Patchwork and Quilting - how to write a short story

Just recently I have been writing short stories (Lankaren is taking a rest) and I have realised I make stories in much the same way I make fabric art. That is, I save little scraps of this and that and look for ways they work together to create an overall "something" that is more than the sum of its parts. I suppose all art is like this - the juxtaposition of pieces that contrast and reflect on each other - creating a resonance between them that is a whole new thing.
A writing friend once described her way of writing as casting a fishing line into a pond and pulling something out which had something else tangled in it, and that something else had something else dangling off it ... in a little string of things that together made a story - not just a sequence of events, but also details that when added together give the story depth and richness and truth. So for example a character loves shoes - this fixation is both a detail of character and a device by which ideas about materialism, luxury, the Cinderella myth and even political comment (Imelda Marcos anyone?) can be explored.
I have also been reading about writing again - including Writing from the Inside Out, by Dennis Palumbo (a therapist who specialises in creative issues - only in America!) and Negotiating with the Dead by Margaret Atwood. Palumbo manages to be both encouraging ("you are enough") and depressing ("writing is hard"). Atwood is a very intelligent writer who makes me feel like an intellectual pipsqueak. she is one of the few current writers I actually admire, so perhaps this is not surprising. Her book explores issues such as "Is a writer a prophet, a high priest, or a court jester?" and "Who are we even writing for?" (ourselves, critics, the masses, etc). Heavy stuff.
Maybe I should stop reading and get writing!

History, like politics, is personal

Recently my family attended the unveiling of a plaque on my great great grandfather's previously unmarked grave.

It has long been considered among many, certainly the young I think, that history is irrelevant. Who cares about what dead people did long ago? I have the usual barrage of answers to this - those who are ignorant of history are doomed to repeat it, ideas have consequences (so we better know where they came from), our identities are rooted in the history of our culture. However, great great grandfather's ceremony has reminded me that history is personal.

You see great great grandfather's plaque was donated by the US government because he was a Civil War vet. Yes, he fought (in the navy) in the 1861-65 war when the US finally abolished slavery. He fought in the conflict that posed the greatest threat the Republic of the United States of America has ever faced and the American Government is still grateful!

The ceremony was held on July 4th, the day Americans celebrate their country, their democracy, their way of life, and it was carried out by the deputy consul of the American Consulate in Auckland, and he took the time to explain to us how important our ancestor's contribution was to the survival of his country. It was moving and revealing.

Suddenly my daughter's studies of the Civil War and black American civil rights came into clear focus for her. She has a stake in that story.

But there is more. The day was a family reunion. Great great grandfather married the grand daughter of a pre-Waitangi settler. His wife was also half Nga Puhi. His last surviving grandchild, a lady of 103, was at the reunion. She is the carrier of a sacred taonga - a name given her by her grandmother. Again, my children could see how they fit into history. They are Nga Puhi, from the Bay of Islands, and they both bear Maori names handed down as taonga.

Suddenly they understand the precious gift of heritage, of history, they can see how history has made them.

I amazes me when I see on television various celebrities researching their family histories and being surprised to find out things about their grandparents. For our family, our history goes back all the way to settlement in New Zealand. Also, of couse, there is the whakapapa that goes back to Kupe.

As settlers we grasp onto our history, we are proud. The courage and tenacity of our forebears sets us apart as a people, it is our identity. Tribal peoples also have this sense of pride in forebears, hence the whakapapa. Such tribal memory gives a people it's sense of separate identity, of being special, if you like. We settler peoples perhaps also have the same sense. I'm not enough of an anthropologist to really know. But it's kind of sad that for all but the Maori branch of my family, knowledge stops at England's sea ports.