Chattanooga Writers Guild

Her comments about the experience:

Do you want to know what it is like to be taped for an NPR commentary? I went last week, but I was too exhausted to write about it until now. It wasn't that the taping was tiring or even the drive to Knoxville and back, but something about it all just left me wilted. I think I am still afraid that they won't use it.

Before I went, Vicki and Suzanne helped me read the text one more time. I was as ready as I was gonna get. In addition to Sara Sarason's calls, coaching and editing, NPR also sent me a contract to sign. WUTK sent me a confirmation and directions. So it was all very official. Did you know that NPR pays for the commentaries?

The recording room was at the end of a long hall in a large studio in the UTK Communications Building. A large panel of technical levers, buttons, and lights was on one side and a chair with a microphone on the other. The dark walls were covered in egg-crate foam and the room had no air. It was hot and stifling. I took off anything I could. The technician was mumbling, pushing buttons, and cursing because she  (the technician-did you think it was a he?) couldn't hook up the phone so that I could hear NPR in DC. She had to leave me alone sweltering in that room to find someone who could get it to work. "He" came and fixed it.  Ok, so it worked now-I put on the head phones and could hear Sara in DC. She could hear me. The sound was much better than my voice usually is. She had to adjust the modulation and various things while I read passages. When she was ready, she gave me instructions.

I did not have to read the whole thing straight through. After each segment, she would say, "OK, read that sentence again and this time emphasize the last word."  Or she would tell me to read it as if I really felt it. We read some sentences several times. She kept trying to get me to emote more about the Cultural Revolution. I knew what she wanted, but Willy and I had tried not to emphasize that part throughout the writing of the book, so I could not do it now. I gave it my best shot, but I knew she wanted more tragedy and suffering in my voice.

It took about 30 minutes altogether. I asked her when it would be aired and she said she did not know. They would edit it and use it when they needed it. But she would call me-maybe an hour before it aired. Well, I probably will not be at home and will miss it. That is when I began to think she would never use it and even if she did, I would not hear it. --Eleanor Cooper

I’ve been on the road now for six weeks – left Cookeville on March 15 in our big rig. We traveled down to Little Rock, Arkansas, then on to Denver, Colorado, and finally to Trout Creek, Montana, where we enjoyed a few days off. Then it was back in the truck and on to Seattle, Washington, to go across the country to Sterling, Virginia and down to Baton Rouge, LA, Aiken, SC, St. Louis, MO, back to Denver and Billings, then on to Seattle, and Jasper, Indiana, back to Arizona and Las Vegas. Quite a busy six weeks. I write nearly all day, every day, in longhand as we bounce along over America’s not-so-smooth roads.

There is so much to write about as you look out over the countryside that there is no end of possibilities. A travel adventure? No problem. Set it in the past, the present or the future; or better yet, try a story in which the past meets the future somewhere in the present. Or use setting as the common denominator of several generations’ stories. Material is so abundant that it will take years to stop the flow of ideas.

The country as we traveled west changed, expanded, stretched into long vistas and hazy horizons, cold, tumbling streams and mountains as high as the moon. Ideas traveled with me, changing and expanding and broadening as the land morphed from cities to small towns to miles and miles of pale yellow plains still dull under winter’s sleep.

What strikes me as I cross this country on the major highways are the subtle similarities of people, similarities that go far beyond the obvious differences brought about by environment, occupation, and upbringing. People everywhere are trying to live with purpose, to contribute, to make a difference. Some are philosophical about their circumstances, others question. You can see much in the faces of the diners when you stop in a truck stop or restaurant; you can make a guessing game of what the people are saying and why.

I am a professional listener: I would rather sit quietly and attend to my food while my ears are alert to every nuance in language, every inflection in tone. I love listening to other peoples’ conversations. Here I detect a Southern drawl, there a Northern whine. Midwesterners have their own accent, Westerners have theirs. Even Californians, those citizens who live in La-La land, speak with a distinctive voice. The fun is listening to what’s beneath their regional distinctions to get to the intent of their message.

So I listen, and I take note of a curious phrase or an interesting situation; a manner of speaking or a way of dressing. I watch the interaction between people. The gestures and facial expressions. You never know who might end up as a character in a story. But as important as the dialect or accent or rhythm of people speaking is the geography – the lay of it, the hues of it, the way the sun shades the ground beneath the leafless trees or the outcrop of granite or the hill that protects the house at its feet. I am convinced that the land forms people’s character as much as family and community. The West creates hardy souls, and their persistence is written on the faces; the South produces soft, stubborn individuals who hide their steeliness beneath a façade of honey. The Easterner is quick and sharp and short, no time to fool around; the Northerner is stoic and slow to smile, just as the sun is slow to warm the land. Geography is as much character as is people, and I have the unique opportunity to study both.

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