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Early in my married life, my husband Ed asked my brother Garth why our family always exaggerated. Garth replied, "In the Pellett family, we never let the truth get in the way of a good story! When we exaggerate, it isn’t that we are lying. The basic story is true. But, we all tend to fabricate parts to make it more exciting." In Ed’s mind,
Truth, with a capital T, was sacrosanct. He loved Garth, and the rest of my family, but had little patience with the drama in our lives. I conceded to stick to the facts, and be truthful in my renditions. I sometimes wonder, however, if I would have been a better fiction writer without this inner editor. Mainly, I write personal accounts in nature, so it isn’t an issue. But when I wrote a novel, I was conscious of not allowing too much "me" escape for fear of stepping on familial toes. Pat Conroy once said all fiction is autobiographical to some extent. He is renowned for taking basic family events and turning them into horrific, yet certainly more exciting fiction.
My father was a master story-teller. With his dry wit and understated delivery, he was quite the entertainer. My mother is more flamboyant, tending to embellish the remembrance to express her viewpoint. She is always the center of the tale.
My daughter Lyric has inherited the Irish gift of gab from my family, and her creative writing skills are excellent. Recently, for an end-of-term project, she had to make a poster with clippings about herself. One paragraph had to describe someone in her family she admires. She chose my mother and said:
PATRICIA
Flamboyant. Exotic. Extravagant. Entertaining. Humorous. These are all synonyms for Patricia Pellett. She does everything her way. If you don’t like it, that is your problem. She solves her problems without dragging anyone else into it. If you are close to her, she will die for you, but you better hope you aren’t the enemy. She has her own sense of style, her own way of running things. Clothes and being noticed are her passions. She tells an excellent story, spicing up the details in her own ways. Her family and close friends are her life. She designed her own house. Created her own outfits. Traveled the world over. She does not just sit at home and bake and wear white aprons. She knows how to live her life. She is an excellent cook, a loving mother, grandmother, and mother in law. She still sees the point in life and is dating. I admire her for all of these things and more.
Lyric’s dream is to become a renowned writer, as mine once was. Her father expressed the concern that I might be jealous. I said he must not know me as well as he thinks he does. I would be ecstatic! I wonder at times if part of my purpose in life is a stage-setter, to format the environment and let the characters develop. Writing is, for me, a necessity and a passion. When I am overcome by
the earth’s beauty, or the love of my family, I must commit what I am feeling to paper. Writing for Unity has been a growth experience. Because I have a deadline and may not have an idea to write about, I tend to look inward on these occasions, instead of pontificating on the majesty of our mountains. The interior view is not always as beautiful.
Lately I have had a problem with forgiveness and judgment. A work-study at our library quit because I tried to discuss her padding her hours. She had been reprimanded before for the same problem by the librarian. She made a big deal of it, saying the librarian was wrong. When she did it again and I was in charge, I thought I could talk to her on a personal basis, and get her to change her ways. I liked the woman, and had given her various material goods to help in raising her three daughters. She refused to discuss it, and immediately quit.
The following Sunday, Chad spoke about forgiveness, and not freezing someone in the moment of your anger, only to lock them in this memory. I felt he was talking to me. I pictured her in the earlier months of our working relationship, when she seemed happy to have the job and enjoyed working with us.
On Monday, I found out she had told people she quit because I was hounding her, and implied I was a liar. I was so angry. Also, I was hurt. I had been very open and loving to this person, and considered her a friend. Now I felt betrayed. Later that day, she sauntered into the library and acted as if nothing had happened! I could barely hold my tongue and be polite.
I know she has problems. However, the knowledge did not help me with the forgiveness issue. I even began to have uncomfortable dreams about her. My mind dwelled… and wallowed. It affected my mood. My family noticed. I told Lyric, "I know I should be more forgiving, and I’m really struggling with it." Her reply, "Come on, Mom, you’re only human!"
What an interesting perspective! I realized after she said it that I do tend to react to situations with the belief that I must be "light" and do my best to maintain an enlightened persona. I was so intent on forgiveness, and my struggle with it, that I had allowed the issue more weight than was necessary. I was making myself unhappy. Perhaps forgiveness can only come with time, not instantaneously.
Since high school, I had not had to deal with perfidy in another. I realized I was gaining insight into dealing with someone who is not as they seem on the surface. This knowledge could be viewed by a writer as a lesson in characterization. Perhaps one day she will appear in a vignette of my fiction. If I can attempt to look at life as good source material, it will not have such a depleting effect when things seem bleak. And being able to regard the incident in this positive way might even help expedite the process of forgiveness.
© 1998 Gabrielle M. Thompson |
