The Discovery of a Human Spirit

Sitting around the campfire with my brothers and dad, we listened intently as Dad told us the story of the Mists of Bowman Lake. He used every element to his advantage, from the dancing flames that flickered on his face, and dimmed in the night as the actual mists of Bowman Lake came toward the campground. My eyes opened wider and my heart pounded in my chest as he told us of the ghosts who approached in the mists, and the warning to never stray into the mists. When the campfire was almost completely out, I would ask him, “Is that true?” To which he would normally respond after his best stories in a soft but serious tone, “If it isn’t, it ought to be.” Undoubtedly I did not sleep that night as I imagined ghosts in the mists, but from then on I was intrigued with the sharing and creating of stories, both new and old.

            I grew up in Montana, where the plains stretch for as far as the eye can see in one direction, and the mountains expand in the other direction. My parents moved all five of us kids, to a small town called Cut Bank in northern Montana in 1986 and made it their home after a lifetime in Utah. Among the possessions that they brought, were a vast library of books and a unique collection of musical instruments, rooted in our Anglo-Irish-Danish family background. From an early age, my parents shared the stories and music of our ancestors, my heart turned to them and raced to the beat of an Irish drum and fiddle as the stories were told and music played.  At a young age, my brother contracted a severe case of Spinal Meningitis which burned the insides of his ear, causing severe hearing loss before a miraculous recovery spared his life. Due to my brother’s hearing loss, many things changed or increased in their frequency. First, we were never allowed to say things improperly and encouraged to speak Standard English, so as to facilitate a good speech environment for my brother. Second, we were guaranteed stories and music every night to allow him to remember the joy’s of sound before his hearing got steadily worse. And lastly, Mom and Dad always reminded us that it was only through divine intervention that my brother was saved, rooting us for life into the Mormon Church.

            The first books that were important to my family were always The Holy Bible, and The Book of Mormon. I was extremely grateful to be taught the lessons and morals of the stories from both books from a young age, and I never lost interest in what each book has to offer as a guide to life and its literary value. After holy writ, some of my favorite books as a child were the Dr. Seuss books and the Rudyard Kipling stories such as The Jungle Book and the Just So Stories. My dad would always share those in his good story telling voice and would often make up campfire stories and tales of our Northern European ancestors. There were always encounters with dragons, trolls, and other mystical creatures. On occasion, my parents read Shakespeare plays and sonnets out loud to each other, and as a child I wondered and often asked why they spoke so strangely. This was an invitation for them to share the plays and movies based off of plays to me. I was nine or ten when I saw Much Ado About Nothing, and though I did not understand all of the themes and language, I understood that there was something unique and funny about the play that I grew to enjoy more and more. The story that changed everything for me was Robin Hood. This story had adventure, fighting, suspense, romance, comedy, and everything else that a little boy dreamed of. I even wrote my first stories in crayon with Robin Hood as the protagonist, and relived his adventures on the school playground at recess with my elementary school friends. During this time, the passion for writing was conceived and would burn even brighter as I progressed in my literary experience.

            In 1993, my parents packed up the kids, instruments, and books and we moved to Great Falls, Montana. Great Falls was much bigger than Cut Bank, and much more entertaining than Cut Bank. My interest in books was temporarily replaced by bikes, friends, and all that Great Falls had to offer, but was soon rekindled in second grade by my tall, big eyed, and forever happy second grade teacher, Mrs. Mckitrick. She was the first and only person that ever compared to my dad in her storytelling ability. Mrs. Mckitrick sparked my imagination with a book about an imaginary creature called a Wagnadoodle, but I have since forgotten its title. Mrs. Mckitrick encouraged a vivid and active imagination that I never lost. In the third grade there was a unit on ancient Egypt, where I learned that I had an interest in history. I read everything that I could find about Egypt, and was most intrigued by a book about Howard Carter and his discovery of King Tut’s tomb in 1912. I remember the first novel I read was Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh, in Mr. Weir’s fifth grade class. This was a particularly memorable experience, because it was the longest book that I had read up until that point and I got to read it out loud with the class. In sixth grade, I read the play, The Secret Garden, and was ashamed when I liked it, because it was not a very masculine story to me at the time. My seventh grade teacher, Mr. Stevens, was a very grumpy man with a scowl permanently frozen on his face and a talent for his dramatic readings as he impersonated Ebenezer Scrooge in the reading of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. He was scary to other students, but perfect for me as he was always appreciative of my comments, my writing, and he helped give me a voice. From eighth grade to twelfth grade, I branched in a different direction of my English classes. It all started with the confusing symbolism of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s mediocre story, The Great Gatsby. The characters were fickle and acted according to their own interests. To my teachers, it was the greatest piece of American twentieth century literature. To me, it was the greatest wad of paper in need of being recycled or preferably torched. From then on, I was not overly fond of my English teachers, mostly because of their choice in literature, and because my writing was never up to par with their standards. I always remained interested in the open reading assignments and experienced great books like The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Three Musketeers, The Man in the Iron Mask, and several others. I remember being presented with The Crucible in eleventh grade and enjoying the history and mystery behind the Salem Witch Trials. History and what people do when fate calls on them to act according to their beliefs are what intrigued me most about historical novels and the seventeenth through nineteenth century novels and authors. Nothing extraordinary happened with my writing in High School, except for a short story I wrote about Joan of Arc exploring the option of what her life could have been like had she not been tragically executed by the English. In and throughout High School I was mostly interested in girls and the adventures of going on out of state tour with the school’s head choir. I sang fairly well, and always enjoyed getting out of the house with friends. My literary experience did not get all the sunlight it needed until after graduation. It would take a life-changing experience to refocus my energies on my writing and direct me toward literature that would allow me to appreciate many other forms of literature.

