For over a decade, one friend has been instrumental in helping me birth and develop my writing life. The funny thing is she doesn’t even know what she did for me.
And, even funnier, I didn’t know it too! At least not until this week.
Let’s call this wonderful friend YC.
Earlier this week, I was reminded about YC and her influence on me. All because of an unexpected text and call I received from her on Monday.
But before I get to that, let me first tell you about my friend YC.
It All Began With My Friend
About 13 years ago, I was transferred from one teaching department to another. I had been teaching a specific new program full-time for six years when we were told the program would have to close and relocate. Those of us teaching it were to be redistributed to other programs.
Though I was a little disappointed, I relished the opportunity to join fellow lecturers in a more established program that focused solely on communications, my favorite subject. I ended up teaching there for another six years.
But most of all, I relished the chance to work in the same department as YC.
I got to know YC when we were enrolled in the same orientation course for new staff (she joined the organization a few days after me). We clicked immediately and found we had a lot in common: our love for language and communications, our passion for teaching, and most of all, our shared love for parenthood, films, and the literary arts.
From the get-go, YC was everything I wanted in a buddy. She was smart, funny, witty, knowledgeable about literature, and an excellent listener to boot. She was empathetic and honest and spoke her mind clearly and persuasively. YC was, in short, just a great friend to hang around. She was always caring and encouraging, and happy to give of her time.
My friend YC radiated a lot of positive energy. Ironic, considering she also spent a lot of time lamenting about her challenge of being a busy wife, mother of five, and dutiful daughter-in-law to two sullen old folks back home. Yet it was this duality about her — positive energy and sullen domesticity — that made YC a gifted storyteller.
My Friend, The Gifted Story Teller
Looking back now, I realize that my friendship with YC was pivotal in shaping my current literary pursuits of blogging and writing.
Each time I hear her share the highs and lows of being in the sandwich generation — daily caring for her inlaws, husband, and five daughters while holding down a full-time teaching & management position — I find myself listening transfixed.
YC had the most amazing elephant memory. She constantly bathes her tales with exquisite details and color that just bowl me over every time. She could recall minute details about her past, especially the wonderful growing-up years with her loving father. Each time after another one of those walks down her memory lane, I am left in a daze. I find myself asking how in Heaven’s name can one person recall so much of their past, and in such vivid imageries. A past that stretches back a few decades!
I think there are several factors in YC’s favor.
Aside from having the gift of the gab and a masterful command of the language, YC is attentive to and expressive of her feelings. She is in tune with her emotions and pays close attention to everything around her. She is someone who regularly senses, sees and listens deeply. No surprise then that YC can engage an audience easily with detailed anecdotes and stories every chance she gets. Her knowledge of film theory and screenwriting also means she knows how to structure a story with the requisite peaks and troughs to engage the audience.
All these are the ingredients to communicate a good story effectively.
And why for the longest time I’ve been urging her to write a book about her life!
“Friend, You Must Write A Book!”
Which was also the substance of our recent chat on Monday.
For a few years now, I’ve been encouraging YC to write a book to chronicle the close-knit relationship she had with her beloved father, who passed away a few years ago from illness. So fervent was my desire for her to tell her tale that I even volunteered to ghostwrite for her. Audacious, given the fact that YC’s a far better writer than yours truly.
However, all her duties and responsibilities as a flag-bearing member of the sandwich generation for the past decade, have unfortunately made writing a luxury YC has no time to afford.
So while I thought it a pity, I understood and tried hard not to push for it. I went to the extent of not talking about it with her for the past couple of years as I didn’t want to pressure her.
But clearly, I had seeded the idea enough by then. For lo and behold, my dear friend finally texted me on Monday to say she “vomited” not one, not two, but three chapters of her book last week!
You can imagine my elation!!
What followed was a call to tell me why she finally took the plunge.
Father’s Day passed recently. Her father’s death anniversary too. She had finally turned another decade older this month and could start to sense the mortality clock ticking away.
“This Is What You Must Do YC: Just WRITE!”
Secretly giving thanks for all those reasons that finally kicked my dear friend’s proverbial behind hard enough to get her started, I was nonetheless more thankful that YC shared the info with me.
She told me how she spent three days and nights just snatching moments to write as the inspiration came to her. But now, she’s stuck editing relentlessly as the accomplished editor and teacher voices in her head took charge. They were making her critique her raw writings too soon and causing her to nitpick at her chapter drafts.
Listening to her share her writing woes suddenly made me think back to all those early years when we exchanged stories, and how those moments were the seeds SHE planted in me to consider writing as a lifelong pursuit. Without either of us knowing it, those years were formative and they played a huge role in turning me into the disciplined writer and blogger I am today.
So as we spoke, I did what anyone in my shoes would…
…I paid it back!
Over the phone call, I advised YC to silence those distracting voices at this early stage of her writing, and just “vomit” out her draft. The editing and refining can come later, but there will be nothing to edit or refine if there’s nothing on the pages.
I also promised her that a year from now (or sooner if she’s ready), I will check in on her progress. By then too, it’s my hope she would let me preview her writings as well.
I think it meant a lot to both of us that we could have this experience together — she sharing her burgeoning writing journey, and me returning the favor with some hard-won advice.
It felt that the tables had turned. In the past, YC had always encouraged me to write and explore my creative side. Now I was happy to offer her my advice, honed from these past few years of writing non-stop.
Such is the beauty of a writing community.
And it all began with a friend.
