Why I Started This Podcast

Barbara-Anne: Welcome to the Story Harvesters, the podcast where your life story takes center stage. I'm Barbara Anne, a guided autobiography instructor, and today I'd like to talk to you about why I started this podcast.

Have you ever thought about writing your life story, but felt overwhelmed not knowing where to start? Maybe you thought you couldn't write or had nothing to say. Well, you're not alone. A lot of people feel the same way, and that's why I created the story harvesters. Over the years, I've noticed three main reasons why people hesitate to write their stories.

First, they struggle to organize their thoughts. Sorting through all your memories can feel like trying to untangle a messy knot. It's tough to know where to start.

Second, some folks worry that they're not great writers. But guess what? You don't need fancy writing skills to share your story. And here's the thing, everyone has a story worth telling. Your experiences, memories, and reflections, they do matter. And I believe that by sharing our stories, we can foster understanding and connection in a world often filled with conflict and misunderstanding.

And third, they simply don't know how to begin. But let me tell you a secret. The best place to start is right where you are. Your memories, your experiences, they're all valuable and worth sharing. Your story is already waiting to be told, and in today's episode, I'll even share one of my own memories to show you just how easy it can be.

In each episode of the Story Harvesters, I explore a different theme, and I offer a brief writing exercise to help get you started. You don't need to be a professional writer or have hours of free time. If you can write a letter to a good friend, you can write your life story. And if you'd like to share your stories, I'd love to read them. And I might even choose one to read on the podcast.

So remember, when you join us on the story harvesters, you're not just writing for yourself. Whether you choose to share your story with others or keep it to yourself, you're still creating a legacy that future generations can cherish. Imagine the joy of knowing that your words will be heard and valued by the people you care about.

Are you ready to turn your dreams of writing into reality? Introducing Memoir Moments my free eight lesson online course designed to help you harvest your life stories, one experience at a time. I've created easy to follow writing exercises, giving you a step by step story harvesting system and included worksheets that make the story harvesting process effortless. By the end, you'll have crafted a significant story from your life, showcasing your newfound skill. Don't let your stories go untold. Join memoir moments today and start preserving your memories with ease. Visit thestoryharvesters.com to enroll now. And remember, it's free!

All right, folks, I promised you one of my own stories. This will give you a taste of how easy it can be to write down your memories. So sit back, relax, and let's dive into a little slice of my life. Ready? Here we go.

I call this story my Frankenstein Car. I'm looking at a picture of my very first car. It was a 1969 Chevell and cost $25. I was dating a mechanic, Pat, at the time, and for my 18th birthday he bought it for me from a farmer in Lunenburg, Ontario. It had been sitting in the farmer's barn for years with a seized engine, missing hood, front quarter panel and driver's side door. My boyfriend's boss gave him an old engine and transmission, and over the winter we rebuilt the engine and transmission, salvaged the missing body parts, and put the car together. I couldn't afford to get it painted right away, so the next spring I drove it as I see it here in the picture. Lovely shades of dark and light blue and primer.

In this photo. I'm with my kid brother Ricardo at my uncle's farm in Rigaud, Quebec. On weekends I used to drive from Ottawa to Ruby Foos in Montreal just for something to do. Gas was still sold by the gallon then, and $5 filled my tank. On the way back from Montreal, I'd sometimes stop at Rigaud to say hello to my aunt and uncle.

Pat was into muscle cars. He had a 1955 Chevy that was candy apple red. Pat was still riding the wave of the popular film American Graffiti, and in those two years we dated, I don't ever remember him taking me to a restaurant where you actually got out of the car and ate inside, although I begged. If the restaurant didn't have a drive through, we didn't frequent it.

My Chev had wide tires, mag wheels and an engine scoop in the hood of the car. I don't remember what size engine or type of transmission, but I do remember him using the words turbohydromatic in reference to, I think, the tranny. All I knew was that on the steering column, drive was somewhere between the R and the D, and I had to look closely to make sure I had it in just the right gear before I hit the gas. Boy oh boy, when I hit the gas, that thing could move! With my white knuckled hands on that leather wrapped steering wheel. I felt just like Steve McQueen in the movie bullet. Yee haw.

