Happy Festivus! (a fun post)

This year, we have decided to embrace the spirit of Festivus.  This is because, I am the quintessential Canadian mutt.  Four parts Italian, one part Irish, one part English, a touch Chippewa, and the final bit was confusing. 

The Italian part is easy to explain.  Every year, my Sicilian grandmother put the plastic lighted crucifixes (made in Japan) in glaring rainbow colours, on the Christmas tree.  I was a bit confused by that, not only because it was gawd-awful tacky and fought with my budding interior designer.  But the part in the 10 Commandments about ‘no graven images’ seemed to be at risk here.

Nevertheless, we all looked forward to the blazing orange, green and red crucifixes, unaware that it was a sort of macabre thing to do to a Christmas tree.  Did I mention Halloween is my favorite holiday?

The Chippewa part was a tad more elusive.  I first got a hint that there might have been First Nations blood in our family when someone asked why we put ground venison in our traditional Christmas Eve spaghetti sauce.  True, we had a freezer full of deer, moose, salmon, and not much else.  Later, it occurred to me that I actually hadn’t tasted beef until I was ten, when for my birthday, Dad took us to the A&W for a real treat.  “This tastes weird,” I said, wrinkling my nose.  “It’s made from cow,” Dad said.

Of course, if I had been more on the ball, there were other clues.  But at the age of six, you don’t necessarily see things as out of the norm.  That summer in Toronto, I loved day camp.  They split us kids into groups named for First Nations tribes.  By happy coincidence, I got placed in the Chippewa tribe.  When I got home and announced this, the reaction was: “Thank God it wasn’t Mohawk.” 

The camp leaders were really impressed with my almost-authentic costume.  (Everyone else was wearing painted pillow cases.)

There's more, but it can be nicely summed up by saying that someone in the extended family always managed to put Halvah in my Christmas stocking.  The tradition continues. Talk about confusing...

So this year, I will put beef in the Italian spaghetti sauce, we’ll put up a Festivus tree, and there will be Halvah.  Happy Festivus to all!

Melodie Campbell celebrates Festivus on the shores of Lake Ontario, where she continues to write silly stuff for unsuspecting publishers.

 

 

Making Fictional Fodder from Emotional Wounds

What better thing to think about on the day after Festivus, in the hours before Hanukkah begins, and on Christmas Eve Day–all holidays that many people spend with family–than childhood emotional wounds. Often inflicted by family, of course. They can be terrible for kids and the adults they become. But for crime writers, they are gifts bundled in tissue paper and boxed with ribbons and bows, waiting to be unwrapped.

Do you enjoy reading or watching How The Grinch Stole Christmas?

There wouldn't be much to the story if the Grinch weren't a terrible being. He wouldn't sneak into the homes of the Whovians and steal their tinsel, toys, and trees if something hadn't happened to him to cause him to be so terrible. He wouldn't abuse his poor dog Max and tell little Cindy-Lou Who that he was Santa Claus if he didn't have an emotional wound driving him. Yes, yes, I know. Some have said that maybe he is so grinchy because his shoes are too tight or because his heart is two sizes too small. But how did his heart come to be so small?

I bet back in his childhood someone was mean to him. Maybe other kids. Maybe someone in his family. Maybe both. Bad for the Grinch and bad for the Whovians and bad for dear old Max, but for readers of the Dr. Seuss classic, the Grinch's emotional wound is pure gold. It drives the Grinch's actions and it gives him room to grow. A character arc in a half hour? Oh, yes, dear reader. The Grinch proves it can be done. Short story authors, take note.

Festivus pole

It isn't much,
but then again,
neither is Festivus.

© Matthew Keefe

The Seinfeld episode “The Strike” also shows how childhood emotional wounds can be wonderful entertainment fodder. This is the episode about Festivus. If young George Costanza had not been forced each December 23^rd to listen to his father detail his grievances, if George had not been raised in a home without a Christmas tree but with a tinsel-less aluminum pole–tinsel is distracting, you know–if George had not had to participate in the Feats of Strength each year, he might not have grown up to be a man who claims to make donations to a fake charity he created in order to get out of giving Christmas gifts.

Sure, you may be thinking, even without Festivus, George would have been doomed to become an extremely flawed adult because he grew up with Frank and Estelle as his parents. But that just shows the depth of his emotional wounds. Thanks to the suffering he experienced as a child–and yes, as an adult–TV viewers got to enjoy nine years of a complex, flawed character who drove many amusing storylines, even the ones that ultimately were about nothing. And viewers still can enjoy them, thanks to the wonders of syndication.

One of my stories that was published this year involves a man, Ethan, who suffered childhood emotional wounds at the hands of his father, and like with the Grinch and George Costanza, those wounds plague him to this day. Ethan can practically hear his father whispering in his ear whenever he doesn't measure up to some ingrained standard. Then he seeks refuge in his favorite comfort food. When that coping mechanism becomes unavailable, adult Ethan acts out. His childhood emotional wounds drive the man and thus the action in the story. Want to know more? You can read this story, “A Matter of Trust,” on my website by clicking here. It isn't funny like many of my stories, but I hope readers find it compelling.

Happy holidays and happy new year to you all. May you reach January without any new emotional wounds. The ones you writers have are likely more than enough.