Where did you get the writing from?

This question came from a friend, after learning that all my brothers and I studied science or engineering in college. I had never thought about my literary legacy before. What’s more remarkable is that I’m not the only one of my siblings who ended up writing speculative fiction. And both my parents didn’t speak English, the highest level of education between them being third grade in another country. So, where had this writerly bent come from?

Dissecting a Love for Story

I gave it some thought.

My father learned the trade of sheet metal mechanics instead of going to school. He became good at it and earned a good living in the United States without knowing the language. That was perhaps where we got our interest in engineering. I was the only one who didn’t study some kind of engineering in college, because mine didn’t have any such a major. Instead, I chose the closest thing, physics.

I loved discovering the mechanisms of the natural world, but an unseen world beckoned stronger. That was the place I went whenever I read a book. As far back as I could remember, I always saw my brothers reading too. Seldom was the book non-fiction. In fact, I have vivid images of my younger brother emerging from baths with a waterlogged science fiction paperback from the library. My chagrin at the bloated books might have heightened my desire to be a librarian years later, a penance and to be a caretaker. This love of books didn’t come from my father.

My mother was a seamstress who took what she learned in her scant years of schooling and went on to master one of the most difficult languages in the world by reading newspapers. Not English, which is a cakewalk compared to Chinese. Without a traditional alphabet, it consisted almost entirely of memorizing a new character for every word. With over 18 years of formal education culminating in a master’s degree, I could not achieve what my mother did with about three years of schooling and a vibrant curiosity. I still cannot read or write Chinese and only retained a rudimentary speaking knowledge.

Once I considered it, it wasn’t hard to figure out where our creativity came from.

Plotting without Comprehension

I’ve heard that children don’t like to teach their parents anything because it makes them feel insecure. We feel they should be the ones who know stuff and be able to take care of us. Maybe that’s why my brothers and I never tried harder to teach our mother English. She knew a few words, but this time she didn’t have the resources to make more of it.

But that didn’t stop her imagination. Whenever she watched TV, she would make up her own story of what was happening and often told us about it. I didn’t appreciate these maverick plots in my prickly teen years, but I realize now that they were quite clever. I think, many times, she preferred her own version to what we summarized for her. I wish my memory of them were clearer, because they probably were better.

A Literary Legacy Revealed

When I finally started writing my own stories a few years ago, my mother had already been wasted by years of Alzheimer’s Disease. But even without that toll on her mind, the language barrier would have kept my books from her. I could never have translated the full nuances of my tales, nor conveyed her influence on them. I scarcely understand it myself. But it manifests in glimpses of generosity, wonder, and humor that conjure the air of her presence. I hear her full body laughter at antics and see the solemn rapture on her face at the edge of danger and mystery. I could only imagine her delight at my works.

I had not known how much it meant it me until the veil was removed. When death was swallowed up in victory for her in January, I tasted the bittersweet consolation. She has left us for an eternal wholeness, which I believe allows her to see fully now. Finally, she follows my stories, every one of them, including the ones she helped to write. She smiles, and I rejoice through the sorrow of missing her. In the words of the dedication of my second book, I pay tribute:

For Mommy, who could now understand all my words and how much she has inspired me. Forever thank you.