Listen for the Stories, Then Write Them Down by Kat Magendie
I sit in my rocking chair, on my porch, in the cool morning air, a handmade throw over my knees as if I’m an old, old woman, rock gently, and drink strong black coffee. It is here in this state of serenity and beauty that I open up and let in the universe, ready my ear to any voice who calls out to be heard. There below me in the valley are stories I’d love to tell, stories from the very life lived of people here in Haywood County. I strain my attention, thinking if perhaps I am still enough, I will hear bits of conversation ride upon the wind and through the trees and up to me, where I will write them down for eternity’s sake.
Soon and sudden, a thickening fog rises, obliterating what I seek. Mists come and go like ocean waves, recede and arrive, recede and arrive, breathing in and out, out and in. I am alone in the cloud, and my thoughts turn inward to the word worlds I will craft from my own experience and observation. The shadows of trees waver as ghosts, their outlines barely visible, and I squint my eyes to find the mystery. The mountains are spirit-like, also hidden beneath the mists, but I am reassured by their faint outline, by their constancy—they are always there as they been since great upheavals set them there.
Just as suddenly and just as silently, morning sun warms the air and the mist evaporates away. Once again I can see what was hidden revealed. And there, blue-gray-blue in the distance, those Great Smoky Mountains, as old and important as we can conceive of times before us and then more, rise up before me and give evidence to their legends; I listen, and then I will write it down. But what of your story? What do you long to say so your words are scattered to the winds of the universe, finding root and then growing thick and strong and even unruly, roots digging deep, growth reaching up and reaching out?
Know this: It is the ancient quality of the mountain that pulls my words from me this morning. I imagine the footsteps of some long-ago mountaineer treading right where I place my own foot. When I stand upon a rock, it may be the same rock someone’s great-great-great-grandfather stood upon, looking out to the mountains without any idea of what would become of him and his family, and his family after that. Without any knowledge of me. He stood with arms outstretched and called to his kin before him, who had no knowledge of him, or of his footsteps, or of his needs, or his wants, or his future. Perhaps these ghosts are the ones who urge me to tell their stories.
And this Western North Carolina earth—the lichen clinging to the bark, the moss covering the rock, the wildlife snuffling the air, the soil that holds the print of my step, and your step, and the hidden steps of North Carolina ancestors both known and unknown, the footprints of those both here to stay and those who were forced to leave—constant changing earth where no man or woman could ever tread upon every living surface, and no caring man or woman would wish to, there remain secrets. Secrets to hold fast and secrets to let loose. Will I find the voice I am searching for? Thornton Wilder says, “. . . the work is not a thing that we make, but an already-made thing which we discover.”
Each of us is born with a purpose, even if that purpose is only to live to tell a story. Our voices matter; we all have experiences to set down on the page, or lives to sing in a song, or secrets to whisper in the dark, or ideals to shout that facilitate change. These mountains matter, and our rivers matter, and the earth and rock and animals—all matter, all opportunities for others to hear our voices as we write down the imperishable word. There is the purpose for which we live: we must reveal the stories. I listen, and then I write from that revealing. And you? Will you open up the inked vein?
This is how you begin: You Begin.
Write. That's it. All the rest will follow as it will.
Kathryn Magendie is co-managing editor of the Rose & Thorn. Her debut novel, Tender Graces, was released April 2009.
Yes, the best way to create things through pen is to listen first. And it comes by observation so there is a need to have a silent surroundings for this purpose.
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