By Shelby Stephenson, NC Poet Laureate
Shelby Stephenson, North Carolina Poet Laureate, says, “There were two books in the plankhouse I was born in: the Sears-Roebuck Catalog and the Bible. My teachers were the dogs and the streams, the jumping fish in the creek, the singing trees.” His love of poetry came out of the old hymns he heard at Rehobeth Primitive Baptist Church and on the radio, particularly songs by Hank Williams. “I had no choice. My desire to write chose me. I feel better when I write, even if I throw away the writing later.”
Recently someone at a retirement home asked me, “What do you have to tell us old folks!”
I replied. “Just do it,” knowing as I spoke that the truth would prevail. She then presented me with a beautiful little book for children called Toy House at Tryon (Azalea Art Press, Southern Pines). She also illustrated the 36-page booklet – bright reds and blacks and whites and greens with snowmen, trains, rocking horses and all the conjurations of childhood that come to mind. The writer is Cos Barnes, a Southern Pines resident and grandmother to eight. She writes a column for PineStraw and book reviews for Outreach magazine.
You might object, saying, “Well, I have never published; yet here I am, feeling that I should write for my family, leaving something for them to use as they research our family. Still I cannot seem to put pen to paper.”
Wisdom, which lives in the simplest things recalled as childhood is everything… almost. So do not be afraid. Just write a sentence, any line will do: “I was born…” and go from there.
As I write that line, I think about my own life: I was born at home, in a plankhouse (three rooms and a pantry) in a time when “country” was really country. Your background, your earliest memories, may be different; yet each of us has the same desire to be counted, to leave something for others to see.
Then you might say: “How then do I get started?” My response? “Just write a sentence.” If you cannot write a second sentence, wait until the next day. Do not try for the big, all-encompassing word or phrase unless one occurs to you. Do not be reluctant to write about yourself. Every writer writes about personal things, hopefully shaping and building words as you write what others might identify with… and appreciate.
After all, the impractical thing, the word, is the calling, an openness to kindness and desire,To repeat: Start with a word or a line. Relax. The more lines you write, the closer you are to filling the page; plus, writing a little every day becomes a habit and a pleasant ritual.
Another thought: You might organize a small group of people who want to “tell their own story.” If they cannot write down those stories, why not sing them. Hum them. Draw them. Dance them with words.
What I want to say is “Don’t give up and say ‘I cannot do this.’” You will find that your desire to write will add form to your life. Your desire to put yourself in perspective will lead you. You will feel better. So will your audience and participants.
SADIE, CRICKET, & CODY
Sadie came to see us,
Shy as a stone.
he sun shone bright
Into November’s bone.
She and Cricket bonded.
Sadie tried lead;
Crick curved her tail
Like a bristling ironweed.
Cody, the pack-leader,
Pushing his act;
Snapped at children
Who lay straws on his back.
His master found someone,
Wanted Cody.
A new race, home.
He felt like he belonged.