Birth of a New Novel~~
For the last few weeks, a novel that is somewhat like a memoir about my parents and my first- and
second-born brothers has been occupying my brain. The youngest in a large family, I'm the only sibling remaining, except for one precious sister-in-law, who is like a sister. Stories told by Mama and Dad deserve to be shared with the younger members of a large family.
It won't matter to readers who don't know us about the embellishments of the facts, and it will take only a moment at the end of the story to inform the descendants where these are in the story. At first a memoir seemed to be appropriate, but I am who I am, and my background is that of a novelist.
Back in the 1930's the family encountered the deadly choking
disease diphtheria. The way they struggled with it presents a strong conflict.
This story, as it was told to me, displays courage that I have admired all my
life. Although Mother's account sounds incredible, she had no reason to tell
me anything but the truth. The stories my parents shared with me predate my
writing career.
Myrtle~~~
Myrtle wanted her life to count. The only
way she could do so was to rear children to the best of her ability. Her
greatest helper was her Lord. Having been a frail child with limited stamina and a queasy nature, she rose to occasions and performed as a hero.
Myrtle was born in the middle of a huge family
in the pioneer days of Mississippi on a farm where her father and mother owned
their land and didn’t believe in owing anybody. Bud and Mary Jane were
puritanical in their thought processes. They were ethical to the point it hurt.
They had values seldom seen in the twenty-first century. Sometimes these values must have been too strict. If we didn’t have our plastic cards, how could we
exist? Anyway, their word was their bond.
Bud, a pioneer and yeoman farmer, cleared
the land and planted his field. He expected a return, and he made enough money
from his crops and grew enough food in his garden and patches—peas,
watermelons, cantaloupes—what have you—to support his daughters and eventually two
sons. He had chickens, cows, mules, and horses. It was a real farm that he
maintained with a sense of accomplishment.
His oldest daughter Pearl had a desire to
do more and go beyond such a life. When she was still in her teens, she became
a well-loved teacher in a one-room school house. Her little sister Myrtle, a
beloved student, who wanted to be like Pearl, had desires also. Like Pearl, her
mentor, she wanted to make her life count.
When Pearl was in her early twenties, she
developed appendicitis. Six weeks after her surgery she died. Myrtle’s hope
died with her. Mama Mary Jane, whose happiness died too, sank into such deep depression she was unable to function. Myrtle dropped out of school.
Myrtle looked around and found new ways to
gain hope and do something in her world. From the time she was a little girl,
Myrtle was different from the two older sisters closest to her age and who were
at home with her.
Some of Myrtle’s earliest and happiest
memories were going in a wagon with the others wherever Papa Bud took them. An
old crumpled photograph she treasured showed what a cute child she was. She
wouldn’t admit it or say it about herself, but she was a little doll. She
had beautiful dark red hair and deep-set
dark blue eyes like Bud.
Mary Jane had the looks of a black Irish.
She was a little woman who grew up Catholic and joined the local Baptist church
because it was the only church around. She was a devoted Christian, and she
couldn’t afford to allow human formalities and interpretations to interfere
with her need to worship with
her community.
Writing~~~
Participating in the National Writing Month will enable me to place the rough draft of this fact-inspired novel on paper by the end of November 2017.
No comments:
Post a Comment