Where to Start the Next Story

Freewrite:  April 20, 2015

I am having a difficult time settling down to write. I guess I need a plan a goal a theme and a bunch of obstacles to overcome.  I have the obstacles. It’s just that I don’t have any more answers than anybody else has and as this is NOT a work of fiction, I can’t make them up. Therefore, they are my obstacles just as much as they were Sam and Betty’s obstacles.

So where do I begin? I’d like to begin on the boat. Dare I? I only have a granddaughter’s word to a census taker for that little obstacle. In Nova Scotia? Why did they skedaddle out of there? In a land of strangers? Were they running from something? Someone? In 1840, looking back? On their wedding day? Was Betty pregnant? Was that their problem?

Where do you like a story to begin? Do you like it chronological: start from the beginning, go to the middle, end at the end? Sensible shoes.  Do you like it to go back and forth? Two points of view: the writers and the protagonists? Me in my slippers dancing with him in his steppin’ in manure boots. Looking back on life, leaving only the climax and conclusion for the ending? Angel wings and silver sandals. In the middle, then back to the beginning, then fast forward to the here and now? Running shoes to baby booties to comfy slippers.

Never thought too highly of Sam. But I need to keep my feelings out of it. Has to be his feelings. And Betty’s feelings. Never mind what I think. Hey, Sam, Runaway Sam, I still have to wear your genes whether I like it or not. So it is important what I think. ‘Cause the way I figure it, I’m about the only one who’s going to tell your story.

So you can run but you can’t hide ‘cause I’ve opened the door of your closet a wee crack. It is 2015. Nobody much cares if Betty was pregnant or not anymore, these days. But what matters is what kind of a father were you? What kind of a father would leave his babies behind and never send a dime of support money or inquire about their welfare? How did you treat the other six? I just have my wonders. I’ve met some of your grandchildren. I’ve visited them at census time and at their Findagrave. They haven’t whispered their secrets to me yet, but for one.

I don’t have the makings of a book yet. Perhaps I never will. Oh, I can make a list of genealogical bones. What fun is that? I like to make the bones stand up and dance. So I have to start the book. And wait. And watch. And listen. Will I ever find enough to tell a story? I don’t know the answer to that yet. But I do know this: I know more than I knew when I wrote my first book. I know more than I knew three months ago.

So that’s my first freewrite ‘bout Sam and Betty. My first warm-up exercise. My going public with a promise to do my very best to tell a truthful story, even if I don’t find all the answers. Where will my book take me? Close to home, in Amherst, Nova Scotia. Jolicure, New Brunswick. Bedford, NY. Northern New York. Echo, Michigan. Washington DC. Virginia. I’m sure I’ll find other stops along the way. I have a long journey ahead of me; I’d best board the train.