Does anyone “own” a story? ~ #BlogHerWritingLab 2016


Such an intriguing question!

I believe that I own My Story in the way I live it, internalize it or interpret it.

I believe a Story evolves, sometimes dramatically, sometimes gently and everything in-between in the heart, soul and mind of the person entrusted with the Story – the “Story Teller.”

I own only my reactions & emotionsjoy, compassion, empathy, fear, anger and so many others – to the Story or to the circumstances of another person’s Story in the way I see it lived, internalized or interpreted. I do not own another person’s Story. Ever.

The person who lives the Story is the Story-Owner is the Story-Teller.

Does this make sense?

I know that I’ve written blog posts honoring pages or chapters in the stories of others, but on my birthday, October 6, 1952, My Story began in earnest exactly 63 and a half years ago today (of course, it had begun eons previous to that day!). I wrote this blog post of My Story on October 6, 2010.

I alone own My Story, but every single person whoooom has ever been born has been called and asked the same question: “Whoooo? Whoooo?”

The Whoooo is me and the Whoooo is you.

Then our stories begin.


Hello 58!

Back in March of this year, I wrote a little verse  for a dear friend on the day of her baby boy’s birth.  This will always be a little gift to Beth and Eli… forever.  I know that each baby travels his or her own journey to being born through thousands of years and thousands of miles and thousands of hopes and thoughts and dreams.  As parents, we wait for these babies to join us on our own journeys.  We await with open hearts and open arms and dreams beyond dreams for these gifts of children.

Today is my birthday. Today I think of my Mom and my Dad as I begin the celebration of my birthday.  I wish I could remember that day – that October 6th day back in 1952 – in Benton Harbor, Michigan.  My Mom has told me of that day, how it had snowed the night before, and how my grandfather had driven my Mom to the hospital in his pick-up truck, and of how my Dad was out-to-sea and had no way of knowing that I was almost here and my brother was staying with my grandparents on their farm.  My Mom was alone all that night and into the next morning.  This is all part of my Mom’s Story, too.

Then I came.

Of course, I don’t remember any of this.  I don’t remember much of anything up ’til about 3 years old.  I am lucky enough to have photographs to remember – old black & white ones – in my Mom’s arms, 1st birthday, 3rd birthday…

But what I do know is that my journey, my Story, began long before October 6, 1952.

I think, I honestly think, that our journeys do begin thousands of years, millions of years, maybe, before we arrive.  We wait.  We whisper.  We wonder.  Then we know when it’s time.

Today, I dedicate my little verse (I’ve edited it to be more universal) to my Mom and Dad (Dad is smiling from heaven today) and to all the Moms and Dads who await their babies, who dream of their babies-to-be, who have babies and who take babies into their homes and hearts.  Babies who have chosen them to begin their journeys, their Stories of life

The Owlet Who Whispered, “Whoooo?”

A million years ago, or so,
A tiny crack was heard.
And from that tiny crack,
There came a baby bird…

An owlet of downy feathers
With a palette of softest hues,
Who opened its great, wide eyes
And whispered, “Whoooo? Whoooo?

Whoooo?” explained the wind,
Who blew into the nest,
Whoooo? is what Heaven knows
Which now does all the rest.”

So every single day to come,
For a million years, it’s true,
The owlet opened up its eyes
And whispered, “Whoooo? Whoooo?”

To the sun or drenching raindrops,
To snow or winds or dew…
In light or deepest darkness
Came the whispered, “Whoooo? Whoooo?

Then one miracle morning,
The owlet’s “Whoooo?” was named;
Through all of space and all of time,
From heaven, the answer came…

For the wind was oh, so perfect
In the early morning’s light,
And with the strength of the universe,
The owlet took flight.

It flew.
It knew.
The “Whoooo? Whoooo?” it asked for that day,
Was YOU.

I thank my Mom and Dad today for waiting for my whispered, “Whoooo? Whoooo?”

For helping to write My Story.


Does your Story belong to anyone else? Does anyone really own a Story?

BlogHer Writing Lab April 2016 Prompts! Why not join in and tell your story. 

About Audrey

Audrey McClelland has been a digital influencer since 2005. She’s a mom of 5 and shares tips on her three favorite things: parenting, fashion and beauty. She’s also a Contemporary Romance Author.

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