I had many adventures in that car, but two were the most memorable, my first car accident and my first police stop.

A friend and I were on our way to see the movie Norma Rae at the Place de ville cinema in downtown Ottawa. This was the first time I had ever parked in an underground garage, so I didn't know to pull up closely to the ticket machine. When I couldn't reach the ticket, I put the car in park and opened the car door to reach the ticket. It was dark in that garage, so when I got back into the car, I couldn't really see the gear indicator in the steering column very well, but I put the car in gear anyway. There was a long line of cars on the steep ramp behind me, and I was nervous, so I gave her a little bit more gas than I should have.

Well, I missed that sweet spot between the R and the D and the car flung in reverse, slamming into the car behind me, wedging his bumper firmly between my bumper and the trailer hitch. We were coupled like rail cars. The only damage was done by the parking attendant as he caused a scrape in the chrome bumper of the car I hit when he pried our cars apart with a tire iron and carjack. That little boo boo cost me the $167 I was saving for a paint job.

The next incident could have landed me in jail for assaulting a police officer. I had taken a summer job at a children's camp in Arden, Ontario. After work, a few of the gals and I would drive over to Sharbot Lake for a bit of water skiing, or in my case, a lake enema. One night, we were driving down highway number seven, returning to our billet in Arden, when someone in a truck came behind us and flashed their bright headlights.

I thought this was very rude, so I slowed down so they could pass me with the intent of flashing them my bright lights so they'd know how it feels. I was young and stupid. What can I say? I remember saying as much to the gals when one of them said I shouldn't do it because it was a cop. I looked at my speedometer and saw that I wasn't speeding, so I kept driving.

Being a city gal, I never knew cops drove trucks, and I didn't believe her. Why would a cop be stopping me if I wasn't speeding? It was pretty dark on that highway, and we were three girls in the car, and I was a bit scared it might be some locals out for a good time. So I kept driving. By now, whoever was in the truck behind me was getting insistent, coming up to my bumper and flashing their headlights, and I got even more afraid. Finally, they lit up their red police lights and I pulled over.

I didn't know what to do. I'd never been stopped before. I just sat there and waited for the OPP officer to come to my car. He tapped on the window with his flashlight. I rolled down the window and he asked for my driver's license and registration papers. I gave it to him and he handed it to his partner, who was standing behind my car. I was shaking like a leaf while his partner ran my info. He asked me where we were from and where we were going. He seemed like a nice man, so I asked him why he stopped me. He told me my taillights were out. I had been having some little electrical problems with the car, so I learned little tricks like pounding on the voltage regulator and stuff like that. So when he told me about my taillights,

I swung the door open, jumped out of the car to give the taillights a thump to get them working. I just leaned over the rear of the car to start thumping when I heard another thump. I looked over the trunk of my car and I saw the policeman writhing on the ground holding his boy bits. The doors on a 69 Chevelle are very long and very heavy. Apparently. When I leaped out of the car, the door hit the officer right where it counts and he dropped like a stone.

My knees wobbled as I envisioned spending the rest of my youth in a gray cotton shift in a concrete cell at the prison for women. Instead, the cop's partner got out of their truck and started laughing. I started crying and apologizing as he helped his partner to his feet and into the truck. He handed me my license and registration and told me to get the car looked at in Perth the next day, then wished me a good night while he strolled, still chuckling, to the truck. As we drove back to Arden in silence, I knew I must have a horseshoe up my wazoo.

I'd love to hear from you. Share your comments, questions, or stories related to today's episode. Check the show notes for a link to leave me a voice message. Your feedback is valuable, so let's connect and explore story harvesting together. And before we go, a big thank you to our sponsor me. If you enjoyed this episode and want to support the podcast, check out the link in the show notes. Your support helps me to continue bringing you great content. Thank you.

All right friends, it's time to wrap up this episode. Remember, whether you've got just a few minutes or a whole hour to spare, and whether you're a seasoned writer or just a total newbie, I invite you to join me on this adventure. Let's take the leap together and start sharing our stories bit by bit. Don't wait any longer. Now is the perfect moment to begin your story harvesting journey one or two pages at a time. So let's dive in and discover the magic of our own stories. See you next time.