Writing Props
By Cynthia Pappas
I write memoirs and sometimes my recollections are a bit hazy. I find that props help provide clarity. The publishing industry is rife with books and online writing classes that offer prompts to prime the creative juices. While writing prompts are useful exercises that may lead to deeper reflection, I love writing props to stimulate memories and jump-start the narrative.
When writing about Mom, I surround myself with Mom props. A turquoise Avon lipstick sample box reminds me of Shirley, The Avon Lady, on our living room couch in Canoga Park adorning Mom in various shades like Daylily, Jungle Melon, and Champagne Magic. Mom’s 1950’s black-hinged metal recipe box conjures up the gooey yumminess of date bars, my favorite treat growing up. From her keepsake box, I pull photos of her with her best friend, Jackie, tucked into a program from the California Congress of Parents and Teachers where Mom was given an honorary life membership.
Luckily, Mom was a collector of ephemera. I inherited a cache of memorabilia from her collecting habits. An intact arrowhead found at Lake Cachuma on a family fishing trip reminds me of playing Barbies with my sister while Dad fished for trout and Mom read her murder mysteries. Two pennies, found the day I received my B.A. from UC Santa Barbara, are secreted away in an envelope for safekeeping, reminding me that Mom was always nose to the ground, hunting for treasures. It makes me realize that Mom “cultivated a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny… literally made her day.” *
With Dad, I open his bottle of Mennen aftershave that I kept after he died 41 years ago. The bracing odor transports me immediately to my five-year-old self, watching him shave in the mornings. I place his old metal tackle box next to my laptop and one by one pull out the Water Gruella Co. split shot sinkers, red and white plastic bobbers, Penguin brass snap swivels, and lay them next to the Berkley tapered nylon leaders and treble rustproof hooks he used to stalk rainbow trout. Of course, it wouldn’t be Dad’s tackle box without the requisite book of matches and Coors pop-top detritus.
I play The Shadow of Your Smile by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass to recreate the sound and feel of weekends growing up when Dad listened to his ‘Sunday afternoon’ music. A wisp of a thought begins to form: maybe that was his idea of church.
Sometimes I page through my Junior Girl Scout Handbook to recall the requirements necessary to earn each merit badge. Echoing the parental practice of keeping talismans, I pull my Girl Scout sash and beret from my bureau drawer, stacking them neatly near my writing desk. And off I go, retracing my time at Camp Lakota where we beaded lanyards and sang Taps at day’s end.
When friends read my essays, they ask, “How do you remember all those details?” My little secret is writing props. Without them, my stories would lack detail and appear less visceral. They’re mandatory for my kinesthetic memory to engage.
In the guest bedroom closet, I store the hunter green mini skirt and fringed vest from high school Drill Team. It’s so tiny, I can’t imagine ever fitting into it. I have a sudden flash that maybe I wasn’t just a bookish nerd taking AP classes. Maybe I had a teenage body that inspired lust. Both could have been true. With the outfit within vision of my laptop, I can hear the faint echo of “Beach Baby” by The First Class or “Saturday in the Park” by Chicago, soundtracks to our synchronized performances. I begin to rethink my story.
To spark inspiration for stories about my sister Cheryl Ann, who was fifteen years older, I pull out her wedding album and thumb through the lists of guests who attended, gifts received, and photos of the beautiful dresses worn by bride and bridesmaid, all hand-made by Mom. The photos and memorabilia send me back to my ten-year-old self and remind me how much I wanted to emulate her when I grew up. In reflection, I realize I have done just that. I have cultivated a community of supportive girlfriends, I’m always ready to host a party, and I love to make people laugh.
Props, not prompts, that is my secret to writing memoir.
This is your assignment: Find a prop from your early years. Write about your relationship to this keepsake. Why did you keep it? Describe how that relationship has changed over time.
*Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard
Cynthia Pappas lives with her husband on a farm on the McKenzie River in Oregon. She is the author of two memoirs - Homespun and Gather. Her essays have appeared in Best Essays Northwest, Oregon Quarterly, The Eugene Register-Guard, Threads, MaryJane’sFarm, Willamette Valley Living, Farm & Ranch Living, and Groundwaters. When she is not farming or gardening, she is writing, binge reading, or planning her next culinary travel adventure.