Narrative

When Life Gets in the Way

/ Gerry Wilson / Leave a comment

The first week of June, on the fourth day of a beach vacation in Fort Morgan, Alabama, my husband and I walked down to the beach after dinner to watch the sun set. My son’s family was there; it’s become a tradition to gather at the beach with them every summer. That evening, I walked out of our shade tent to take a look at the sand castle my grandson was building, stepped in a hole in the sand, and went down. Hard.

From that point I remember only bits and pieces—a blessing, I’ve been told—but I do remember the EMTs putting me on a backboard they had trouble latching in the sand and loading me into the bed of a red pickup truck with “RESCUE” emblazoned on the doors (the ambulance couldn’t navigate the beach). I remember the guy in the back of the truck with me yelling “Go go go!”, urging the driver on over the rough terrain.

I had surgery in Foley, Alabama, and my husband and son drove me home to Jackson, Mississippi a few days later. I spent three weeks in a rehab facility. I’m now almost four months out from the fall and the surgery and doing well.

But what about the time I “lost” to a fog of pain and meds and physical therapy and learning to function again? If you’ve had a similar experience, you know that getting well becomes all-consuming. The momentum I’d had before the accident—preparing to launch my novel, starting a Substack newsletter, expanding my social media presence, and more—was gone.

This is where the old saw, “life gets in the way,” comes in. After something that shakes us, how do we reclaim our momentum? How do we rebuild confidence? How do we pick up where we left off—or even better, how do we take the earth-shattering experience and create something good and maybe even beautiful from it?

I don’t have many answers, but I will say this: like regaining strength, we get back a little bit at a time. We allow whatever emotions we have to play out. I’ve cried plenty over those lost days, but that won’t bring them back. I’ve begun to write again (this little essay is part of that effort). I’ve gotten back to revising stories for a collection. There’s a 40,000-word draft of a sequel to my forthcoming novel, That Pinson Girl, nagging me for attention. I haven’t written anything new yet, but I hope that will come, in time. Time’s the great healer, people keep telling me. I hope so!

What about you? Has life thrown you a curve ball lately? How did you adapt? What tips do you have to offer? I would love to hear from you in the comments.

Photo by Jackson Simmer on Unsplash

This piece was originally published at Story Circle Network, October 4, 2023.

We Don’t Have to Know Everything

/ Gerry Wilson / 2 Comments

What do you do with someone who won’t behave?

This person is secretive, aloof, moody. She’s keeping me up nights and interfering with my novel-in- progress. She’s the character who “vants to be alone!”

Her name is Robin. She’s a twin. An accomplished photographer. She has dark hair and green eyes, she’s twenty pounds overweight, she’s married with two sons. Her marriage is in trouble. Her twin sister has died, and she carries a terrible secret.

All these complications in her life, and yet, even after excellent feedback at a workshop, I remain stumped by what Robin desires and what will keep her from getting it.

Photo: Andrew Seaman on Unsplash

So I start over at the beginning, revising as the story seems to lead me. I try applying a rubric the workshop leader shared. It’s a good tool to get a handle on what a story is about (can you say it in a sentence?), determine what the “container” is (time frame and place), and sketch out the main characters and plot points. The rubric helps, but I’m not there yet. I’m still worried about not knowing clearly who Robin is and where she’s going.

I have to confess I’ve never been big on plot points, but I’m learning. I tend to let the story evolve, which means I may do more work than someone who is able to plan the story (or book) out, start to finish. Sometimes, because of my tendency to “pantser” rather than plot, I feel inept as a writer.

Many writing experts contend that we should know everything we possibly can about a character before we begin. But a fine teacher of writing and an exceptional fiction writer in his own right, David Jauss, takes the stance that we don’t have to know everything. In fact, Jauss says it may be preferable not to know; not knowing every detail ahead of time may lead to richer character-ization as we discover things about characters as we write them.

What a relief!

What Jauss says doesn’t absolve me of all responsibility where the story is concerned. I can’t put the writing on automatic pilot. (Wouldn’t it be interesting if we could? But I don’t trust the recent developments in AI to do the job.) But Jauss’s take allows me the freedom to write about this character and her circumstances, to write into her, and see what unfolds. Maybe I’ll discover along with her how she ticks, where she’s headed, and how she’ll get there.

So here we go, my make-believe friend, Robin. Let’s see where the words on the page take both of us.

How do you handle your less-than-cooperative characters? Are you a “know everything” writer or one who goes with the flow?

Seasonal

/ Gerry Wilson / 2 Comments

“I think we are bound to, and by, nature. We may want to deny this connection and try to believe we control the external world, but every time there’s a snowstorm or drought, we know our fate is tied to the world around us.” —Alice Hoffman

I went out this morning to photograph the beauties you see here. The two pots of Gerbera daisies have survived two Mississippi winters now and are still going. About a month ago, they were so depleted and wilted in the heat and drought, I thought they were gone, for sure. But then my husband trimmed them back a little and kept watering (I had given up on them), and now look!

Gerbera daisies, October 2022 / Gerry Wilson

Mississippi winters, you say? What winters?

We do have them this far south, although we often have 80-degree temps on Thanksgiving and/or Christmas Day. Mostly, winter doesn’t arrive full blast until January and February, but when it does, it’s miserable: cold rain, biting wind, below-freezing temps, and sometimes—once in a great while—snow. Or ice. Or both.

We don’t handle snow or ice well in Jackson. An inch of snow, and everything grinds to a halt. A quarter-inch of ice causes havoc on the roads; half an inch cuts off power and brings down massive old oak trees and pines.

But when there’s just the right kind of snow, it’s magical. Several years ago, I woke early on a Sunday morning to a profound silence, and I thought: Could it be? There had been a slight chance of snow in the forecast the night before, not enough to raise my hopes. But the absolute hush, the stillness, made me get up and look out the window. There it was, six inches or so of pristine snow, enough to blanket and transform everything. A day later, it would mostly be gone, but I loved it while it stayed. I don’t think we’ve had a snowfall since, certainly not one to equal it: only a dusting, a slight sheen of ice, just enough to make me wish for more.

So I will wait for it. I’ll hope and watch like the child I once was.

Meanwhile, the daisies will die back this winter. This time, maybe they won’t survive. But come Spring, I’ll watch for the fragile green shoots to rise out of the cold soil, watch for them to come back in all their natural resilience. A reminder for me. For all of us.