Writing Begins with Story Telling.

For some reason I can not fathom, the written word eluded me during my formal education. Writing was a chore, but only next to reading. What interested me were the stories told to me by relatives, teachers, and especially those with a gift of gab who could command an audience and create a special moment in time. It happened a lot back then when cell phones were not even in one's imagination and cradled home phones were Bakelite black and shared by several parties.

My Intermediate school teachers were great storytellers, but maybe not great writers. It was enough that my favorite teachers were often the best storytellers. They had something to share not found in any readers or books used in class. Somehow the stories in print just did not resonate with me, but tales from the lips of my teachers held great appeal. However, to the credit of my many great teachers, what they may have omitted in way of teaching me how to write, they did what all great teachers do. They told us stories with moral values, of local folklore and culture, of history as they knew it through their lives and that of their parents. Their stories were real, heart lifting, spellbinding and most of all adventurous.

Being a multicultural territory, Hawaii before statehood meant your teachers were Chinese, Hawaiian, Japanese, Portuguese, Filipino, Caucasian or any combination of Scottish-Hawaiian, Hawaiian-Chinese, Portuguese from the Azores, Filipino from Ilocos Norte or Sul, Japanese from Hiroshima or Caucasians with names like Kruise, Hooley, McWayne or Flood. Their stories were globally laced with spices and herbs from the land of their ancestors. Where else in primary and intermediate school would your teachers sing in Hawaiian while playing a ukulele; regale us with stories about buying crack seed from a Chinese seed shop for 5 cents; take the swim team camping on the secluded beaches of Olowalu where we would play ukulele and sing Hawaiian songs and listen to stories of ancient Hawaiian legends. By doing this, they shared with us their love for this island we called, Maui.

This collective cultural immersion set a foundation of experiences through the spoken word. For me, it would just be a matter of time before it would make its way into print.

Our teachers may not have taught us how to write, but they laid the foundation for future storytelling through writing. It's just that I hadn't started to pen those golden moments onto a blank sheet of paper...that would come years later on another island off the Southern Coast of Guatemala.

As I have often said, my earliest teacher was my grandmother who left a legacy of a life rich in loving memories. There were lessons on the love and preparation of a home-cooked meal; of saying thank you and please to all; of learning to have a balance in all matters of life; and the greatest lesson of all, to value a good heart and to treat everyone with respect.

I learned to write in my junior year when I transferred to the State College of Iowa in Cedar Falls. "Mr. H. You will be in English X." Nothing more was said to me at registration, but English X sounded ominous.

Writing to me had no connection to what I saw in my mind's eye. It was a Helen Keller moment when I realized that there was a connection between the written word and my imagination.

In my mind, I thought of a particular sunset of one late afternoon on the South Shore of Kihei,
Maui.

"A slight breeze with a scent of fresh seaweed in the air and a sky
turning crimson with golden puffs of silver lined clouds hovering above
the horizon was a curtain call to dusk. The sea was coming to rest as it
put away its white caps and donned a blanket of calmness. Another
promising night filled with stars from the Milky Way unobstructed by
artificial light was beginning to reveal all its glory."

 

On paper, I wrote: "It was a beautiful sunset."

I thought my five word sentence conveyed what my senses revealed. I had not made that connection between imagination and the printed word. I had forgotten the daily examples of that connection that my storytelling teachers had made. Imagery, life experiences, multiple sensors, curiosity, and wonder were somehow neglected until as if by spontaneity the dots began to be connected.

 

What a glorious moment it was and it was only twenty-one years in the making.

That's Earle, brother
State College of Iowa
Cedar Falls, Iowa