The King And I

What Can We Learn About Writing From the Previous Article?

We could write about historical events. Maybe not about Elvis' birthday, but we could write about how, if any, that he affected our personal lives. How he affected our culture. We could write about whether we remember what we were doing on the day he died. And how we were impacted.

With just these few ideas, let's look at an example of writing a story.

The King And I

I believe it was August 16, 1977. I was living at my mother's as I was separated from my husband. I recall working on a project in the back of the house, when I heard my little mother exclaiming, "Ellen, the king is dead. The king is dead!" I thought what king? And why is she so upset?

She continued as she was determined to get my audience. "Come quickly, Ellen!" Knowing my mom rarely got upset over anything, I ran down the hallway into the family room where she was watching TV. "Oh, Ellen, the king is dead." My thoughts: OK, I think I got that already!

"Mom, what king?" Her next words defaulted me into a blur for what seemed like eternity. "Elvis, the King of Rock n Roll."

Wasn't he too young? Yes, only 42, or 43. Wasn't he supposed to live forever? I mean he was bigger than life. Or so it seemed. How could this be?

Born To Die
Elvis Aron Presley, born January 8, 1934 to Gladys and Vernon Presley. He was a twin. Jessie Aron supposedly was the first born but died in birth. It was said that Elvis often commented that Jessie gave his life so that he, Elvis, might live.

We all know this little boy, who grew up in poverty became a phenom, a legend. He was given much too soon. How could any of us handled the fame and fortune he was either blessed with or cursed with?

I for one, will not be pointing my fingers at the choices he made. But for the grace of God there go I. I don't know that I would have fared as well as he did. Power does strange things even to the best of people, does it not?

Yes, the end of the story was really in Elvis' own hands. He made the choices. And in ways, it was as though he wanted to die. Was he tired? Was he disillusioned? Was he out of control? Was he still a little boy struggling to find his way to manhood? Was he still not settled from the loss of his beloved mother? Was his prestige too high a price to pay? Yes, I would think to all of the above.

What did he leave behind? Distraught fans. A legacy of music. History made time and time again. Bu mostly, I think, the greatest loss was leaving a lost, forlorn, and confused little girl, his precious Lisa Marie, to unravel the drama that had been played out before her.

Yet, Another King in my Life Tragically Dies
In that, I am reminded of my own loss as a young girl. My daddy's sudden death. I'm reminded as well that I, Ellen Marie, as well as Lisa Marie was a "Daddy's little girl". While my pain was not the same as Lisa Marie's, I do understand not being able to get my mind, my arms around my daddy being gone, not for a day, but forever. I do relate to Lisa Marie's odd behavior, her moodiness, her rebellion, her sad eyes. I do.

Death is a strange thing. We all have to do it. It is as much a part of life as birth is. Yet, it takes us deeper into our souls than anything we can experience. We don't like it. We don't talk about it. We run from it. Yet, it meets us everyday in some measure. Will we ever grow to embrace it?

It's been many years since that cold day in February of 1966, when I lost my daddy. But it's as if it were just moments ago. Daddy died. He left this earth. He left me. Without warning. Yet, what I grew to discover is that everything he ever taught me still remained. I could choose to trace his heart in my life. I could choose to allow his life to live on through me and my children. I think that is when life truly begins.

PHOTO: King Daddy and Ellen Marie when she was about three years old!Copyright © 2008 by Write Memories 4 Life. All rights reserved.