When I tell people my father was a journalist, they automatically assume that's why I'm a writer. That is most likely half the truth. Dad wrote articles for the Jersey Journal for forty years. He was very much concerned about libel and slander. Current events were part of every dinner table discussion when I was growing up. Dad loved to talk politics.
However, my mother was more of a storyteller than Dad. In fact, everyone in her family could spin ordinary events into something far more interesting with outrageous embellishments. Their delivery had me hanging on every word.
The photo above shows my maternal grandparents and their bridal party. My grandparents are in the center of this photo. I am not sure about the other people in the picture. I assume most of them are my grandmother's siblings but I can't pick out who is who. Though I'm guessing that's Aunt Honey on the right.
Grandma was the oldest child in her family and had many younger siblings. Grandma came to this country at the age of three, in 1903, with her parents.
My grandparents had seven children of their own, two daughters and five brothers. My mom was the second oldest--and had an anecdote for everything. My grandma could spin a fine yarn, too. In fact, ALL of grandma's seven children had a knack for making any incident seem like a grand adventure.
I spent a lot of time listening to all of them--and enjoying their tales. So, when it comes to influence in wrting, I give them quite a bit of credit.
Last week, my oldest daughter sent an article to me about children’s imaginary friends. She thought I still had imaginary friends. The truth is that I don’t have imaginary friends. I have a lifetime of stories handed to me by all my entertaining relatives. I’m just writing them down with several embellishments to make them more fascinating, of course.
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