The Things We Carry

lending weight to our stories

“They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried.” ~Tim O’Brien, The Things They Carried

I’m sending special love to my friends in Southern California, who are experiencing the trauma of the fires there. What a horror to watch this unfold. It’s hard to wrap my head around so much suffering and loss. If you or your loved ones are in the midst of this, you have my heart. If you wish to help out, Greater Good is a charity that is mobilizing essentials for people and pets in need.

Today’s post goes out to all subscribers and let me thank you all, again, for your ongoing engagement and support. Also, though this is a newsletter on the art and craft of writing flash fiction, I totally agree with what poet Todd Dillard said on Bluesky:

I read The Things They Carried years ago, and am now listening to it on Audible. It’s narrated nicely by Bryan Cranston. If you haven’t read it, the book is a collection of connected short stories based on O’Brien’s experiences in the Vietnam War. The title story is extraordinary, as is the whole collection.

It’s gotten me thinking of “things” in general, the accumulation of stuff throughout our lives. I mean, a lot of it is just junk, but there are things, both abstract and concrete, that hold a lot of meaning for us. Things we can and should tap into for writing.

Here at Kerouac House, I discovered the old Royal typewriter you see above, in “Jack’s room,” the small bedroom at the back of the house (I think it’s haunted but that’s a story for another day). I think it may be the exact model my grandparents gave me, used, when I was eight years old. They expected me to use it to write letters to them, and I did, along with letters to my two older brothers: Steve, who’d gone off to Georgia Tech on a wrestling scholarship, and Tom, who was at the Air Force Academy in Colorado. I threw myself into the task, plunking away with my two index fingers, trying to be newsy and entertaining. My brothers, to their credit, actually took the time to write me back. Sadly, I no longer have the typewriter, but it has always symbolized for me the birth of my love for writing.

THE THINGS WE CARRY

The abstract things we carry:

• Emotional baggage

• Memories

• Regrets

• Losses (abstractly: loss of confidence, loss of connection, loss of love, etc.)

• Artifacts of our lives or our parents’ or grandparents’ lives (generational trauma, accents, traditions, fears, prejudices)

• The weight of the world (thanks,

  Professor Mus
  )

• The broken things we keep meaning to fix.

The concrete things we carry (consider the metaphors):

• Our dumb phones

• Good luck charms / totems / rosaries

• Status symbols

• Babies / toddlers / children / the frail elderly

• Physical baggage / purses / luggage / laptop bags

• Artifacts of our lives or our parents’ or grandparents’ lives (that vase, those Christmas ornaments, all the photographs, trophies, mementos)

• Letters (“First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha, a junior at Mount Sebastian College in New Jersey.” ~The Things They Carried)

• The broken things we keep meaning to fix.

These “things” accumulate meaning and significance, weight and substance. Do some of these work as metaphors? How can you use these “things” to enhance emotion in your flash fiction?

YOUR PROMPT

“What sticks to memory, often, are those odd little fragments that have no beginning and no end...” ~Tim O’Brien, The Things They Carried

Whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed by the world at large or my own world, and I can’t write, I remind myself to get back to the basics. I remind myself that the “stuff” of my life is important to share, in fiction or memoir. That I still have something to say.

So today, let’s recall the things we carry, both the abstract and the tangible. Ask yourself:

• What do I carry in my body?

• What do I carry in my mind?

• What do I carry in my heart?

• What do I carry in my purse? My pockets?

• What have I carried in my past?

• What do I carry for good luck? For emergencies?

• What do I carry that weighs me down?

• Whom have I carried? (here, you may interpret the idea of carrying however you like). Who has carried me? I’m thinking of the The Hollies’, He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother:

  The road is long
  With many a winding turn
  That leads us to who knows where, who knows where
  But I'm strong
  Strong enough to carry him
  He ain't heavy, he's my brother

• What do I carry now that was handed off to me by my parents or grandparents?

Now, for each day of the coming week, pick one of these “things” and write a short paragraph about it. Convey in each piece a sense of “carrying” whether actual, physical carrying or some form of metaphorical carrying. Don’t worry about writing a story—you’re just gathering—but should a story spring from this prompt organically, wonderful!

So much of writing is going back to get what we need. Or to gain understanding. Or, as Amy Hempel said, “to solve being alive.” Tap into these emotions. Mine their richness and complexity. Be specific. Make meaning from all the things you carry.

He’s everywhere…

A NOTE OF THANKS

A few of you, knowing I was going to be in residence at Kerouac House for many weeks, sent me encouraging notes and care packages, beautiful pens, notebooks, bookmarks, note cards, even some lovely shirts to wear for the warm Florida weather. Thanks so much, friends. You know who you are. I feel very loved. I’d also be remiss not to mention the Kerouac Project board of directors and their generous support of my work. Everyone here has been very welcoming and kind. What an opportunity. I am beyond grateful.

Thanks for reading, friends. Take good care of yourselves.

Love & Peace,

Kathy