Of course I read the timeline,
almost well-versed with it by now.
The promised enjoyment did come,
by way of the children,
all nine of them.
Marie Rose came second. Harold named
her after his mom. Bright in school
but gave it up to work for what use was
schooling to a girl? With his commentary
on each of his children, Harold was no
mere pedant, but a progenitor.
The litmus test of his stories–
each one of them branching off
in work and marriage.
Charles was born at home.
The midwife arrived to his crying,
with the cord wound round his neck.
She disentangled it and cleaned him.
You must have eaten a lot of jackfruit,
she said to Harold’s wife, that’s why
the baby was covered with fruit sap.
Why, that is true, Josephine said,
there’s more of the fruit in the fridge.
Midwife gladly brought some home.
Some stories lend themselves to
the telling. Some would say, racy,
but there’s nothing but lightness
here. The darkness of course was
everywhere around, and paramount.
In looking at your storyline, you might want to include births. Every life begins with a birth. A lot of stories begin with “I was born on (this date).” They normally don’t say “I died on (this date)” unless it’s a posthumous narrator. So I’m suggesting to you to write a birth story. Whose birth story? You get to decide, since you’re the omniscient narrator. Or the other option is to think of the beginning of stories. How does one begin? Here’s one example from Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations, which is an all-time favorite story of mine.
“My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.”
Include some kind of genealogy detail if you feel like it.
In case you missed it, please check my previous post. You know, so I don’t have to repeat myself. Search Prompt 244.