The band 3 Doors Down has a song, Pages, that's never really heard on the radio, never had a video depict its message, never really met with the success of so many of their other songs, but it speaks to me on a level most people can't understand. It's easy for reviewers and readers and consumers of stories to feed on the words writers lay out for them. It's easy to interpret and hate and love and take ownership without stopping to consider the level of vulnerability and courage it took to put them out there.
Some days, it can't be done. The rawness and honesty fail to surface. Some days it flows like a fresh cut. And some days I hide it in a sentence, a detail only I know the significance of. Today it was a box of Lorna Doone cookies. I've never eaten one, but the visceral response I have just seeing them on the grocery store shelf is powerful. Selfish, perhaps, because the reader will never know this secret we share, this moment from my past for them to interpret or hate or love or take ownership. Writers must keep something for themselves because so much is given away on the page.
Why write, then? Easy. So others will interpret and hate and love and take ownership. To open your heart to a stranger is a beautiful, magical thing so fundamental to the human experience. Writing isn't sales or autograph lines snaking out the door of a bookstore or royalties. Writing is you and me and maybe a blanket to cover your feet from the cold.
Last Movie Watched: Nature's Grave (Long Weekend remake). Seriously, Jim? WTH were you thinking? I thought it was interesting that the (supposed) screenwriter posted to the imdb message board, in essence, telling us the director would not allow him to deviate from the original script. Was this an apology? Perhaps.
Last Song Listened To: Here Without You, 3 Doors Down (my Mississippi love hanging out)
Last Accomplishment: Five Charlie's Angels kicks in kickboxing (tried to find a link, but can't-just know I could get those Girl Scout cookies out of your hand with one stealth move)