            In November of 2004, I received a letter from the first presidency of my church, calling me to serve as a missionary for two years in the Portugal, Lisbon mission. I was asked to report in March and leave behind all personal affairs and belongings that were not relevant to my calling as a missionary. I had four months to read everything I could before I had to leave it all behind for the religious literature reserved for missionaries and the Portuguese language textbooks. Having already been introduced to the Welsh Prince series by Sharon Kay Penman, I decided to read those books. My life was changed by those books. Penman has the talent to recreate thousand year old images, and give life and humanity to the characters of English legend. The books ignited a passion for history that I would carry to Portugal upon seeing medieval castles and churches. I read those books and was reminded of my own English heritage, and what kind of a person I needed to be during my missionary service, and had a greater appreciation for the Portuguese culture as I compared it to the English culture.

            I reported to my mission on March 5, 2005 and was right away introduced into a rigorous training of the Portuguese language and the church’s teaching program. The first place that I served in Portugal, was a 2000 year old city called Évora. I lived on a street called the Travessa das Morenas, which when translated into English means, the alley of the brunettes. Évora was rich with its own stories, and full of landmarks to inspire the imagination. The city surrounds itself with a medieval castle wall rising about thirty feet into the air, with cobblestone streets polished by a hundred years of its resident’s walking from place to place. The town square had a marble fountain built in its center to commemorate the finding of the Americas, and was populated with hundreds of pigeons. The cathedral had in the depths of its lower levels a chapel constructed completely out of human bones. At the highest point of Évora were the skeleton ruins of a Roman temple built to the Roman goddess Diana built for the famous Julius Caesar, and everywhere else from the gardens to the palace will inspire my imagination forever. It was in Portugal that I discovered my passion to write and teach. I taught the doctrines of my church through the stories of The Holy Bible and The Book of Mormon to strangers who are now friends. I also wrote several journals and letters, and began work on a reference guide for missionaries. I read many of the Portuguese legends and fairy tales as recorded by Gentil Marques, and upon returning home, I immediately started working on their translation into English, two of which are now complete. My mission reignited the passion to write and sparked an interest in teaching that I was never aware of. Upon completion, I was ready to begin work on what I knew I wanted to do in life.

            I returned home in March of 2007 and moved with my parents to a small town called Spring Valley, Arizona. I read several books in my extensive free time, mostly English historical novels which I still enjoy reading the most. In October of 2007, I met a girl who would teach me more about myself than I was aware of. Her name is JoElla Traver and we became friends and dated right away. After a long courtship of three weeks, we were engaged, and in January of 2008 we were married in Snowflake, Arizona. She taught me one of the most important things I would learn about myself when we moved to Rexburg, Idaho so I could attend BYU-Idaho and attain a degree in History – Education. Though I enjoyed history, my heart was not in the history classes that I was taking. In my English class however, I would pour my soul into a writing assignment and be able to write well on many subjects that I was passionate about. JoElla right away recognized this and the improvement made in my writing. My writing had indeed dramatically improved through my missionary service and its consistency since that time, and after sharing a poem with her. JoElla asked me why I was not studying writing and literature as it was something that I enjoyed more than any other activity. The question struck me more than any other life question I had ever asked myself. As I reflected on the question, there was only one choice to make. The choice was to change majors, and pursue my writing. Coinciding with this decision, came the need to move back to Arizona and be closer to family and take part in NAU’s renowned writing programs. Before I started school in August of 2010, we were blessed with a baby boy we named Wallace after his grandfather and his great-grandfather. Having a son drove the desire to excel in writing to a deeper level. I wanted to write stories for Wallace and be the one to share the important ones with him. Though he is an eighteen month old toddler, I hold his attention captive and see excitement as I share stories from my early youth and my first attempts at children’s stories.

            From campfire stories in Montana, to Portuguese legends, to the writing of my own stories in Arizona, there has been inspiration and experience enough to make my literary experience unlike any other. I met author Sharon Kay Penman at her book signing of Lionheart in October of 2011, and she shared with me two things that gave my talents and desires focus. The first was that the stories worth telling are the ones that tell of the rising and failing of the human spirit. The second thing that she shared, is that for every untalented celebrity or author that gets published, a truly talented writer remains unpublished. A talented writer has a responsibility to get published and take the book deal first. In meeting author Sharon Kay Penman, I was able to understand that what I enjoy in my literary experience is sharing the older generation’s experience of the rising of a human spirit and knowing that I could share and pass those stories on. It is my joy that the journey has not ended, and that my literary and life experiences are allowing me to revisit the crossroads I discovered in school. I know that I can contribute to someone else’s literary experience, and their own discovery of the rising and failing of the human spirit through literature.