Don’t go in the ditch…

My dad was an inventor.

This profession might make you think he was a complicated man, filled with complex ideas and a stash of machines and inventions waiting patiently for the missing pieces or epiphanies that would allow them to reach their full potential, but you couldn’t be more wrong.

He was actually a very simple man that spent his life taking complicated scientific ideas, breaking them back down into the original thoughts that conceived them, and showing them in their simplest forms. He never set out to be a scientist or an inventor. These things found him later in life, because he still had what many people start out in life having – intense curiosity.

This is the same way I became a writer.

I am pretty sure if you’ve reached the age of nine, you have seen how complicated life can become. Did so-and-so not sit with me at lunch because she had to ask so-and-so over there a question about the social studies project they are working on or because when she made eye contact with me during silent reading I had a frightening, vomitous look on my face? And there’s no way she could have known I had that look because I just read a passage about a zombie who tried to eat his own rotten arm that was oozing polluted slime and NOT because I was grossing out at her Rudolph sweater with the faded nose that so-and-so told everyone was really just a big ball of snot. It should be simple. “So you think Rudolph has a disgusting cold too?” “No, of course not, but if he did, how kind of you to include him in your wardrobe on what was definitely not his most photogenic day.” “How kind of you to notice:)”

My dad and I thought a lot alike about what should be simple, and although some things really are complex, we tried our best to keep the main point in mind. The first memory of my dad taking something I thought was complicated and making it simple was when he taught me to drive. I will start out by telling you that I was terrified of driving a car. For one thing, I never actually saw my dad put the car in reverse. I just saw that every time he wanted to go backwards, he put his right arm over the passenger seat, looked out the rear window, and the car went backwards. I never thought there might be more to the story (like a gear shift), so I never asked, and I was very worried that the car might not believe me when I put my arm on the passenger seat. The left turn lane freaked me out as well. I didn’t know it was the turn lane, of course, I just knew that occasionally I would look up while we were at a stop light and there would be other cars in front of us, in our lane – and they were facing us! Unfortunately, I am somewhat easily distracted and never paid attention long enough to see how we made our escape, thus adding to my fears that I wouldn’t know what to do.

It turns out, though, that when you are the daughter of a man who loves cars (loves, loves, loves cars) and he thinks it is time to teach you how to drive one, it doesn’t really matter that you have fears, because he acts a lot like you do when the car goes in reverse – he didn’t ask any questions, because he didn’t know there was anything more, and I didn’t tell him, because at that point it didn’t matter. If he thought I could do it, then I would do it.

So, he takes me out into the country and puts me behind the wheel, and suddenly, I don’t feel as scared as I thought I would. There is no room for turn lanes and I can’t think of a single reason why I would have to go in reverse on this quiet, country road. It seemed a little simpler than I thought it would with so many of the worries out of my way. My dad sat in the passenger’s seat, so proud of me getting ready to learn how to drive, and I started to believe this just might work. We didn’t really wear seat belts back then, but I was pretty tall for my age, so I fit perfectly behind the wheel. I felt good.

Now, the only thing I haven’t told you so far, didn’t seem important then (although looking back, it would have been VERY important if my mother had known!), but it is really the most important part of the story. When I sat behind the wheel, ready to command a giant vehicle for the very first time with no experience whatsoever…I was eight years old. My dad shut his door, looked at me with confidence, and gave me my first words of advice about driving – “The pedal on the right makes it go, the one on the left makes it stop. There’s a ditch on your side and a ditch on my side. Don’t go in the ditch.” And that was it.

The ditches looked huge back then, but I have been on that road a few times since, which was actually a part of a farm, and they are pretty small. Even if I had driven in one, not much would have happened. The point is, they seemed so large, and I felt so small, but I gave it a try, and I did great! He took away all the distractions, much like kids driving 4 wheelers in a field, and it became a much simpler task. Now I am not telling you to drive at the age of eight and I am not telling you that this was the most brilliant idea, but it has served as an inspiring memory for me many times in my life when I thought something seemed too complicated, when what I really needed was a way to make it simpler.

This month, I have been participating in National Novel Writing Month where I have 30 days to write the first draft of a novel that is at least 50,000 words and have thought about this memory more and more. On November 1, I was pumped. I had my story sufficiently thought out, had a basic plot map with a ton of things that I had envisioned would move the story along, and my character was very strong in my mind. I started out with a bang and wrote quite a bit. At the end of chapter 2, 5,000 words in, I had a serious question. Should I continue to write in first person? I had just decided to go back on another novel and change the verb tense and it is not a small job. I felt I needed to decide before I moved on. I ended up changing the tense here too, instead of the viewpoint, and it was much stronger. Deeper in, at 12,500 words, I asked the question again. Now I am overwhelmed with thoughts about both options and instead of moving forward, I am not moving at all. Well, I am, but it is moving along with cleaning the house and anything else that will “legitimately” keep me away from my story.  I have been allowing my complications to cloud the main idea of getting the story out at all.

So this memory has been bouncing around in my head and I thought I would share it with you, because tonight I finally feel like I am back in the car, on a country road with my dad. I smile at him, looking more confident than I have felt in days, and even though I know things can all come with complications, I tell him that I see the ditch on my side and I see the ditch on his side, and I still choose the pedal on the right. Tonight, I will thank my character for waiting so patiently, and tomorrow I will not let anything get in the way of my moving forward.

I would love to hear about anything that keeps you moving forward!

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4 Responses to Don’t go in the ditch…

  1. Anonymous says:

    Fantastic! You have always had a way-with-words and best of all, never at a loss- for- words. Beautiful thoughts from my very beautiful daughter (inside as well as outside). Love you baby!

    Mom

  2. Angie Bush says:

    I love your story. What a great memory of you and your father!

  3. I am so glad you liked it! It is definitely a great memory for me:)

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