I was taking Ruby on a brisk walk the other day when an old man in my neighborhood called my name from his front door. Most of the houses in my neighborhood were built in the late 1950s, and there lots of delightful old-timers (many of whom are the original owners of these homes) who are prone to stop you on walks to discuss the neighbors, the history of your house, or the state of their vegetable gardens—and they'll often insist you take home a zucchini or two. But this time there was something much better than a squash in store for me.
"I know you're a writer," Keith Cooper said as he hustled to grab something from his car, "I want to show you my book." He had just returned from the printer with a hundred or so copies of his 3-pound hardback book. It's 630 pages long, it took him 30 years to write, and it contains his entire life history and everything he knows about his grandparents and other Coopers who have gone before. "I'm a story writer," he said, showing me how the book is arranged into short chapters and personal essays, with titles like "Hard Times Without Realizing It (1932–1950)," "A Perilous Moment in Time," and "Raspberries by the Quart: Mother's Work Ethic Postured." He self-published the book through a local genealogy center, and had enough copies printed to distribute to his children and grandchildren. He handed me a CD of the entire book and asked me to give it a look and share my opinion.
We chatted for a few minutes and he walked me inside to show me two bookshelves full of chronological, hand-written journals that were labeled, dated, and numbered. There were upwards of 40 volumes—all the same size, all labeled exactly the same way. I found myself briefly embarrassed of the mismatched pile of journals that I call my life history, but then I realized there's plenty of time to get my books organized down the road. And if for some reason there's not plenty of time, at least I'm making an effort now, and that's got to count for something.
Lessons to Learn
I think there are several lessons to be learned from Keith Cooper's self-published book:
1. You do not have to be a professional writer to tell your life story. Mr. Cooper calls himself a "self-styled writer." According to his book's introduction, he's also a "family man, servant of the Lord, educator, photographer, archivist, gardener, horseman, and outdoorsman—a man with many and varied interests."
2. Include lists and timelines to save you time. Mr. Cooper's book includes lists like "Statistical and Significant Date Timeline for Vivean Keith Cooper," "Places JoAnne and I Have Lived," a shopping list he found of his grandfather's (circa 1890), and a list of 48 songs his mother wanted him and JoAnne to remember and sing.
3. Write in chunks. You do not have to write your life story all at once, and you do not have to write it in long, rambling chapters, memoir-style. If it takes 30 years, it takes 30 years. Think thematically. Write about small episodes of your life, include short anecdotes, and string them all together, separated by themed headings.
4. Back up your work. Mr. Cooper showed me the elaborate system of external hard drives he used to back up his work-in-progress in triplicate (or more). If this 77-year-old man can figure out how to back up his hard drive, you can too.
5. Trust that your story is worth telling. "My life remains of little consequence when compared to others of my time, very ordinary. Yet to see my experiences officially in print seems to make the common appear a bit uncommon. So all considered, if there is anything in my life which places me apart from others, it is the fact that I have painstakingly recorded my ordinary experiences that they may be preserved for all time to come, before my life flickers out." ~Keith Cooper
6. Remember that it's never too late to start. Mr. Cooper started writing his life history in 1972 at the age of 40.
"To be rooted is perhaps the most important
and least recognized need for the human soul."
~Simone Weil
(quote found in the preface to Keith Cooper's book)
An Excerpt:
Hard Times Without Realizing It (1932–1950)
Written January 10, 1978
"From the moment of my birth November 26, 1932, until December 16, 1950 our home was a humble, unpainted, wood structure in Genola, Utah. My earliest recollection was of a wooden three-room abode, with a large porch on the southwest corner. Mom and Dad's bedroom was on the northeast with the kids adjoining to the west through a door. Our living room was on the southeast facing the front yard. Eventually Dad built a large kitchen on the southwest where the porch had been. The front entrance, which was seldom used, was into our living room, the back exit, out of the kitchen. Here there was a small porch for storing items like camping gear. Later Mother kept her gasoline-powered washing machine and dirty clothes there.
The kid's bedroom sported a small closet measuring about three by five feet, the only one in the home. Nicer clothing for the entire family was kept there because it was the only closet in the house. Along the east wall of this bedroom was a row of large nails pounded into a two-by-four mounted on the wall. All of our excess clothing and coats were hung there several on each nail. A chest of drawers stood against the south wall. It contained our smaller items of clothing like shirts, socks, and underwear. Two children shared each small drawer.
Two full sized beds were constantly maintained in this room with two children sleeping in each, sometimes three. The youngest slept in our parent’s room until old enough to compete with siblings for room and covers.
On a selected fall day soon after thrashing, mother would take the straw tick off the boy’s bed, beckon all the children and head for the straw stack. It was time to discard the old straw and replace it with new. Only the long stems of straw could be used because the chaff would have stuck through the lining causing no end of discomfort for those who slept there on. It was an extended process of selecting and replacing with new straw. When finally full, the tick was carried from the stack to the bedroom by all helpers and tenderly placed back on the bed for another year. In a week or so the new straw would matte. Part of the bed making process then became the fluffing of the long stems back into an even bed.
This practice was only used during the nineteen thirties and early nineteen forties. However, these years did amount to most of my nineteen years living at home. Later we enjoyed a four-inch springless mattress in the comfort of a new home."
~Vivean Keith Cooper
