Growing up in northwest Georgia and Tennessee, I experienced two of the South’s great oral traditions, eating and storytelling. Our family sat around Grandma’s dinner table eating vegetables from her garden and embellishing country gossip. Thus, news of a neighbor’s tractor purchase might lead to a discussion of his finances, marriage and quite possibly his Civil War ancestors. By the time a story wound its way around the table, each person adding something to the mix, a quite ordinary piece of news had been turned into an exciting drama.

The stories I liked best were the tales of family. All I had to say was, “Grandma, tell me about your grandma during the Civil War” or “what about the time your great-grandma watched the Cherokees making stew down in the field by Temperance HallRoad?” Grandma would set the story in motion and each of her children (my aunts, uncles and my dad) would add a fact or a scrap of information.
By the time we’d finished our last glass of iced tea or a slice of pound cake, Dad would announce it was time to take a drive. With Dad and perhaps an uncle, we’d pile into the car and set off to drive the rural roads. On these family travelogues, Dad would point out locations we had discussed over dinner. We might see the road where the Yankees had passed over Taylor’s Ridge, or the field where Grandpa had first spotted Grandma picking cotton.

My love of storytelling is a gift from my family. When I write stories today, I use techniques I learned at Grandma’s table. I look for the story behind the story, and if there is none, I create one.

Oftentimes it is a sense of place that inspires me, either geographical or emotional. My favorite stories, both to read and write, are those where the emotions created by the exterior world interplay with the places within a character’s heart. www.janiewatts.com

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