![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Someone posted on rasfc about her stories of Yugoslavia gone and departed, and said she would be willing to share them in email. I asked her for them.
Real people's real stories.
I'm a storyteller; that's who and what I am. It is closer to my truest sense of self-identity than anything else I can find.
My great-grandparents are long dead. They no longer have stories of their own to make; their stories are made.
The language they spoke, that they preserved, there are stories from that tongue. Because of them and people like them, those stories still have the possibility of being told. Someday.
I doubt I will ever become fluent enough in Polish to write stories in the language. But language informs thought, deepens it, extends it; my writing on the WIP is extended by my knowledge of Spanish, the flow of narrative in that language, even though the language itself is rusty, rusty, rusty. Language shapes the stories that can be told, that can exist.
Cześć!
Real people's real stories.
I'm a storyteller; that's who and what I am. It is closer to my truest sense of self-identity than anything else I can find.
My great-grandparents are long dead. They no longer have stories of their own to make; their stories are made.
The language they spoke, that they preserved, there are stories from that tongue. Because of them and people like them, those stories still have the possibility of being told. Someday.
I doubt I will ever become fluent enough in Polish to write stories in the language. But language informs thought, deepens it, extends it; my writing on the WIP is extended by my knowledge of Spanish, the flow of narrative in that language, even though the language itself is rusty, rusty, rusty. Language shapes the stories that can be told, that can exist.
Cześć!
