If this was a family history photo in your world, what would you want to know about it? What would you want to know about this young newlywed couple? Don’t leave your family wanting to know more about you.
The History Project can help with that.
Don’t miss a wonderful opportunity to get your youthful stories written.
This class not only helps you recall memories, but there are many writing tips and exercises we go through. I am not an English major, but there are ways of sharing a story that help your reader be a part of your experience. Here’s a ‘creative’ excerpt from my journal:
It’s evening time. I decide to go for a walk along the back path to see what my mom is doing, check on grandpa, or just take a nice evening walk in the cool breeze to see another amazing Idaho sunset. They really are amazing sunsets, bursting in color of deep rich oranges and reds as it fades into soft pinks and purples over the crop fields. In the distance I can hear the peacocks calling out from Uncle Gene’s farm . . . a half mile away. They always sound like they are crying ‘heeelllp’! Sometimes it can be eerie if you don’t know what you’re listening to.
I look down the long, simple dirt rows of the garden, seeing them shadowed by the towering pine trees–otherwise known as the windbreaks. In some places you can even see the orange sky and setting sun peeking through the oak leaves in the far windbreak, casting dancing little bits of light across the garden as the leaves move gently in the breeze.
I begin walking down the row, perhaps to eat a luscious white raspberry. My favorite. Or to help pick some red raspberries wearing a paint-style can tied around my waist with a rope. You should really only pick raspberries when it’s cool so they don’t fall apart because they are warm when you pull them off the vine.
I can hear the soft gentle sound of the owl. Where is it coming from? I look around. I hear a rustling in one of the nearby pine trees and look just in time to see it majestically take off to another tree–its large wings taking flight, gently gliding up and down as it heads to his new location…to spot dinner, I imagine. I stop just for that moment so as not to spook the owl, standing still as I watch it fly by.
It seems like we can never find it in the tree in which it lands. Or if we do, then it won’t stay there long. I want to observe it–to see what it does. But I get the feeling it is observing me instead.
Class begins now.
Start writing your stories…now.
On another note, as I was preparing for the History Project last night, I turned on The Da Vinci Code to listen as I worked. (I was in a Tom Hanks / Hans Zimmer kind of mood.) But I was amazed at his opening words. He said:
“A picture says a thousand words, but which words? … Understanding our past determines actively the ability to understand the present. … How do we write our own histories, personally or culturally, and thereby define ourselves?”
Wow. Those were words I needed to hear. Words we all need to hear. We need to write our stories…our histories.
We are important.
The stories–and who we are–should be remembered.
They need to be remembered.
There’s no time like the present to write about the past.
P.S. That’s my great uncle and aunt on Bondi Beach in Sydney, Australia in 1943. He built that ‘tube’ radio for her. Apparently, the first of its kind.