Tell Me Everything
One my desk sits a picture of my Grandma Irene in a Mets T-shirt. She's a frail-looking 80ish, give or take, and her Mets--HER Mets--were her life. Keith Hernandez was her personal dreamboat.
I was at Game 7 when the Mets won the World Series. I took the train out to Shea, and rode the train afterwards. Rather than get off at my stop, I ended up getting out in Times Square. If I recall correctly, I think I danced in the street with a cabbie from Turkey. New York City was delirious with joy.
The next day, I went to visit my grandmother. She opened the door to her apartment, dragged me by the hand, sat me down at her kitchen table and said, "TELL ME EVERYTHING."
To be sure, she watched the game. Just as she faithfully watched every game on TV. But she was looking for something MORE. So I started with how I got the tickets (an unusual story that I will spare you all the details, involving scalped tickets, a pair of illegally bought sneakers, and other assorted insanity). Next there was the fact that I spent my LAST DIME on the tickets and was literally, in my pathetic little apartment at the time, scraping together quarters for train fare. I moved along to the train ride (drunken Mets fans). Banging on the train walls and doors . . . the noise, the anticipation. The sheer tremor that ran through the fans.
Next, arriving at Shea. The weather. The seats. The BOSTON fans (boo, hiss) who sat next to me and taunted me the whole time. The fights in the stands. The smell of pretzels and beer. All of it. BEING there when they won. The pile-up on the field (THE JOY!). The train ride home. Kissing total strangers. Dancing in Time Square. Everything.
She wasn't in a rush. In detail, the story from beginning to end takes a solid two hours. Minimum. One baseball fan to the other.
I remember that when I write. Because I think, if you do it well, when you tell your story, your reader should live vicariously through the characters. By the time I went to Game 7 of the Series, there was no way my grandma could have gone. She was too frail (open heart surgery), too fragile. Too old. In her heart, she had all the enthusiam. She loved Keith Hernandez like a high school girl with a crush. But she couldn't have been there. So she got to go through me.
THAT'S what writing a story is like.
Tell me everything.
Thoughts?
I was at Game 7 when the Mets won the World Series. I took the train out to Shea, and rode the train afterwards. Rather than get off at my stop, I ended up getting out in Times Square. If I recall correctly, I think I danced in the street with a cabbie from Turkey. New York City was delirious with joy.
The next day, I went to visit my grandmother. She opened the door to her apartment, dragged me by the hand, sat me down at her kitchen table and said, "TELL ME EVERYTHING."
To be sure, she watched the game. Just as she faithfully watched every game on TV. But she was looking for something MORE. So I started with how I got the tickets (an unusual story that I will spare you all the details, involving scalped tickets, a pair of illegally bought sneakers, and other assorted insanity). Next there was the fact that I spent my LAST DIME on the tickets and was literally, in my pathetic little apartment at the time, scraping together quarters for train fare. I moved along to the train ride (drunken Mets fans). Banging on the train walls and doors . . . the noise, the anticipation. The sheer tremor that ran through the fans.
Next, arriving at Shea. The weather. The seats. The BOSTON fans (boo, hiss) who sat next to me and taunted me the whole time. The fights in the stands. The smell of pretzels and beer. All of it. BEING there when they won. The pile-up on the field (THE JOY!). The train ride home. Kissing total strangers. Dancing in Time Square. Everything.
She wasn't in a rush. In detail, the story from beginning to end takes a solid two hours. Minimum. One baseball fan to the other.
I remember that when I write. Because I think, if you do it well, when you tell your story, your reader should live vicariously through the characters. By the time I went to Game 7 of the Series, there was no way my grandma could have gone. She was too frail (open heart surgery), too fragile. Too old. In her heart, she had all the enthusiam. She loved Keith Hernandez like a high school girl with a crush. But she couldn't have been there. So she got to go through me.
THAT'S what writing a story is like.
Tell me everything.
Thoughts?
Labels: baseball, grandma, storytelling
posted by Erica Orloff at 12:23 PM
21 Comments:
Just drove by Shea twice this week. What do you think of the new stadium?
Powerful, Erica!! Reading this post, I was there with you and your grandma. You are an amazing writer, no doubt.
