A Gift of Words
A few weeks ago I found myself in need of a gift for my nephew’s birthday. We ran out and got an iTunes card or something but it wasn’t quite enough in my opinion. He had given me a Father’s Day card a few weeks earlier—a card he made himself, using some of my well-used one-liners to poke fun at me. And clearly that needed a response.
About fifteen minutes before it was time to head out to his party, inspiration struck – as it always seems to do exactly when I don’t really have time for it to strike. I whipped up a tale which may have no meaning to most people in the world but for my nephew and our family it was funny and very appropriate. I wasn’t real sure how he would react to it – he is a 15 year old boy after all – but he laughed and really got into it (and I don’t think it was solely due to my inspirational, dramatic reading of it). I was pretty nervous presenting it to him, though. I have often created homemade cards for people, complete with Hallmark-style cheesy poems that fit the need of the gifting moment. These and many other poems and love songs litter my poetry folders because there was a time in my life that I could bang out a few stanzas of heartfelt, meaningful lyrics in a matter of minutes. And I never really felt all that hesitant to share them with specific people as a gift or part of a card because for the most part they were simple statements of what I felt.
But stories have always been different. They take longer to write – not only because they are longer works but because I always labor to get them “right”. The larger investment – both in terms of time as well as in terms of nervous anxiety – traditionally has made me hesitant to consider a custom story as a viable gift option. But now, seeing the reaction to The Forgotten Tale of Harvey S. Whombaker, I think I may be reconsidering the concept of giving a gift of words… though I am still somewhat hesitant.
People give homemade gifts all the time – cookies, knitted socks or scarves, clay pots they made in an art class… but somehow stories – words – feel different. Clearly, handing someone a story for their birthday or Christmas has risks, just like homemade socks or cookies might. What if they don’t like it? What if they don’t appreciate the time and effort as a gift? What if all they really wanted was a nice, tasty fruitcake and a Starbucks gift card? Why does it feel “different”? I know when I was younger and a friend would take the time to write a poem for me, I was honored – in fact, one which was written to me during my senior year of high school, “Ode to Rob”, holds a special place near my desk even to this day 23 years later because I can clearly hear my friend’s voice saying those words to me and it brings me back to those happy moments. I don’t know if she even remembers writing it or not, but every time I read it a smile comes to my face.
Sitting here right now, I’m thinking the idea of writing stories or poems or scripts as a gift has merit for at least some potential recipients. My 16 year old neighbor, for example, would love getting a nicely printed short story as a gift (especially if it included zombies); her sister, on the other hand, would likely take it and fold an impressive origami swan out of it. Similarly, my mother-in-law and father-in-law would get a kick out of a story written in honor of their anniversary; my own parents, however, would likely use the paper to clean up after the dog. Obviously, like any other gift, I’d have to consider the appropriateness of it for the recipient before moving forward.
I’m curious what others think – do you sometimes give friends and family the gift of a short story, poem or script? If you were given a story, would you think of it as a special gift or would you be left confused or disappointed that it wasn’t something more traditional? Is it really any different than something made of yarn or flour and sugar?
I believe that if I were to give members of my family a gift of words, either as a story or poem, the reaction would be confusion, followed by, “Whassa matter? Too cheap to buy a real present?”
Tony, that is one reason why I *haven’t* been doing this on a regular basis. Not sure whether to say “I’m glad” I’m not alone in this thought. Though I really don’t understand why it is perceived differently than knitting a scarf or baking cookies…
I’d love to be given a story by someone because I understand the work that goes into writing something, but I have a feeling that if I gave someone a story that I’d written, then it would probably be met with a sense of disappointment on their part.
I feel the same way, Icy.
Were I to give someone a story as a present, I’m sure I’d get the same reaction that Tony expects but I’ve given baked goods and scarfs as presents in the past without thinking twice about it. I think there’s a big difference in the way people see someone who knits or bakes and something who writes. Knitting or baking is just something someone does as a hobby and you can objectively tell if they’ve done it well or not – also, they’re things that anyone could do if they took the time to learn. I’d argue that writing is the same – anyone could do it if they took the time but the thing is it’s not seen like that – it’s seen as a special skill or talent. Also, whether or not writing is good is much more subjective and the enjoyment someone would get from a story is completely reliant on how well-written it is. But a badly made scarf will still keep you warm – it just might not look as nice! I can’t help but feel that people would find it rather egotistical – not only are you proclaiming yourself to be A Writer, you’re also suggesting you’re so good people should pay money for it. Besides, at the moment, when someone reads my work I see it as them doing me a huge favour – even if they say it was really good and they enjoyed it I don’t see it as beneficial for them at all.
Maybe it’s just because we’re all doomed to think we can’t really call ourselves Writers because our work sucks!
Louise, I think we’re in agreement on this and really I’m sorry that we are. I had hoped my impression or fear of how such gifts would be received was really just me being an overly-worried sort of person.
I’m pretty sure, though, that your last sentence may have unintentionally made it so that I will, in fact, start experimenting with this a bit more. Because if my issue is really that I’m lacking in confidence in my ability to write something other people will want to read…then I’m going to break through that one way or another.
My stories are better than the cookies I bake and any scarf I were to knit would probably actually make you colder than if you didn’t have it.
Unintentional or not, you’ve inspired me to experiment!