I used to wonder who lives where I used to live. Since my addresses have been somewhat scattered, there’s little chance to drive by the homes of my memory to see if they’re still there, if they’ve grown smaller than I recall, or if there’s a bike in the drive and a swing on the porch.
Some people I know not only drive by, they stop and ring the doorbell and say, “Good afternoon, I used to live here.” Even though I’m a Leo, I don’t have the gumption for doing that. While my friends are often given tours and lemonade, I’d probably get a puzzled “So what?” or “Who cares?” if I stopped to shoot the breeze and possibly a few pictures.
If I lived in Illinois, I would drive past the house pictured here where my mother’s parents lived when I was born. Old photograph albums contain black and white pictures of me as a toddler on this porch with numerous people, chairs, and toys. No doubt, the house is smaller than my memory recalls.
Decatur and this house on Wood Street contain many of my earliest memories and many of them have morphed into the memories of my fictional characters. Robert Adams in my novel “The Sun Singer” lives in this house and he knows the people up and down the street and how long it takes to ride a bike from the front door to Fairview Park.
In a novel-in-progress, my protagonist David Ward lives just around the corner in an apartment where my grandparents lived when I was in junior high school. Like Robert, David knows the neighborhood well.
Truth be told, their fictional memories have, over time, replaced my own memories and have become much more real to me. Such is the way a writer’s mind works. We start with what we know and build it into something quite different in our stories. I don’t have to stop at either house and ask who lives there, for I already know: Robert Adams lives on West Wood Street and he has an aquarium with a large angel fish back in his bedroom. David Ward lives on Edward Street and his personal computer is sitting on the dining room table where I ate many meals when I was young; if I were to look closely at the screen of that computer, I would see that David is writing a short story about his neighborhood, a real location I haven’t seen for over forty years that lives on in the thoughts and deeds of my characters.
Robert’s and David’s memories are now more powerful than mine, for I’ve enhanced them, visualized them, interacted with them, and put them down on paper they have in many ways taken on lives of their own outside my consciousness. Frankly, I’m happy with the people who live in these old homes because I put them there.
–
Copyright (c) 2009 by Malcolm R. Campbell, author of “Jock Stewart and the Missing Sea of Fire.”
Malcolm's Round Table 
My fictional memories are more real and immediate, too. More than once they’ve made a liar of me.
My sister lives in Champagne, IL and your house would fit right in with hers.
Yes, there is a “danger” when it comes to tinkering with old memories. Suddenly, you’re talking about stuff that didn’t happen in “real life” as though it did. My family also lived in Paxton and Champagne and other places around the state. Goodness knows how I’ve altered those towns as well.
Malcolm
Malcolm, you captured the essence of what character development is all about. They are not just our creations, but a part of us. Or more likely, we are them.
I took my daughter to the mountain where my book, Keechie, was set. The rock I was sitting on was in reality an old Indian ceremonial ground and beneath it was where I fictionalized their burial ground.
Without thinking, I said to her, “And you know… Keechie is buried right down there.”
“Oh, Dad, it’s just a story.”
But to me it is real. I loved that old woman that I wish I had met in real life. Keechie (and a part of me) is buried with her ancestors in that very spot for I put her there, along with her drum, her pipe and the golden corn pollen that she honored.
So many bits and pieces of my life end up in my stories, usually well disguised and often in very different contexts than actually happened.
I know what you mean exactly when you said “Keechie is buried right down there.” Perhaps, in another reality, that fact is exactly true. But putting aside such notions, it’s very true in your fictional world, a world that draws energy from your life, your experiences, and the places you love.
Great story, Phil!
Malcolm
I was astounded by that photo because that’s almost exactly how I pictured the home of Robert Adams and the image I had of it was quite distinct and detailed. Incredible!
By coincidence, a week ago when I visited Missoula with my oldest daughter, I drove by the house in which I grew up. It has changed only slightly since those days (except that it seems so much smaller now).
You’re doing a good job of visualizing, Montucky. Those trips to Missoula give you a chance to see how the house and neighborhood have changed–perhaps, too, a school and a burger joint.
Malcolm
Yes — “We start with what we know and build it into something quite different in our stories.” I suspect non-writers don’t really understand how this works, and if they share our pasts, may feel that we’ve lied or distorted or somehow done a disservice to their own memories. At least, I feel at risk of this in my new collection of stories, so I’ve given family members a little speech about how, as events/memories get fictionalized, they are no longer “mine” but belong to the characters… but I doubt my warning will carry much weight as they read. The consequences have yet to be revealed….
Brent, I think the notion that writers don’t control their characters is a difficult one for those who read our work. By the time we’re talking about fictionalized versions of past experiences, past addresses and former jobs that are NOT the same as “what really happened,” we probably look like we’re into the smoke-and-mirrors zone. You were probably wise to warn your family that once the story is underway, it’s not a diary or a photograph.
Malcolm
interesting! I have heard that the more we replay our memories, that is the way we remember them, as opposed to how things really happened. I guess that is how it would be for a writer using these things as a springboard!
I do drive by my old houses from time to time…I am not exactly sure why. One, I know, is because I want my kids to see where they used to live and it’s interesting to see how their perception of the place changes as they grow, as you allude to in this post.
this was an interesting post.
Silken,
I’m not surprised at the idea that memories become engraved in stone the more we replay them. If only we could play a Star Trek-like tape of things from years ago–how surprised we might be!
If I still lived near old houses where I used to live, I would probably drive past them, too, from time to time. Curiosity, maybe.
Malcolm