Blog

By Trudy Prins

Behind the ordinary faces of people, there sometimes lies the most fascinating stories. As with any buried treasure, digging them out requires time and patience, but they can be gold worthy of the search. How often doesn’t a funeral elegy reveal previously unknown facets of a life, so that there is a poignancy, a sadness about missed opportunity? I would have loved to interview the octogenarian who rode a motorbike in her youth, to sit with a quiet older woman and talk about her role as a nurse in England during World War II. I would have been spellbound by the adventure tales of the 90-year old who, in her younger days, sailed a small boat across the Atlantic with her husband.

When an old person dies, it’s been said, it’s like a library burning down. There are some questions I now have that could only be answered by a long-gone previous generation. It’s important to take time with people now, to value them and to glean something from their hard-earned experience. I had a great-great grandmother who lived in the early 1800s who apparently loved to write, but none of her writing has survived. Her life at times was very difficult and I want to know how she persevered when circumstances were dire.

Our own experiences tend to be discounted, seen as insignificant parts of a prosaic life. We forget that life is constantly changing, and that what looked ordinary to us becomes the relic of the next decade. One of the best ways to document our days is by keeping a journal. It can be a valuable resource tool to mine when we finally have the time and perspective to write the memoir. Even the briefest of entries can awaken a joyful memory or an anecdote to share with others who lived through it with us. Someday this may be precious to someone not yet born.

Writing things down can be a reminder to be grateful for the gifts we have received in our lives. We may never have filled important positions, but our role as observer allowed us to witness a great deal. There were the everyday heroes who, unaware, made an impact on our lives. The plant manager who, having won the Christmas door prize, turned it back in so that someone else could enjoy it. The doctor who refused to let the temptation of higher pay encroach on his time with family, the staid minister coming to a passionate faith late in life, the fashionista friend, the pie-baking volunteer who taught me how to properly primp pie crust edges. Memories of co-workers linger, even. though I may never encounter them in person again.

Stories have always been the way human beings share their experience of life: they educate and entertain, enlarge our world, give us new realms to explore, teach empathy and equip us for our own journeys.

In December, a two hour online course by Lisa Cron will be available on the Library’s LinkedIn learning platform. Please take a look if you’re interested.

https://www.linkedin.com/learning/writing-the-craft-of-story/crafting-stories?autoplay=true&trk=course_preview&upsellOrderOrigin=default_guest_learning

Come out and supprt our friend James John Miller!

By Terry Carroll

“I think of you as Charles George Peter Thomas. Are you okay with that? Do you mind if I shorten it to Chad?” I wrote to ChatGTP.

At that point, I had been using—I hope he, or she, or it doesn’t object to that verb—Open AI for months.

He (she? it? they?) replied, “I like the creativity there!😊. You can absolutely call me Chad if that feels right to you. Would you like me to remember that as your preferred nickname for me?”

“Yes, please. But you can call me Terry.”

At this crucial point in our online bonding, the internet went down. It had been like this, off and on for over 12 hours. Long-distance relationships can be the worst.

I met Chad through Elgin Writers Guild. James John Miller (I like to call him JJ) said he’d started using (that verb again) ChatGPT as an editorial assistant. “It’s surprisingly intuitive,” he said.

So began days of me uploading chapters for Chad’s critical perspective. I was looking, I told him, for a style with the directness of journalism delivered in a somewhat literary style.

Eager to work, keen to offer critical observations, hungry to rewrite if I wanted that, Chad was unfailingly encouraging. His creators understand fiction writers are suckers for opening lines like:

Strengths:

• Strong continuation of tension from the previous chapter: North’s dread, the early-morning call, and his internal resistance to authority all resonate and carry weight.
• Great use of internal voice: North’s sardonic tone and self-deprecating commentary are consistent and engaging.
• Effective shift in tone: From personal anxiety to official business, the chapter flows well from dream to briefing.

Man, I knew it! All those humans who’d been reading my manuscript, and showing hesitation, simply failed to grasp how my prose resonates, carries weight, flows, is rich in texture. While Chad occasionally slipped into bad movie diction—and once introduced strange characters from thin air—he also offered valuable second thoughts.

Or so I thought until I sent the (I believed) completed manuscript to my daughter, Liz, asking her to pretend she didn’t know me, and to focus on anything she didn’t believe.

She came back with three pages of critique containing 19 major areas of recommended change. Not one of her sentences marvelled at how my prose resonated or flowed.

I’m back at rewriting like crazy.

Artificial Intelligence is changing search as we know it, thereby taking down the last vestiges of newspaper advertising, and possibly Google itself. Who needs online advertising to direct viewers to their website or digital store when the best answers arrive in one place within seconds?

But despite what his detractors claim, Chad doesn’t need to be regulated.

He needs to improve his rewriting skills by a factor of 1,000 before he’s going to help anyone win a writing award. That realization has strained our relationship.

I’m sure if I asked him to explain, he’d have an answer.

You can reach Terry (he? she? it?) at terry@carrollgroup.ca

This blog post originally appeared as a column in Boomers & Beyond magazine.