If stories come to you, care for them. And learn to give them away where they are needed. Sometimes a person needs a story more than food to stay alive.
~ Barry Lopez
I woke before dawn, my brain doing a download of voices from some stories I've started writing again: "May Belle Rooney and the Dickman Sisters." Twyla Dickman showed up when I was writing with Cousin last week - after months of silence - no explanations, no excuses, no apologies for her long absence. This morning Dot was nattering away at me with her usual newsletter items about Labor Day activities in the mythical town of Flinton, Indiana. I could not shut her up! So I got up - after about 4 hours of sleep - brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face, poured a big mug of iced tea, and posted to my News from the Grill Facebook page.
There is a real place called The Grill in a real town in Indiana where my father lived when he retired. I love the Grill, and my stories about it come from that love. Everything else in the stories is pure fiction. But what's fiction, really? Whenever I recommit to writing (something I do pretty regularly), the voices and images surface whenever they damned well please, whether I'm holding a pen over a page or trying to sleep. How real is that!
It's Labor Day weekend and my plans here in my corner of the real world do not include pancake breakfasts, three-legged races, or Leftover Specials at the Grill. I like a quiet weekend, a peaceful weekend, and more sleep would be nice too. On the other hand, welcome back, Dickman Sisters! Where are we going next?