Why do writers write?
To impart wisdom?
To stroke their ego?
Steven Pressfield says, "Nobody wants to read your shit."
His point is to keep after it up until it isn't shit.
Barbara Kingsolver's writing advice is: "Don't be afraid to write a bad book."
Her second piece of advice is "Keep revising it until it isn't a bad book."
What if it's an invitation to share, to join forces?
It's an opportunity for all of us to realize that we're in this (soup of life) together. We are all unique in the way we are put together, with genes stirred into unique combinations. (As with us. Surprise — you have a red-haired child.) We have our conditioning, conscious heritage, and life experiences shaping us.
So, here we are.
But then, on top of those unique qualities, we all share similar desires, wishes, dreams, longings, questions, and fears.
We all know we're going to die.
We've all had a childhood, good, bad, or indifferent—no human being ever thinks they were loved enough.
And then there comes a day when we realize it's up to us.
It's up to us to choose which spot on the political spectrum we stand. It's up to us to decide if we follow a religious concept, or if we unthinkingly follow the one we were born into or had forced upon us. It's up to us to make a living. It's up to us to find a mate and, before that, to decide if we want one for ourselves or are afraid to buck the social norm and go it alone. It's up to us to choose to have children, or if we got them by surprise, it's up to us to care for them.
And it's up to us to create the best life for ourselves we can.
Whoa, that's a lot of choices; no wonder we often feel frazzled.
And then some desire to express themselves on paper. (Or screen.) Sometimes we don't know why. It's a compulsion, like the idea that if you don't cut your hair, it will all end up snarled inside your head until your brain doesn't have a chance to breathe. (Brains breathe?) You get my drift.
I like travel stories. If you have had a wonderful trip, eaten exceptional food, (cuisine if it was fancy food), and had experiences that make your toes curl, I want to hear about them. You know, the idea is that the hero goes out into the world to gather knowledge and to bring it back to the tribe. (Or brings the food for the feast.) Why do you think we love stories so much?
Long ago, after our bellies were full, we sat around a campfire and listened intently as our warriors, hunters, shamans, or scouts told us about stalking the beast. They told of of risking their lives, or of saving their brothers from quicksand.
During our brief stint living on the Big Island of Hawaii, we, on several occasions, took ourselves to lunch at “Ponds Restaurant” in Hilo. We liked to go there because they had windows overlooking the pond; really, it was a small lake fed by ice melt off the mountain. From our seat by the bank of open windows that looked out over the pond, we could look down and see brilliant orange, gold, or spotted white and charcoal Koi fish, large as whisky barrels, anxiously looking up to see if any food was forthcoming.
My grandson was one year old, and the proprietor liked to give him food for the fishes. "But first," she said, "you must ring the gong three times."
We never tested the necessity for three rings, but the fish knew that the sound of the gong meant food.
So, my little grandson would ring the gong, then drop fish pellets over the window ledge, and watch the flurry of excitement as the fish ate their food. Then, we settled down to ours.
On one occasion, I read a sign on the restroom wall:
"Life wasn't meant to be well-ordered. It was meant to hold chocolate in one hand and wine in the other while yelling, "Whoopie, what a ride!"
So, I write that quote here, and you read it in China. A while later, you travel to the US, and while sitting at Point Loma Seafood in San Diego, you share the quote with a friend. She decides it's worth telling and writes it on her blog.
A million people read it.
You just had the opportunity to "change the quality of the day" ("the highest of the arts," so wrote Walt Whitman) for one million people.
And I didn't know what I was going to say when I began this blog. That is the fun of writing, it helps us to remember.
From a fellow traveler on this adventure called life.
P.S.This blog hit One Million all time page views last week. Whoopie for all you folks that checked in.
