“Before It’s Too Late: Saving Our Stories”
Sometime after the first issue of AARP arrives, many of us feel compelled to to get our own unique stories preserved in writing, before it’s too late . But . . .
- Where do we start?
- What do we include?
- What’s best left out?
- Is such writing a good use of our remaining time, or is it simply nostalgic indulgence?
- Is our story fit for publication?
“Before It’s Too Late” writing workshops explore such issues in relation to each participant’s work, and will also offer “warm-up” activities and practical strategies for meeting writing goals. For more information, email me at: mmreynolds@earthlink.net.
I am presently at work on my own “Before It’s Too Late” stories, a collection of essays to be titled Approaching Seventy-five And I Don’t Mean Miles Per Hour. (The original title was Approaching Seventy . . . but I’m a terrible procrastinator.
The following is an excerpt from Approaching Seventy-five And I Don’t Mean Miles Per Hour:
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“Bucket List for Life in the Seventies”
Mike and I watched “The Bucket List” a few nights ago, which got me thinking about what my own list might be. Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman’s characters came up with a list that was big on travel and adventure and though I enjoyed the cinematic wonders of the Taj Mahal, Rome, Victoria Falls and the Serengeti, I don’t think my Bucket List would include much travel. I’ve visited most of western and some of eastern Europe. I’ve trekked through the vineyards of Burgandy, the Irish countryside, the Cotswolds and the Lake District of England. I’ve lazed about in a picturesque Italian villa, and walked along the great wall of China, and if I were to die tomorrow and were somehow magically cognizant, I doubt I’d feel cheated by not having seen more of the world.
That said, would there be a slight twinge of regret over not revisiting Hawaii?
I was there years ago, with Mike and his Chamber Singers, but somehow helping supervise sixteen high school students on choir tour didn’t offer the “romance of the islands” I’d seen portrayed in “Wakiki Wedding.” Old as I am, I might enjoy being someone’s heavenly flower in a tropical, moonlit paradise for two, at least for a few days.
To see a herd of giraffes galloping across the African plains on their long skinny legs, heads set high on massive, elegant necks, would be magnificent.
But my list will be more about the practicalities of what to do before it’s too late —things I don’t want my kids or Mike to be stuck with after my demise. So I set aside Hawaii, the Serengeti, and a trek across the U.S.A., to concentrate on what to get done before it’s too late. It’s not that I’m having health problems, it’s just that I know time passes and so will I.
Besides easing some things for those left behind, I also want to be sure other things aren’t left open to the whims and inclinations of my remaining loved ones. Mike, if he outlasts me, would never think to have the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band blasting out “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” as family and friends gather in my memory. Not that I truly believe we’ll all someday be joined in glory, but I love the song and I’d like to go out to it. And as much as I like Mozart, I don’t want his requiem to be playing at my going away party, which could happen if Mike were left to his own devices. So leaving specific plans for my memorial service makes the “Bucket List” cut.
One of my favorite list-tricks is to include something I’ve already done, thus assuring myself of that satisfying sense of accomplishment that comes with drawing a line through a tedious or dreaded task. I’ll include something about clarifying what I want to happen in the event that I can no longer make my own decisions—something beyond the legalistic “Durable Power of Attorney for Health Care” that’s included in my will. (I wrote such instructions to my kids on the eve of my seventieth birthday.)
No one should be stuck making burial and coffin decisions once the decaying process is on the move, so “making arrangements” also needs to be on the list.
Years ago, when we were still almost young, I suggested to Mike that we sign up for Neptune Society services. This was after an admittedly casual conversation in which we’d both expressed a preference for cremation. He offered lip service to the idea but the day before Neptune Society “counselors” were scheduled to meet with us he called and cancelled the meeting. Since then I’ve probably broached the subject once every year or two. Mike’s response is consistently that he’s not ready to go there yet.
“We don’t have to go there right now,” I tell him. “We just have to make a reservation.”
After several decades of the same conversation I now, finally, understand that Mike will never be ready to sign up for a pre-need cremation service and I’m past ready to put that in place. Besides, there’s that mother thing.
Whenever I visited my mother in her little Temple City rental, she would lead me into her bedroom, open the closet door, and point to a plastic file box on the top shelf. “If anything ever happens to me,” she would say, “everything you need to know is in there–my burial plan, insurance papers, pink slip to the car, what I want sung at my funeral–everything.” She’d started this practice sometime in her early seventies and once started we had to go through the routine every time I visited. It was the same for my brother when he visited.
I always got stuck on the first word of her oft-repeated speech. “If anything ever happens to me . . .” Did she think there was a possibility that nothing would ever happen to her? And then I would go on, in my mind, to the next word– anything. I was sure she didn’t mean anything—like winning the lottery, or being swept off her feet by some late-arriving lothario. She meant death. If I die? How about when?
Growing up I often heard my mother say things like “in this world there’s nothing certain but death and taxes,” or “no one’ll know the difference a hundred years from now,” or “we’ve all got to go someday.” But in her seventies “when” became “if” and “death” became “anything.” Still, for all of her linguistic avoidance of the inevitable, she had taken care of business and when anything eventually happened to her, it was much easier for us than if we had been left to figure it all out then and there. So, in my steadfast effort to be a better mother than she was, I don’t want to fall short at the very end. Here’s my starter list:
1. Arrangements for my vacated body
2. Written clarification of what I want to happen if I can no longer make my own decisions.
3. Make specific memorial service plans—music, place, a big old thank you statement to be read or handed out in printed form
4. Write obituary
5. Be sure I’ve said thank you to those who’ve led the way for me, supported me, offered me grace.
6. List valuables and name recipients where we care about the choice. Include a system by which undesignated valuables are to be distributed. (This should include china, crystal, silver, art work, Indian rug, jewelry, other special household items
7. Pare down—get rid of clothes not worn for ten years, books, music, things stored in garage for five years, etc.
8. Throw away items of potential embarrassment—little box of sex tricks, impetuous, easily misinterpreted journal writings, hot pink Miracle Bra from Victoria Secret, hemorrhoid relief ointments
9. Organize and print previous personal essays and put in binder for kids and niece Corry. (Be sure to include gift certificates in case the immediate value of the gift is not recognized)
10. African Safari
11. Walk across the U.S.
I’m determined to cross off the number one item before the falling leaves drift by my window—the real leaves of red and gold, not the metaphorical leaves of the song. Metaphorically I’ve already heard old winter’s song. Now it’s time to get practical.
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Interested in writing for teens?
As the author of ten books of realistic teen fiction, several of which have won prestigious awards and one which made the American Library Association’s Top Ten Banned Books list,writing about life in the seventies (my own seventies not the time of bell bottoms and afros) is quite a departure from my usual work. But I have plenty of useful tips for writers entering the expanding market for young adult fiction, and am occasionally offering workshops that provide the basic guidelines of writing for a teen audience. Such issues as plot, character, pacing, structure, revision, and keeping the creative juices flowing and explored. Also covered is finding an agent, working with an editor/publisher, and/or self-publishing. There is always time for participants’ specific writing concerns these workshops.
If you’re interested in a “Writing for Teens” workshop, please email me at:
mmreynolds@earthlink.net
