Now, that’s an intriguing title – isn’t
it? And one that probably has you wondering.
Well, let me explain.
From the time I could walk, my parents
said I bulldozed through life. I charged full force into situations, tromping
where my guardian angel feared to tread.
Living in the country, we raised
livestock. When I was barely walking, I’d slip out of the yard and wander among
the cattle. My parents would go looking for me, calling for me, and I was too
short to see as I meandered midst the bulls and cows – oblivious to any danger.
At those times, they’d call me Dosha. “Get back here, little Dosha!” they’d
call. For a long time, I thought Dosha was one of my given names. As I grew, I
learned Dosha was one of my ancestors, a too-many-greats-to-count grandmother.
She was a brave Cherokee lady who married a weak man who drank too much and
didn’t take adequate care of his family – and yes, of course – I’m related as
much to him as I am to her. Remember that.
My favorite story about Dosha is the one
that best reveals the shortcomings of her husband. John – that was his first
name – was prone to spend most of his evenings passed out from indulging in too
much home brew. During those times, Dosha did the best she could, making do
with the little he provided and what she could scrape together herself. For
better or worse, their union was blessed by the birth of a little boy. Dosha
was so proud of him. She named him William.
Winter came to South East Texas early that
year, bringing much cooler temperatures to the usually temperate region. If you
look at a map of the lone star state, their cabin was located in the swampy,
piney woods that is known as The Big Thicket region today.
In this deep, dense forest, wildlife was
plentiful – and so were predators. Bear. Wolf. And panthers. (As an aside, I
recognize that most authorities deny the existence of black panthers in this
area today. However, my family has seen three in my lifetime. They roamed the
wilderness in the post-civil war days and they still roam it now.)
One night, when John was lying drunk in
bed and Dosha was attempting to pacify a hungry William, the night grew colder
as she burned the last of the firewood. Huddling up with the baby to keep him
warm, she became aware of a distant scream. The sound was bloodcurdling, the
cry of a banshee. Dosha knew it was a panther. Sitting there in the dark, the
silence was only broken by the snoring of her worthless husband and the
ever-nearing roar of the huge, deadly predator. In horror, the mother realized
the big cat was approaching the cabin.
The black panther was hungry, and he could
smell the baby inside.
You might think she had nothing to worry
about. After all, they were inside the log cabin.
But no. Unfortunately – and thanks to
John’s shoddy workmanship – there were gaps in between the logs. Not only did
this poor construction leave a clear path for the cold winds whipping through
the evergreen branches of the pine trees to seep inside – the exterior walls of
the cabin could serve as a make-shift ladder for a determined predator.
In abject terror, Dosha heard the big cat
snarling just outside. Her eyes widened as she realized he was scratching on
the wood. And then – she screamed as she saw big, sharp claws poking through
the cracks between the logs. With her heart pounding in her chest, she placed
the baby next to her husband as she attempted to rouse him by shaking his
shoulders and beating on his chest. She begged him to awaken – but he was too
soused to realize what was going on.
Standing, she gasped in fear as she saw
the claws of the panther as he climbed the outside wall – higher and higher.
The monster intended on coming down the chimney after them!
In near hysteria, she found the hatchet
and tried to chop up a chair to serve as firewood – but there wasn’t time!
She’d never be able to start a fire before the maneater descended into their
midst.
As her baby cried, sensing his mother’s
panic, she did the only thing she could think to do.
Dosha took the hatchet and ran to the wall
and began to chop at the exposed toes of the black panther.
Chop! Chop! Chop!
She struck the blows and was rewarded by a
wailing scream of pain.
In the next moment, she heard a heavy thud
outside as the panther retreated to fight another day.
Wow.
You’ll never know how many times I sat at
the feet of my grandmother and my dad as they regaled me with this tale – and
others. Dosha’s bravery and John’s failures.
Her ability to survive was ingrained
within her – and his lack of decency was…apparently ingrained within him. For
she didn’t falter, and he didn’t improve. He died early, most probably from
cirrhosis of the liver. Dosha lived a long life and continued to prove herself
to be brave and resourceful.
I used to imagine that I was Dosha. I’d
like to think I inherited some of her moxie.
Now…for the rest of the story.
Sometimes my research leads me down
unexpected paths. Let me explain. In my plotting, there are times I need to
come up with some fantastical fix that will tie my unlikely story line
together. For example, in Lily’s Mirage, I was writing about a woman who was
suffering with a brain tumor – a glioblastoma, the type that is usually fatal.
I wanted the character to survive, but I wanted it to be realistic. Surely in
this day and age, there was ongoing medical advances that I could draw from.
So, I started searching and I found an unlikely answer. There have been
clinical trials using the polio germ to battle this type of cancer. The polio
virus is injected into the tumor and causes the patient’s immune system to
attack the tumor and destroy it – a targeted assault. It’s still in the early
stages, but survival rates have tripled as a result.
