Backstory – There’s a Method to the Madness

 

By Cindy K. Sproles

Orlando. Land of the Mouse. It's 25,000 acres of cheese-lined streets, suckers with ears, and hidden Mickeys anywhere you dare to seek them out.

When I landed at Sanford Airport (like in the a.m. hours), the first thing that came into view was a large Disney banner just as you walked into the airport. Two families who had boarded ahead of me each had the perfect American family in tow (2.5 children). I know … I'm still trying to figure out how you can .5 a child. But I digress.

The point is, Mom and Dad are loaded to the max with two strollers, 2.5 kids (under the age of three), backpacks on everyone, and let's not forget the toddler-sized carry-ons with teeny, tiny hand pulls and wheels the size of fifty-cent pieces. I'm sure those were good thoughts BEFORE they left home but soon became a problem when toddler one refused to pull hers. Thus, inciting toddler two to follow suit, and then Dad had to hold the hand of toddler one, manage a heavy backpack and stroller, AND (take a long, deep breath here), hook both teeny, tiny carry-ons around his finger while pushing that stroller with the same hand. Isn't Dad amazing? As we say in Tennessee, "Love his heart." To cap off the late-night experience, all 2.5 children were screaming messes. Mom was lost somewhere between the airwalk and the bathroom, where she also managed a stroller, backpacks, a crying baby, and a dirty diaper.

I did ask, as I passed the flustered momma, in a kind and empathic manner, "Can I help you do something?" Momma huffed out a breath, gritted her teeth, and cursed me in a groan.

I exited the airport and crawled into the air-conditioned SUV my son had rented, grateful that our roles had reversed so that he was now the one hauling me around, not me pushing him in a stroller. There are advantages to adult children.

When supper rolled around the next day, my son and his fiancée took me to what I used to call Downtown Disney. Now it's called Disney Springs, and it's grown up. It lost its "downtown" name that sorta reminded me of my teen years when we cruised down Broad Street, hanging out the car windows and shouting at our friends on the sidewalk. This new, classier Disney Springs bore no resemblance to the hidden Mickey that I remembered.

I had to laugh when I glanced over at a mini choo-choo filled with parents and children, only to see that same Mom, Dad, and 2.5 children from the airplane. I know, what are the odds? The little choo-choo chugged along a short, S-shaped track, and poor Mom and Dad each held a screaming toddler over one shoulder. The train stopped. They climbed out, grabbing their children as they escaped. It bore the resemblance of frightened cats trying to claw their way free of an impending attack. Not one look on their faces suggested this was the "happiest place in the world."

I, however, enjoyed a great time, blessed with the company of my son and future daughter-in-law. By the way, the only thing I lugged was a tiny 5x7 wrist purse. Hallelujah, I'm free of strollers!

I tell you this long, drawn-out story for two specific reasons:

1)The happiest place in the world should only be experienced by children ten and older. Any age less than ten, and the sanity, financial well-being, and protection of the family unit will be destroyed. On the TV screen, Darth Vader is the size of a pencil. When you walk past Lego World, he's six feet tall. My goodness, that would scare me, much less a toddler. And all those cute characters we've grown to love over the years suddenly take on a whole new meaning to a little one—big and scary. Despite a parent's best efforts, their stroller becomes a cumbersome bag carrier while they hip or drag their
crying children.

2)This post is really about backstory. This is an example of how we tend to tell our readers every detail, reason, why, or how come, about our story when we just need to start the story where it begins. As a good agent friend said some years ago, "That's nicely written, but your reader doesn't care." What? My reader doesn't care? Harsh, I know, but well-given advice. He was right. The readers don't care about the details of where the story began in your head. They begin where the story starts. They care nothing about the route before the story. So, my advice? Write that backstory, then cut and paste it into a new document. Save it for prosperity. You might say, "If I cut that, I lose 5000 words on my word count." My rebuttal is to think of those 5000 words as what is in that very dirty diaper that momma was changing at the airport. Just start where the story begins. Feed us a few lines of backstory at a time, if at all. But for goodness' sake, don't vomit it out on the first page or as a prologue. Your reader doesn’t care.

Our words are like sweet incense to us, but we need to learn to manage our real estate. Real estate is the page, and what is placed on that page is pricey and beautiful, not wasted by outbuildings and weeds.

Can you see what I did here? A long story that you really didn’t care about until you got to the point. There’s a method to the madness.

Learn to add backstory in small doses and, like a spoonful of sugar, the medicine will go down easier. Your story will read better, and your readers will be in the happiest place in the world.

 Photo by Iván Díaz on Unsplash

Photo by Younho Choo on Unsplash

Cindy K. Sproles is proud of her Appalachian Mountain heritage and loves to share it with others. She is an author, speaker, and conference teacher, teaching across the country. Cindy is the co-founder of Christian Devotions Ministries, and she has served as a managing editor for two publishing houses. Cindy is the director of the Asheville Christian Writers Conference, held each February at the Cove, Asheville, NC. She is married and has four adult sons and two grands.