A Funny Story

I was transcribing more of Helen's story today and came across a story that had me laughing right out loud. Here it is, completely unedited, for your enjoyment:

I always loved the water, though I had not yet learned to swim. Frank loved toy boats and always had two or three to sail on every occasion, but he was afraid of water and would not go in much above his knees. I think I was at least partly responsible. One day, when we were very small, Mother was visiting a friend over by Lake Winnipesaukee and I begged to get in the water. Now, Winnipesaukee has very steep banks; almost no beaches anywhere. Large rocks and only about two steps in deep water. Best I could do was stand on a submerged rock and get cool. When Frank came over and tried to get where I was, he had some trouble. Mother called out to me, “Help the baby down there.” I misunderstood, and thought she said, “Help the baby under,” so I did. I put him in and held him down. She screamed and came to his rescue, shoes and all, and carried him back to safety. He really never quite got over it.

Finding Helen's Family

I am in the process of trying to find Helen's surviving family. The only information I have to go by is her obituary, which lists next of kin. The obituary is from 1998. I did a Google search to find an address for her daughter. I sent a letter. I hope I hear back. I would love to include pictures in this book, and hope her family will also have an interest in helping with printing costs.

Helen's story is fascinating. It has all the drama, flavor and history of memoirs like "The Glass Palace" or "A Tree Grows in Boston." My biggest challenge will be editing--deciding what to leave in, what to take out, and how many books to make out of the story. I am on the 6th tape and already have typed over 37,000 words. Bear in mind that a typical young adult novel runs about 68,000 to 70,000 words.

Writing Helen's Story

I am currently working on the life story of a woman named Helen. She was born in 1916. Yes, she is deceased. I am writing her story from a collection of over 100 audio cassette tapes--and I don't have a transcription machine. If anyone wants to donate one to the cause, please feel free!

Helen has a fascinating story. Among many other things, she remembered the end of World War I. She was only three years old. Here's her experience:

The second thing I am sure I remember is the end of World War I, on November 11, 1918. When the news came church bells rang and whistles blew. That evening, the whole town gathered together at Post Office Square to burn the Kaiser in effigy. Dad woke me up and we all went in the buggy. When we got near, it was a real mob. Dad drove as far as he could, then he left Mother to hold the horse and took us on into the crowd. Dad put me on his shoulders, straddling his neck so that I could see well. He held onto my feet and I held onto his head. I usually loved to ride that way. I could still recall the sea of faces and the yelling and jostling. I did not like it. I was frightened and clung to Dad’s head for dear life.

Suddenly, everyone was yelling and pointing up. [Their arms] looked like a sea of snake’s heads to me. I looked up to see a man, high up in the air, blazing like a torch. As I stared in horror, the rope which held him burned through and the flaming thing fell straight down toward us. Everyone tried to get out of the way, including my dad. I was terrified. I screamed and wet down the back of his neck. Then I was more scared than ever, for I expected to be spanked for something I couldn’t help.

Dad lifted me down and carried me at arm’s length, through the crowd, back to where Mother was sitting in the buggy. He handed me to her, saying angrily, “Here, take your brat,” and plunged back into the crowd. Mother wrapped a blanket around me and held me on her lap. She said, “Serves him right for taking a little girl into a place like that.” I heard her say, “All men are animals when it comes to a war.” Then I fell asleep.

How I Became a Personal Historian

My entire life I've been surrounded by family history enthusiasts. My mother is the family genealogist. Researching her roots has been her favorite hobby for as long as I can remember. If she had been paid for all the time she has spent on this hobby, she'd be a millionaire. I never felt the urge to join her in her line-tracing pursuits. It looked boring. When my father retired, he joined my mother in the never-ending search for deceased kin.

When I grew up I married a man with a degree in French. He got a job translating old French records into English. That job led to other jobs and currently he works with family history software as a tester. Of course my mother loves that his job blends so well with her favorite pastime.  Family history is almost all she ever talks to him about. I stayed out of it, spending my time on creative projects and raising our seven children.

A few years ago I decided it was time to do something with my writing talent. I started attending writers conferences, joined writers groups and online email lists. I published non-fiction articles on gardening and a true story in a children's magazine. I started a couple of fiction stories. My main project was a young adult science fiction/dystopian novel. Unfortunately, technology caught up with me and a gadget in my book that I thought was futuristic was released as the i-Pad. It took the wind out of my sails. I became rather discontented with writing fiction in general, and longed to write something true and meaningful. I stopped working on my fiction projects and took a break from almost all writing for about a year, taking the time to think about what I really wanted to accomplish with my writing.

At about this time several things happened. I made a new friend who has a compelling life story he wants told. He asked me to help him write it. I jumped at the chance. Simultaneously, my online handcrafted goods store steadily declined in sales and almost dried up completely. I saw it as a sign I needed to move in a different direction. I joined yet another writers group and attended one of their conferences. At the conference I met Paulette Stevens. She taught a workshop about becoming a personal historian. Her message resonated with me and I knew that was what I'd been looking for. I found the avenue to use my writing skills to produce something meaningful and beneficial to the world.