I am not much of a storyteller. In junior high, when I was doing just about every thing that a girl my age shouldn't do, my creative writing teacher gave me the highest compliment I could imagine at the time: she said I wrote like J.D. Salinger and S.E. Hinton. (She also suggested I may want to be a tad less permissive with the expletives uttered by my characters.)
You can imagine how it felt to hear that for a girl who had just learned to love The Catcher in The Rye and The Outsiders. Sort of explains my initial intention to write only as T. L. Morris, which is what I eventually had embossed in silver on my senior yearbook. I thought, like Hinton, that I could bridge a few gender chasms by not revealing my female-ness to readers. That was before I understood the income potential of bylines... (Then there's the whole point that my first name goes both ways.)
If you pay attention, you'll notice that both Salinger and Hinton focused a lot on dialogue. Their stories unfolded by what people said and did, not so much by third-person narrative. At least, that's the part of their writing that struck me back then.
It's funny, but I'm not a chatty person, in 'real' life. Not "a phone person" and not good at social gatherings unless I have a job to do. I know some folks will find that hard to believe because I've learned how to fake it pretty well. But the truth is, small talk bores me to tears and to me, it's almost all small.
Now, writing... different story. Obviously. Are your eyelids drooping yet? Not much at storytelling, but rambling on and on... I can do.
Another funny note (not "funny ha ha") is that my life has recently been inundated enhanced by friends who love stories and storytelling. Makes me feel like quite the wet rag at times.
I remember telling my creative writing teacher (Mrs. Thornton? -- see? telling stories requires memory chips I no longer have...) that I was no good at story writing. Told her that my mind just doesn't work that way. I'm too entrenched in reality to make stuff up. Ask my beleaguered parents, who probably wished I was a better liar.
That's not to say I'm more honest than the average person. I'm just not good at creating fiction. Think of it as a sensory integration issue, if that helps. Besides, I've always had me plenty of reality to write about -- never seen the point in telling someone else's tales. Whip the real events of a life with a whole lotta what people utter, blend it with some outward bound thinking and metaphor, and you've got a literary garden. In my mind.
And about those storytelling friends of mine... I may like being around 'em, but I'm not that big on listening to their stories. That may sound harsh, but think of it as ADD, if that explains it. I like their energy, I love their minds and the way they work 'em, but I'd rather sit with them quietly and listen to the birds.
I have plenty of garden to weed.
... and food to cook, like this:
Coleslaw Risotto
1/3 head of cabbage, chopped small
1 medium carrot, shredded
1/4 red onion, chopped fine
1 tsp caraway seeds
2 tbsp veg oil
1 cup arborio rice
3 cups chicken broth
In medium pot, cook cabbage, carrot, onion, and caraway seeds in veg oil until onion is clear, stirring constantly.
Add rice. Stir and cook for about 5 minutes, or until rice starts to brown. Add broth one cup at a time, stirring after each until liquid is absorbed.
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