This is what happened when This is how it happended . . .

Hi Ginny,

I actually did take a short walk after we exchanged our Sunday email.

I got a few shots of some leaves floating on the surface of a still

pond, which might be worthy of enlarging some day. Today, I’m

enjoying the peace and quiet after a three day nature/science

overnight with 71 fifth graders, bad food, and moldy cabins.

You’ve outdone yourself again. Your essay is ready for publication.

The opening paragraph of “This is What Happened” got better and

better after I read it a few times. At first I didn’t think it was

strong enough to open an essay, but then I thought about it for a

while, and remembered how hard it is to think of our parents as

children or teenagers. Thus, the opening scene puts us in a mildly

uncomfortable place, momentarily, and that is a good thing. And this,

of course, gets worse where David is stuck in the laundry shoot.

(Seeing how I am mildly claustrophobic, this gave me the shudders…)

You then break the tension with the white space and discuss the

relationship between family antics and storytelling. The next part,

the hysterically funny ransacked apartment, seems to interrupt the

lecture-like format the reader was just getting used to. What would

happen if you kept this part connected to the family antics section

above as demonstration of how stories continued in your generation?

It’s only a thought, because the essay works fine in the order you

have these sections.

Notice how your story unfolds geographically and then comes home

again. First the memories of your father, then your generation and

then the wide world of the storytelling festival. Nevertheless, you

don’t let us readers off too easily. You keep up the tension with

your thinking about the lack of intimacy and the well-rehearsed

performances of the culturally diverse storytellers. (Thank you for

avoiding any hints of patronizing!) The icing on the cake here, is

the fact that the terrific storyteller, drive-in guy, is named Davis.

This magically hearkens back to your father David (just one letter

away), and the circle is going around again, not letting the reader

forget how the essay began. We are no longer uneasy at the distance

among the cultures of the previous ruminations. We’re back to the

familiar. Okay, the essay is culturally biased some would say, but we

white folk have a culture too, which we need to celebrate. The

intimacy of you and your husband under the stars is a great way to

finish off the final thoughts. If you wanted to truly come full

circle, some other anecdote about your father and the milk scene

might be a nice way to tie up the end.

It’s obvious that you have a strength when it comes to understanding

the intricacies and beauty of local folk culture, and I believe this

was one of your goals. You have come a long way since the early dance

piece, and what a journey this has been. I am looking forward to your

next submission already. Anything interesting in the way of food down

there?

I now have to prepare a poetry workshop for my faculty’s professional

development as part of our year-long look at writing genres. With

your permission, I’d like to share this latest essay with them when

we discuss memoir writing later on in the year.

/David R.










So, This is what happened when I sent “This is What Happened” in to be assessed.Yippee.

Ya know, I will be out of school in June, and then I plan to turn all my attentions to doing something 
with my writing aspirations. I am looking forward to returning to writing what I love with more skill and
the dash of confidence I need to tackle the obstacles awaiting me.(Yes, I want to return to writing historicals 
that make you laugh and sigh – so shoot me, I appreciate literary work, but I don’t need all that painful 
reality bogging down my stories. I am a romantic at heart and I aim to celebrate it with my own unique 
messages to the world.) 
I will take you along on the journey, of course.





Now, I am thinking about the next assignment. David asked about food. Is he kidding? Like I couldn’t write about 
food with both hands tied behind my back, hanging upside down and with a fork pointed at my throat. 
Ha. Food and I have been lovers a long time. I will kiss and tell, if that will make a good essay.