Truth, White Lies, and Memories

Across the Fence #542

I recently did a day-long writing class for the Viroqua Women’s Literary Club. They’ve been in existence since 1899. That’s quite an accomplishment. I call my class “Truth, White Lies, and Memories.” I know it’s a strange title, but it sums up what reminiscence writing is all about. You rely on your memory to tell a story to the best of your recollection, and fill in the memory lapses with how you think it was, which in some cases will be little white lies.

Eleven women participated in the class. They were a wonderful group and I thoroughly enjoyed the day. Many wonderful stories were written that brought both laughter and tears to the group when they were read. Whenever I do a writing class, there are some people who don’t think they can write. I like to tell those people, “Think of yourself as a storyteller, not as a writer. Tell us a story about your life and don’t worry about grammar, punctuation, or spelling. You can work on that later during the editing process. Just, let your thoughts flow and get them on paper. Become a storyteller.

 Joanne Olson, left, and Pauline Buckland, right, were deep in thought 
and concentration when they took part in the Truth, White Lies, and Memories writing class.

As the day progressed, many stories found their way from memories to paper. People were surprised at how much they could write about a subject in a short period of time.

Everyone has stories to tell. Your memories are a history of the time period you occupied here on this earth. All your stories are important, especially to family members. What I wouldn’t give to have journals written by my parents and grandparents telling about their life, what they were doing, and what they were thinking. I love history so I’m always looking for accounts of what life was like during the time my great grandparents arrived in America and settled in the Coon Prairie and Bloomingdale area. If they had left writings behind, they would be priceless to me.

I think of my grandmother, Julia (Wang) Hanson. She was born Julie Vang in Norway. In 1900, at the young age of 13, she and her 17-year-old brother, Ole, left their home on the Vang farm near Skreia, Norway and sailed down Lake Mjøsa to Oslo, then known as Kristiania, where they boarded a ship to sail to America. They also left behind their parents and five younger siblings who would come to America three years later. What was my grandmother thinking as she left her family and everything she had known behind and set sail for a strange land across the ocean? What was that ocean voyage like? What did she think when she saw the Statue of Liberty and was processed through Ellis Island? How did they find their way to Wisconsin and Coon Prairie and reunite with three sisters who had left earlier? They had no concept of where or how far it was. They only spoke Norwegian. Remember, they were only 13 and 17 years old. Try to imagine what it must have been like for them. I have so many questions now. Why didn’t I ask them of her when she was still alive? 

Now do you see why it’s so important to write things about your life? The events may not seem that important to you now, because you’re living them. But someday, someone will be very grateful to you for providing a window into what life was like when you were here. That’s why I always tell my writing classes it’s important to write or record your memories and thoughts about things. Don’t take them to the grave with you. Our cemeteries are filled with countless untold stories.

Another thing I do in my writing class is have people write their thoughts about a subject. We want to know not only what you were doing here, but also what you were thinking. There are many things we think or believe, but don’t express our opinions about, because the subject can lead to arguments, or we’re afraid of what people will think about us. I told the class I try to stay away from political and religious subjects in my “Across the Fence” column. It’s not that I don’t have strong opinions, but it’s not what people expect to read in my column. Most people want to take a walk with me down memory lane, back to how things used to be. My stories become their stories as they remember similar experiences in their life. I have many writings that are too long, too short, too controversial, or too “far out” as John Denver used to say. They’re the type of stories my late friend, Norbert Blei, would have loved. He wrote a book titled “Meditations On A Small Lake.” It’s a compilation of essays about life, or as he called it, “A small book of beauty and bitching.”

I don’t have a small lake nearby, but we have the wide-open Coon Prairie. I’m working on a book of stories that will never appear in Across the Fence. I told the writing class I’ll call it “Meditations On the Open Prairie.” Just like the open prairie, you’ll need an open mind to read it.

I hope I inspired the ladies of the Viroqua Women’s Literary Club to keep writing. They certainly inspired me.

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