Wisdom of the Tree

(This wonderful newspaper story, by Diane Tennant of the Virginian-Pilot, is one sentence long.)

"Know that a tree was planted for a soldier who died in World War I giving his all; that his name lived on for years after, because a little plaque by the tree gave it out; that even after people stopped remembering who James Lynch was and why he gave his life on Aug. 28, 1917, that his tree kept growing in Portsmouth City Park; that his selfless gift “for God and country” has been accepted as a quiet challenge of remembrance by the tree; and that what it gives of itself is a vow that life cannot and will not be stopped but must go on and on and on:

   Acorns." 

 

Why do I love this story so? 

I love this little story because of what it does in just 112 words. I call it “the shortest narrative in the world.” It tells a whole story, one that is rich, affecting,  powerful. The skill behind it just boggles, more, somehow, than would that of an equally affecting story of 11,112 words.

I wanted to know about Diane’s tree encounter. Here is what she said.

Me: “Did you conceive of the story it before you encountered the tree? Or did the encounter with the tree inspire the piece?”

Her: “Here’s the way it happened. (Colleague) Lon Wagner and I entertain ourselves with challenges: Who can write the shortest story, a story without quotes, a story that’s only dialogue, a story about an inanimate object? The tree story came about because I was looking for an inanimate object. I was actually looking for a rock by the water, romanticizing to myself that it would be a rock where lovers met, kids swam and fishermen fished. Well, there are no big rocks in Hampton Roads because it’s all coastal plain. But while I was strolling the side of a river looking for a rock, I found the tree.”

Q: How or why did you want to do it in one-sentence? A dare? Something you personally wanted to accomplish?  

A: I did not sit down intending to write a one-sentence story. Although the shortest-story challenge was out there, I was only going for an inanimate object. When I sat down at my computer, I started to write it like an ordinary story, but I didn’t get much further than a few words. It wasn’t working. It was dull, and not just your ordinary dull – it was stupendously boring. So I mentally regrouped, and what popped into my mind was Shel Silverstein’s  The Giving Tree  http://www.shelsilverstein.com/html/books.asp   I’m a tree-hugger myself (just ask my husband about my reaction to trimming the oak in our front yard) and I have always thought that trees are incredibly generous while putting up with a whole lot of abuse from humans. And I started to think about the tree in that light. And what I wanted to do was tell people about how generous trees are, so I started it with a little lecture, sort of a “Know this, you people” thing. Once I found the first word, it was simple to structure it as a single sentence.

Q:  Was it a special occasion—Memorial Day, dedication of a park, some anniversary, etc. --  or just a day in the life of James Lynch's tree?

A:  There was no special occasion. It was a nice day, I needed to get out of the office, find a rock. I thought I might find a rock at Portsmouth City Park, but I found the tree instead.

Q: In conceiving the piece, were you aware of the various threads and themes you rope in, or was it one of those inspired things that make the rest of us want to go jump off a bridge?

A: I knew that the main subject was the tree. And that the tree had to keep the “action” going in the sentence. So even though I had all this information to get in about the soldier (World War I serviceman, died during the war, name, date of death, the location of the tree, the fact that a plaque was there), each clause had to have the tree in it. That was probably the hardest part – figuring out what the tree was going to do in each clause: give out his name, grow in the park, accept the quiet challenge of remembrance, make a vow and drop acorns.

Q: How much thought (versus writing time) went into the story?

A: Considerably more time went into thinking than actual writing. I had thought long and hard about what kind of inanimate object I could write about, about how I could make such an object emotionally appealing. You know, I could write about the pink highlighter sitting here on the desk in front of me (Hi-Liter, ask for it by name! Made in Mexico!). But unless there’s some emotional connection with the reader, it wouldn’t be very interesting.

But I had to also set limits for myself. I didn’t want to quote anybody or have a human voice intrude on my inanimate object. It wouldn’t be a challenge to write about somebody talking about an object. So, no human voices. My object had to be the main character. My object had to have interaction with humans, or it wouldn’t be appealing to human readers. And I gave the tree a point of view as well – the tree makes a pledge and gives of itself. And trees do that. They don’t imbue it with the emotional baggage that humans carry, but each tree on Earth is programmed to reproduce itself and go on and on and on.

Q: And in the end, you won your challenge …

A:  I was pleased to have knocked off two challenges with one story: Inanimate object and shortest story. Lon and I threw out these challenges to entertain ourselves and to keep our story ideas fresh. I love a challenge. It’s just my nature. Tell me it can’t be done and I’ll try to do it. Rebel against authority. Newspapers don’t publish one-sentence narratives? Try this on for size.