Years ago, I worked in retail and stood on my feet all day. Now that my day job involves sitting, and my \u201cnight job\u201d (writing) also involves sitting, I\u2019m getting sludgy around the middle. Walking outside is more fun than the cardio equipment at the gym, but weather gods don\u2019t always cooperate with my\u00a0 schedule. Hence, I\u2019m shopping for a treadmill.<\/p>\n
I expected my Saturday mall excursion to be fairly point-and-click: go to the store, try out a few different models, bring one home. But that isn\u2019t what happened. Of the two shops we visited, neither had the version we wanted in stock, and we came home empty-handed. (sigh)<\/p>\n
But wait. The trip was not wasted.<\/p>\n
While at one of the department stores, we met a man named Freddy. He\u2019s originally from Rwanda, but during the awful revolution there, his family fled the Hutu\u2019s genocide against the Tutsi people. Freddy, a Tutsi, grew up in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and, at age 22, emigrated to Southern California to complete his schooling. He\u2019s been in the U.S. ever since.<\/p>\n
He told us how he taught himself English (through music videos and the BBC broadcasts) and how, when he first came here, an African American male spoke to him using common (at the time) cultural slang; Freddy turned the words over and around in his head, comparing them to his limited English vocabulary and finally, clueless as to what the man meant, nodded and smiled.<\/p>\n
His recount made me chuckle. I\u2019ve had similar experiences where English-speaking people used unfamiliar dialects to say things for which I had no frame of reference. Their meaning was lost on me, thus the effort to communicate failed, sort of like when I first went to the Midwest from the Deep South. Friends told me later that year that my Southern drawl was so thick they thought I was faking it.<\/p>\n
Isn\u2019t that like writing? Whether I am penning a tale to a young audience, a cultural group, a casual reader, or a group of intellectuals, I need to speak the appropriate language\u2014including slang, terminology, similes, etc.\u2014or the point of my story is lost. In part, that\u2019s what agents and workshop facilitators mean when they say we need to target our stories to our intended markets. But it isn\u2019t only what we say; it\u2019s also how we say it. If I\u2019m going for a gritty style, I don\u2019t want to \u201cpretty up\u201d the narrative. If my protagonist is a street person, I don\u2019t want them to use perfect grammar and diction. Conversely, if my character is a university professor, they should not use words like \u201cain\u2019t\u201d or \u201cirregardless.\u201d<\/p>\n
But my conversation with Freddy gave me more than just an analogy for effective communication.<\/p>\n
During our conversation, I listened more than I talked. Freddy\u2019s many experiences offered a rich source of fodder for story ideas. He\u2019s a tall man\u2014maybe 6\u20192\u201d or so\u2014with dark, dark skin, long fingers and a contagious smile. He\u2019s also quite lean, which he said is typical for his people. He has seen a lot of life, the good and the bad, and has come out on this side of his history with grace and balance. The same can\u2019t be said for everyone who escaped such violence. We spoke for maybe 45 minutes and even though he told me a great deal in a short time, a whole lifetime of his experiences are now left to my imagination. What sorts of thoughts and fears and feelings might young Freddy have felt when his family was on the run? What was it like to go to not just one new country, but two, where he knew little about the language and customs? What sorts of political leanings would such a life provoke in him? What did he lose that he wishes he\u2019d kept? What did he pick up that he wishes he\u2019d left behind?<\/p>\n
The possibilities are endless. Who knows? Maybe Freddy will turn up in one of my future tales.<\/p>\n
My point is this: All sorts of encounters can feed my stories. Sometimes I have to turn an experience around a bit in the light of retrospection so I can see it better, or chew on it a while to get to the juice (you know what I mean), but I can find a story seed or a relevant connection to my passion for writing in almost anything.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ll be thinking on Freddy\u2019s stories in the weeks to come. Some of what he told us raised my hair on end (I know, scary, right?). Other bits I found touching, or inspiriing. But a connection was made between two human beings, and whether or not I ever see Freddy again, I\u2019ll remember our meeting for a long time.<\/p>\n
I went to the mall for a treadmill. I came home germinating new seeds for thought. Nothing is ever wasted.<\/p>\n
Thanks, Freddy.<\/p>\n<\/body>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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