It's all fiction, folks!

December 17, 2022

Last weekend we survived the annual Christmas gathering of my partner's family, and it was a survival. My husband is not in good shape and his decline was never more evident than at that party. I watched him shrink right before my eyes. The noise and confusion of small children and young adults we didn't know, coupled with the fact SOMEONE (it was his sister!) invited his ex-wife (of over thirty years) to participate, sent him spiraling. Just because he added her on Facebook ten years ago doesn't mean he wants to be in the same room with her. Yes, I let her (and his sister) live. I think we've been to our last gathering at the sister's house. He physically can't take it, and his anger didn't do him any good, either. 

Writers often get asked if we include real-life scenarios in our stories. I confess little snippets have drifted into mine. Snippets. It has now occurred to me I have chapter upon chapter worth of drama to feed from should I decide to write party scenes into stories. 

My family's Christmas gathering is today. Thanks to last weekend's debacle, he's not attending even though I suspect it will be a quieter affair, and I can assure the entire population of the known galaxy my ex-spouse will not be in attendance. My family will splinter into special interest groups. Those of us in Gen 3 will congregate at the dining room table to catch up with each other and to remember Gen 1 and Gen 2. Those in Gen 4 will eat and then hustle off downstairs to the bar - the cousin (Gen 4) hosting us brews small batches of beer in his basement and the sampling will commence. The younger of Gen 5 and Gen 6 will rush to the family room to stream the Disney channel while the older of that generation hide in a bedroom playing video games. Only gaming shouting will be heard, and the occasional applause from the bar. 

So I think I have my scene. I can see it, I can plot it, I can write it. The family gathers to eat, then the generational divisions happen. Enter an ex-partner/spouse/lover. Mayhem ensues. Yeah, that will work. 

And I will deny, and never confirm, that I include family members or events in my stories. It's all fiction, folks. 

You've got to watch us writers. We view things through the lens of story. 

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 KC Kendricks
www.kckendricks.com
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KC Kendricks, Between the Keys, Christmas, family, fiction writers, fictional romance, generations, contemporary gay romance, country living, rural lifestyle, time, 

The Passing of an Era

August 4, 2012

Life is a mixed bag of events. You win some, you lose some, you cherish the good memories, and try to move on from the bad. I’ve been so very blessed in my life with good memories - so many, I’ve discovered, I don’t remember them all until reminded.

This morning, I was up and out of the house at six o’clock to meet my closest cousin to end an era in our lives. This man is more brother to me than cousin. We were raised side-by-side, our respective parents in my maternal linage being siblings, and then he and I only children. I met him on the road in front of our grandparents’ house and we shared coffee and memories.

We grew up in the modest brick house attached to an old log cabin, built by our grandfather. I lived there longer, but it hardly matters. In the late 1950’s we were all there - grandparents, parents, and two spoiled toddlers. The bond remains strong whereas all things brick and mortar are fleeting. While the brick house stood firm decades beyond the crumbling logs, Time will have her way. Her most wicked tools are not wind, water and fire, but the stubborn pride and fragility of humans in declining years.  

When our grandfather passed, the last of our first generation, all agreed my cousin should get the home place to ease the way of the fourth generations, and to place a trust for the fifth, which is growing. To build their future, our past must give way.

My cousin-brother and I reminisced for a while, and then Time demanded her due. By ten o’clock, the brick house was gone. In some small selfish way, I’m glad no future stranger will ever live there. It belonged to my grandparents, and they to it. The joy that lived in the house was Family, and I’m well content that it will always belong only to us.

As I write this, the smell of smoke lingers, but is already fading. What will never fade are the memories of life in that house, that haven a good man built for the family he cherished above all else. It was a hard decision, and my cousin-brother and I have shed tears over it, but never harsh words.

Would our grandparents be sad to see the house gone? I’m sure they would be. It was their home, where they raised their family into the third generation - my own. But now a new house will be built, almost where the old one stood. Another member of the fourth generation is about to marry and, hopefully, in due time, present us with new toddlers to play in the yard where my mother and uncle played, and where my cousin-brother and I picked dandelion blooms on bright spring days for a nickel.

And that will please the spirits of my grandparents.

KC Kendricks