only peripherally, but at the epicenter. 

Silly Tim at the Robert the Bruce statue at
Stirling Castle, Stirling, Scotland 2007 -
I wish I'd known then what I know now
about the family history

Toss in William the Conqueror in there and Phillip of France, a step back into the Scottish Royalty pool and that's about as far out I looked and as royal as it gets.  Crazy.  The Smith line on the maternal side led me to Cherokee.  So far so good, Royalty and Cherokee.  Stone led me to early colonists and the Daughters of the American Revolution.  Paternal Thompson (Granny Bob) goes straight to Wales and then staunchly lies Scotland, while paternal Taylor (Granny Bob) led me to a Civil War soldier or two, a Civil War POW, to early colonists and eventually France aristocracy.  Ancestry.com has census data, military draft/registration info, and lots of other historical documents that are just plain cool to read and attach to your tree.  So far I've gone back to the early 1200's on some branches, early 1600's on others and have been thrilled to bits to find each new connection.  I've had so much fun doing this and even more fun sharing it with Bob, Tara and extended family but holy hell, it's time to get back to work on this book stuff. 

Maybe this triple dose of Scot is what draws me to the Outlander books by Diana Gabaldon and makes me love Jamie Fraser so fiercely.  I digress...probably shouldn't even get started on Jamie, should I?  I do love a man in a kilt.   

I'll leave you to ponder my new royal, Cherokee name: Her Royal Highness Micha Nanokachakee Stone.  Distracto girl out.  Serious book-writing girl will be back next week.  Promise. 

Charles' Mythical Memorial

It DOES exist!  This is such a huge, emotional find for me that I'm all sniffly and I can barely see the computer screen because the tears just won't stop. 

Since the late 90's, when the organization who was trying to establish the memorial contacted G-Bob to notify her of their intent, this has been a big deal. Originally this memorial was to be placed sometime in 2000, but they lost funding.  Then the man who was organizing this and many other European memorials for US Service Men, died in 2003, and I just didn't think anything would come of it.  Last I heard, it was being left to the villages to raise the funding and to complete the memorial - but I never thought there was a chance in hell that even if it was placed, that I'd ever know about it.  And today, in the middle of procuring and requesting service records, accident reports and the like for both Granddaddy Bill and for Charles, I found this and it took my breath away. 

The fact that one of my favorite photos of him is engraved on a memorial that technically honors three fallen US Military men is pretty awesome.  The fact that the same photo is the only real photo on the blog frame (see left side bar), makes it even more spectacular, and unbelievable. 

I thought that all this time I was writing this story for me and that G-Bob, Tara, Pete, and Michelle were just going to be able to enjoy seeing it come to life.  Today, I can't help but feel like it's all for Charles.  I feel as if  he's taken me by the hand and is leading me along, making sure that I don't miss anything.  Like he's letting me know it doesn't matter how detailed my outline is, or how perfect the manuscript is - as long as I finish and his story gets told, no one will forget. 

Thank you, Charles.  I am overwhelmed and Barbara is going to be so proud. 

Trip to the Cemetary

I spent a week in Linden with G-Bob last week and we did all the usual things.  We went to eat catfish at David Beard's, had Larry and Sue over for dinner, picked up bags and bags of sweet gum balls from the yard - although I don't know why because these little buggers have littered her yard for as long as I can remember and to my knowledge no one has ever bothered to rake them much less pick them up one by one, as she did, and dump them in the ditch.  :/  The big field trip of the week was to Red Hill and the cemeteries.  Plural. 

For some, cemetary trips are a solemn thing.  For some it's a time of reflection and a moment with a long lost loved one.  For G-Bob, it's serious business and she's got lots of people to tend to.  She feels a strong responsibility to it and the attention she puts into the the task is nothing short of inspiring. 

First, we had to choose a BUCKET FULL of silk flowers - you know, so we had choices once we got there because you just never know what might strike your fancy.  We also took five pairs of snips and/or wire cutters, a handful of floral wire, gardening gloves, five blocks of green Styrofoam and snacks.  She  pulled weeds, changed out flowers, fretted over forgetting what kind of solution she could mix to clean the headstones, and told me stories about everyone we visited.  We took care of Nana and DiDaddy, a few distant cousins, Aunt Elta, Dad, Charles, Grandaddy Bill, Sister, Uncle Harold and his parents, Mammy and PawPaw - and then there was a surprise stop.  There is a WWII Veteran buried at the Linden cemetery who either doesn't have any living kin or none of his people are around to tend to his grave, so G-Bob does.  She makes sure there is always a little American flag stuck in the ground and that he has some kind of flowers.  Some people might think the cemetery tour with Barbara might be a little weird.  Not weird.  It was amazing and so honorable to see how she took care of them all.  It was a delightful, insightful, lovely way to spend the afternoon with her, Michelle and our people.

