I can write
Portland, Maine, snow pile
I can’t write. This WAS my truth.
Why did I think I couldn’t write? The first thought that jumps out at me is a teacher I had back in the 60’s. Wielding her red pen she wrote, “This is not funny”. No suggestions to encourage me to edit and rewrite. Just one comment.
I was crushed. I had stepped out of my comfort zone and used a pun in the assignment and she didn’t like it. This one strike of the pen shut me down from having confidence in my writing the next forty years.
Puns were and still are a big part of my life. My dad was an amazing punster. Many a dinner, someone would say a pun, then another would add theirs. On and on the puns would travel around the table, each one of us hoping to get in the last one. Dad typically won.
The fondest memories I hold of Dad are his puns. So much so that I have written a children’s book about a place my folks owned and Dad is the main character. How could it not include puns? His character wouldn’t shine for me without them.
A few people have read the story and “not sure of the play on words” was one comment. Whoa, here’s that teacher haunting me in print. I need to look closer at why I’m allowing one ancient comment affect me so deeply.
The 60’s. My age, this time, not the decade. I’m learning how to awaken my spirit and one aspect of the program is looking at my childhood traumas. An assignment given to me was to write a letter to that English teacher, then burn it. I made an attempt, but it didn’t hold much passion. I felt like I was just going through the motions of the lesson.
Months later, the English teacher popped up again in my mind and this time I was angry. I got this sudden urge to write that letter again. Thoughts came out of nowhere defending the use of puns. I could barely keep up writing, the thoughts were coming at me so fast.
Anger is an emotion I keep at bay, but when I do feel it, my focus becomes direct and outside influences become easy to ignore. I’m all in and the writing of this letter clearly demonstrated the anger I felt. I remained focused, defended puns and blasted her. I burned it, watching it with great pleasure, until it became ash. I felt a release.
I’m a teacher and, to me, the use of puns hold amazing power within the written word and a great tool to use in a lesson or a book for that matter. One reads a sentence and anticipates how it will flow then, BAM, a pun interrupts that flow. Wait a minute, the reader says. I don’t want this interruption in my thoughts. I like the comfort of predicting the outcome
I say hooray to that interruption! The pun jerks the mind to another circuit in the brain, alerts it to pay attention and look more closely at the idea presented. Not all words have only one meaning. Be careful as to what meaning you choose. Question all the words, look at different perspectives. Then draw your conclusion.
The teacher from the 60’s? She wanted prediction in my writing. She wanted it to flow in the direction she was comfortable with. No wonder she chose not to offer suggestions. She had none. She became uncomfortable with the jerk in her mind and didn’t want it there.
Did I mention that puns are funny? After all, fun is what they are intended to offer us. The lessons they teach us hold a place, but first and foremost, they are there for us to laugh and play with.
I suppose I need to conclude with a pun or two. For me though, they don’t come to me when I’m forced to think of them. They come when my heart is playful or I hear one to play off of. Then I’m on a roll. I don’t even need others to throw puns back at me. I can shout out a list of puns and laugh at everyone, even if I’m the only one laughing. It doesn’t matter. They warm my heart, touch my soul and bring my family dinners back to the forefront of my being.
Memories to hold onto forever.
I can write. This is my truth.
Carol