Where Stories Come From

by Ricky Fitzpatrick for The Creative South

Folks often ask where my stories come from, like there's some secret creek behind the shed where writers go to dip a bucket. The truth is, if you live in the South long enough, the stories mostly come to you. Usually uninvited, usually on a Tuesday, and usually when all you wanted was a quiet afternoon with a glass of tea.

Take a friend of mine, for example. I won't name him here (in the interest of journalistic integrity and because he still has my post-hole digger), but he’s the kind of man who can turn a trip to the hardware store into a Greek tragedy. Last week, he walked in asking for a bolt and walked out having accidentally joined the volunteer fire department.  

He said it “just sort of happened,” which is how most things happen around here. He’s not the only one. I’ve seen people go to the grocery store for milk and come back with a rescue beagle, a used minivan, or a cousin who needed a place to stay “for a spell.”

You can’t make this stuff up. And if you could, it wouldn’t be half as good as the real thing.

That’s the curious beauty of the South: inspiration isn’t something you have to chase down. It’s baked into the porch rails, woven through Sunday morning hymns, and tucked between the aisles of the Piggly Wiggly. The South is one of the few places where you can overhear a perfectly serious conversation about both Jesus and NASCAR in the same sentence, often from the same person.

Writers thrive on that sort of thing…accidental poetry, unintentional comedy, and the sincere, stubborn belief that we can fix anything with a casserole.

But here’s the secret most folks don’t know: creativity isn’t some magical gift handed down like mama’s silverware. It’s more like an old pump organ. You keep it playing by working the pedals. You show up. You pay attention. You listen to people longer than they planned to talk. You notice the way someone says “I’m fine” and know they’re not. You stand in line at the bank and think, Well, there’s a whole cast of characters right here.

Creativity is less about being clever and more about being awake.

Last week, I saw one of our neighbors sweeping his driveway. The man’s eighty-four and sweeps that concrete like he’s prepping for a parade. I asked him why he bothered, and he said, “Son, it gives the day a reason.” I carried those words the entire way home. By the time I got to my door, they’d become the seed of a story. That’s how it goes.

There’s creativity in that simple answer. There’s wisdom in it too. And maybe that’s why writing about the South never grows old. Beneath all the fried chicken, college football, and politely nosy questions, there’s a deep current of meaning, and old truths dressed up in overalls.

So if you ever catch me staring a little too hard in the produce aisle, or lingering in front of the drugstore a few minutes longer than necessary, I promise I’m not zoning out. I’m working. I’m listening. I’m trying to give the day a reason.

Because around here, in the Creative South, stories are everywhere…you just have to slow down long enough to let one catch up.