By Virginia Brackett
Chapter 21 challenges you to “Direct Your Curiosity,” and it prompts you to look – really look – at an object. Then you write about the object, following the authors’ guidance to “Write down one aspect of the object that jumps out at you . . . .” This is an excellent prompt for writers, whether to get your creative juices flowing or to begin an article or a poem about that object, or perhaps because you're thinking it may have a place in that mystery you're planning. I’ll use as an example one of the many artifacts I studied in order to write my family memoir that centers on my father, “In the Company of Patriots.” Because my father died in military service in Korea when I was a baby, I never knew him, and I knew the research I would do for a book could offer me insight. However, my initial plan to write a book soon overwhelmed me – a book is a huge project! I was blocked on how to even begin, so I decided to sit down and study some of the objects my mother saved from my father’s time in the Army. I wasn’t concerned about whether I would use my description in the book. Rather, I needed a way to ground myself in its subject. I selected the now-fragile goggles my father had worn as he drove a tank, an activity that brought him much attention in Korea. I’ll throw that teaser out there in hopes you’ll be curious enough to check it out! The goggles’ design held no surprises – two lenses were set inside material with a strap that stretched around his head, a simplicity of design that spoke of the past. I gently stretched the band, my fingers reminding me that this material had touched my father’s body. No doubt, a DNA analysis could be performed that would link me directly to him in a biological sense. OK – that was exciting, but I’d thought about genetic connections before. The aspect that truly interested me were the lenses. Time had darkened and cracked them into a strange pattern that I compared to an agate. I held them up to my eyes, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to see through them. I was surprised, however, to discover that the cracks rippling through the darkness allowed bits of light to penetrate. That proved to be an ah-ha moment for me as a writer. I could never see exactly what he saw, but research about his life would permit some light to shine for me, for my family. Even if I only gathered tiny slivers of perspective, I, and hopefully readers, might benefit from my work. So, choose your object – simple or complicated – and allow it to become a beginning for you.