P.S. I heard from a few people that they were having a hard time leaving a comment.  I *think* I fixed the settings and it should be OK to leave comments now.

How do you solve a problem like...

Bridget Moynahan

...writing fictional characters who are representative of real people in your life without getting yourself in hot water? 

I'm not entirely sure yet, but I managed to soften the initial shock and anxiety for my sister by sharing that HER character looked like Bridget Moynahan. 

AND IT TOTALLY WORKED!! 

Since I write like I'm watching a movie - it's all very visual and of course there is a companion soundtrack, too - one of the first things I did when doing the character profiles was imagine what each character looked like.  Written, physical descriptions weren't enough for me and considering my affection and obvious talent for procrastination, of course there was an exhaustive search for images to match up those descriptions.  I mean, really, how could I write what I could only see them in my mind?  I needed tangible, visual reminders or proof that these characters DID exist.  After careful consideration and a lot of very important 'research' I now have little images clipped to every single character profile for the principles in the story.

In going through this exercise in the name of outlining and research, I faced a problem that I'd imagined many times in my childhood..."When they make a movie about my life, who would I want to play me??"  Granted, we're talking book business here, but I'm already thinking ten thousand steps ahead and that book to movie deal that is inevitable.  Positive thoughts, law of attraction and all that hoo doo, my NOT being famous has never been a consideration.  HOW I might become famous has been a bone of contention for years, but I digress...

I could go all Mary Sue and make her physically perfect, tall, skinny, graceful - all the things that I am not - but honestly, wish fulfillment isn't even on my radar for this project.  Besides, perfect is boring.  Especially in fiction.  Especially in fiction that is written for women.  While her sister can be Bridget Moynahan, the heroine has to be flawed and relatable.  Of course she's not EXACTLY me, anyone who knows me, has heard me tell a joke or a story, who has seen first person how wildly expressive I can be, or who has laughed when I've tripped over my own two feet, will recognize me in her.  And that's cool by me. 

All character 'casting' aside, I have thought long and hard about how the real people in my life might feel about being included, even in an embellished, charactures or themselves, painted with big sweeping strokes, kind of way.  My grandmother is fully on board.  She even asked if I was going to include her friend Nallie in the book.  My siblings however, have to be feeling something much different.  Truth be told, that old adage, "write what you know," has to scare the crap out of them!  Not because there are sordid, scary stories to tell, but because I've always been the odd man out.  Whether self prophetized or by the sheer, natural dynamics of our little nuclear bubble, there is no doubt a worry that my perspective is a heckuva lot different than theirs.  We could all recount the same experience and I guarantee you, all three versions would be colorful and descriptive, but mine would be somewhere over in left field comparitively.  I've tried to change the order or outcome of real events and it always comes off as disingenuous.  Maybe because I know it's a lie is what makes it difficult to tell it, or maybe I'm not as clever and imaginative as I'd always thought.  At any rate, it's a balancing act between truth and fiction and I'm learning that straddling that line is pretty tricky business.  Here's hoping I don't fall flat on my face with this and that my brother and sister don't show up on my door step with torches and a rope after reading it. 

I wanna be like Margaret Mitchell

Do not wait until the conditions are perfect to begin. Beginning makes the conditions perfect. ~Alan Cohen



Welcome to the blog!  My hope here is to chronicle the process, good or bad, as I work towards writing and recording my precious grandmother's life story.  Because it's her story and the events in her life dictated my dad's story, it's really my story, too.  It's part memoir, part fiction, but ultimately I hope that it'll be as compelling on paper as it is when she and I are talking about it all.  I've been collecting her memories and stories for the last year and I think I'm ready to get down to it and do the work.  I'm thinking it'll be a cross between historical fiction, contemporary fiction and of course there will be a good dose of romance.  I don't like the word 'epic' because I think it's use is cheesy in recent pop culture circles and in the younguns vocabularies.  But simply because it spans 80 something years - 1924 to the present - it's pretty sweeping.  Maybe 'saga' is a better word?  That's it...historical, family saga, like Gone with the Wind.  I should be so lucky. 

Charles and Barbara Stone
San Antonio, TX 1942

Why a blog?  I don't really know what to tell you other than I feel compelled.  I know of several others who are or who have recorded their writing journey.  For posterity, for accountability so that others will encourage them to finish, for vanity?  Yes, maybe and no, I don't think so.  I'm doing this for Tara, Pete and me, but please feel free to follow along if you're even remotely interested.  This will be outlet to which I'll likely flee when I'm hiding out from doing the real work on the project, or when I'm struck dumb and paralyzed by writer's block, or more than likely, where I'll post the inane and silly for my own amusement.  You never know what you might find here.  I can't begin to imagine. 
So what's at the beginning?  My fraternal grandparents, Barbara and Charles.  Where does it end?  I could tell you, but then that would make the whole point of writing it down moot, no?