What I found surprised me. My heroine
underwent the treatment and survived to have a ‘happily ever after’.
This is not the only time I have let my
imagination lead me through research that has revealed answers to my plotting
problems. My latest historical, Reno’s Journey, led me to learn more about time
travel than I ever hoped to know – and the work that NASA is actually doing
toward discovering the possibilities. For another novel, The Storm You Chase, I
dug until I uncovered ongoing work toward harnessing the power of storms to
power cities and how a treatment for chronic traumatic brain injury (CTE –
think football concussions) may soon be a reality. Before I started digging – I
knew none of this information. Didn’t even know any of it was possible.
Anyway…like most authors, the research is
as rewarding as the writing – I learn so much.
Recently, while working on my historical
Wild West series, which travels between characters living in the past and their
descendants in the future, I wanted to find some vital way to link the actions
of an ancestor living in the past with the events in the life of their
descendant in the present day. In other words, could the experiences of your
great-great-whatever have any realistic impact on how you live your life today?
Could Dosha’s experiences determine how I
react to obstacles I face? Could John’s propensity to give in to his weaknesses
effect how I live my life?
Well…lo and behold – look what I found.
We are, indeed, a product of our past –
perhaps, much more than you realize.
Our behavior can be influenced by prior
generations. Of course, we already knew certain preferences, character traits,
and biological characteristics are passed down, but we’re just now discovering
how patterns, traumas, memories, and the very experiences of our predecessors
can be passed down to us also. In ancient belief systems, this was called
ancestral karma. Indigenous
cultures have long taught how the experiences and actions of our ancestors can
affect us. The Iroquois hold that our behavior, the way we process emotions –
our very actions can be influenced by seven generations before us. This theory
gives wings to that old scripture which says that the sins of the fathers are
visited down to four generations of their children.
Despite this age-old belief, the science
of genetic memory is quite new – in any scientifically serious way. This
budding science actually has a name, it’s called epigenetics – the study of how
genetic expression can be inherited in the same manner as DNA. The idea of
genetic expression can be defined as how the instructions built into our DNA
are converted into a function. In other words, life experiences can be passed
down to children and their children… Just think about that – the holocaust,
abuse, triumph, murder, education, slavery - - and on and on - - these things
can be engrained, imbedded, and woven into the very fabric of our being.
We were taught that you could take a child
out of an environment and give it new experiences and they would be untouched
by the happenings of the past. Nurture – vs – nature. Maybe not – not entirely.
What if survivors of traumatic events can pass down the effects of that trauma
to subsequent generations? If true, this could go a long way in explaining why
some people do the things they do. It also puts a heady burden on our own heads
that what we do can have long reaching and everlasting consequences.
Another article I found argues that this
genetic memory imprinting could explain the mysterious talents of a savant –
how an individual with no formal training and sometimes with disabilities, can
possess unexplainable abilities in music, language, math, or art. These people
very well could be utilizing imprinted knowledge in a way that others of us
can’t.
On the flip side, this could explain why
some people are born abusers or are just plain evil.
In the animal kingdom, this same theory
has been bandied about when mice can follow a path through a maze that was
forged by their parents. They were born knowing the twists and turns they’d
have to make - - - makes you think, for sure.
Maybe this is an answer to phobias and
anxiety issues. Hell, this theory could answer a lot of questions. This molecular
residue from days gone by could very well explain why we feel, believe, and
react to things the way we do.
Truthfully, this big subject of familial
imprints is sort of making my small brain hurt – ha!
There was one point that gave me hope,
however. Epigenetics also offers the possibility that a person can choose to
become a pivotal character, one who will create a path of change, a course
correction, a line of healing for future generations. Maybe we aren’t
necessarily doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past. Instead, we can
consciously decide to man the helm of our own future.
Yes, we are a product of our past.
So, now I have a basis from which to
expound on my plot in this new historical. How the actions of those who lived
before impacted the actions of those who follow in their footsteps.
And on a more personal note – I would like
to believe that the pioneering spirit I inherited from Dosha is stronger than
the weakness I inherited from Grandpa John.
Thanks for listening to me ramble –
Love, Sable
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4 comments:
Excellent blog, Sable! I was engrossed from beginning to end, and your research is not only interesting, it's mind-blowing. But you're right, it would explain why people are they way they are. Hugs!
Thank you, Julie. I appreciate your kind words.
Sable
Hi Sable. Quite an engaging post. Loved the story about the original Dosha, and about you. There is info there to keep you busy for a good many years and a good many books!
Gini - Thank you! I have a notebook full of ideas - I'm just not as high energy as I used to be. Hoping 2021 will be more productive for me than last year.
Sable
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