Tuesday, April 17, 2012
The Writer You See
Thank you for being in my life. You have no idea what you contribute to the writer you see on this page. Whether you touch my days only briefly or follow along beside me, know that you are a part of each of the letters I so carefully put to word.
To the one who called me beautiful when I was fairly sure I wasn’t, thank you for giving me the chin up, for filling my heart with hope on a day when I was feeling like a loser both inside and out, that even with all of my best efforts I had not done what I was here to do, had lived up to only half of my potential, had failed my mission, had not given enough, encouraged enough, smiled enough, written enough, loved enough, that I had failed, indeed, to save the world, to bring peace and light and love to all, no matter how hard I had tried, and that no one was willing, or would ever be willing, to publish my words on the issue, failure or not. Thank you for the kind word on a day when I was berating myself, belittling myself, judging in a way I would find reprehensible should I witness it in someone else. Hey beautiful! I know the words were nothing to you, but they were everything to me.
A special thank you to the friend who looked at me on the ride back from our thirtieth high school reunion and asked, “Do you think there’s a story in that?” That phrase is, since, forever locked in my head. I have always approached life in a thoughtful way, but you have given me the words. I can no longer experience a wave crashing against the shore, the eerie vastness of a canyon, or an open road on a sunny day without hearing your voice whisper in my ear, “Do you think there’s a story in that?” When I am enjoying a lunch in a local café and a displeased customer begins raising a voice and causing a scene, when all heads turn, when the ever patient and painfully nice teenage clerk registers fear in body language that even a kindergartner could read, I ask myself, “Do you think there’s a story in that?” The answer always, “Yes. Yes I do.”
Thank you to the one of you, even though there were two of you, who told me to leave the pixie dust off the page, that pixie dust is magic and chance and luck and a bit of fancy, and that none of that has anything to do with where I am in my life today or why I am the woman I am, that I have come through what I have and am standing before you where I am through no less than determination and grit and lots of hard work, plenty of hard work, and that I should celebrate that, embrace it, give it the acknowledgment it deserves, and in no way pass it off as chance or happenstance. Thank you for looking at my words and for breathing life into a story I had nearly dismissed, a story that was just my life.
To the other of you who told me the same, thank you for ignoring my whining. You should know that others let me get away with that sort of business. They think my pouting is cute or deserved or necessary. They throw me parties of the pity type, complete with hugs and kind words and imaginary Feel Better Soon balloons. They tell me how great I am. They build me up. They speak meanly of those agents and their evil rejection slips, can’t BELIEVE anyone would pass up the opportunity to represent my wonderful work. They treat me like the princess who has temporarily had her crown knocked off kilter. You just tell me to buck up and deal and get on with business. You don’t buy into my act. Thank you for that. That is exactly what I need. But if you could, please don’t tell the others. I sort of enjoy the attention. And, for the record, I WILL keep writing. Always.