The "tell me everything," is what I experience writing. I'm with the characters, peeking in those open windows, feeling their energy. My experience is basically a story inside the story. Wouldn't trade it for anything!
Well . . . I am actually a Yankees fan. But I loved my grandmother enough that I rooted with her.
I don't know . . . like a lot of New Yorkers, we're used to the crappy old stuff. Shea SURELY wasn't the best neighborhood. Neither is going to Yanks stadium. But you get used to it . . . it's sort of part of the experience.
E
Hi Ladonna:
I hear you . . . it's definitely living vicariously through some kind of window when I write. I think that's why, honestly, I do sometimes find myself in a darker place when I write . . . because I get very wrapped up in the other world. Then you have to make sure you let go.
E
Your Grandmother reminds me of a Cubs fan... a specific one, actually... if you watch the games religiously, you'll notice an elderly woman with curly red hair fluffed out from underneath her red and blue knitted cap... cubby blue to be sure.
They catch her on the television every few games. She was at game six and game seven against the Marlins in 2003 when we played them for the National League Championship... they panned on her for a full five minutes when we lost game seven, with tears streaming down her face as she held a sign thanking her beloved cubbies for the wonderful ride...
I hope to hell she gets to see them make it to the dance before it's too late. My dad got to catch them make it in 45, just home from the war, but he never saw them win it... I'm an avid fan because I enjoy it, but also because it's a link to my father and grandfather, something I share with them... and when we get there, the victory beer will be with them in mind.
Aww, Merry . . . thanks for sharing.
Every time the Mets do all right, I think it's her up in heaven pulling a few strings or whispering in the first-base coach's ear or something. ;-)
E
I think it's safe to say that every story I write is one I'm dying to tell.
Okay, now that I've got that business out of the way:
GO CUBS! PLEASE DEAR GOD! JUST ONCE! I WON'T EVER ASK FOR ANYTHING AGAIN, I PROMISE! I'LL SHAVE MY HEAD, JOIN A MONASTERY, AND EVEN BE NICE TO REPUBLICANS!
Stephen:
Oh, you asked for it, Bub. You KNOW you will now have to shave your head. You put it "out there" in the universe. There's written evidence.
E
Great story and analogy.
My problem is a writer is that I know and want to show so much more of my characters world than will ever fit in a novel. Sometimes I feel like I am doing an inadequate job because I have no effective way to reveal all.
Hi Travis:
I always worry I am going to bore the heck out of my readers. That's where my critique group has helped me--and my editors. Letting me know what's "too much" and where I haven't shown enough.
E
Totally! The best writers make every moment and sensation come alive, so that you feel like you're there. Then it's not like you're reading it, but living it.
Beautiful story. Me? 1969 Mets in my little Mets uniform. Priceless.
Love the vicarious living through the words in a book. I do that when I read and when I write.
I want to be so many things in life and I can be through books.
I don't tell everything, 'cause that would be boring. You have to have a special audience for the "everything" stories. You had the special audience in your Grandma, Erica.
As I read your blog, I could see your Grandma in my mind. Her eyes are wide as she listens to your account. She's focusing on every word you say, living the game through you.
What a great image! This story touched me.
Hi Spy:
That's exactly what I was trying to get across.
:-)
E
Sarah:
I bet you were adorable!
E
Edie:
Everything, to me, isn't . . . well, every boring detail in a book. To me, it's that vicarious living aspect.
Glad you liked the story. :-)
E
Keith Hernandez always reminds me of that "magic loogie" episode on Seinfeld. :)
Very cool that you and your grandmother were close and shared a love of baseball.
Jude:
Loved that episode. LOL!
E
What a beautiful story. Sometimes reliving for someone who's just as excited as we are is almost as good as going through the experience the first time, isn't it?
caryn:
Absolutely!!! It was that much more fun knowing what a kick she got out of it.
E
Fellow Cubs fan here. Merry, I know the lady you're talking about and I remember them focusing on her during those games. I watched Game 6 at a bar across the street from Wrigley and what stands out for me was the crowd on the hunt for Bartman. Crowd mentality is scary!
Great post Erica!
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