come to my window

"All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. And there are mere trickles. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don't matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake."

Today I sat in my car at the park and listened to a radio conversation about high school students trying to diagnose authors and the characters in their novels, trying to somehow define and fix them. One teacher lamented this, saying that labeling the authors and fixing the characters would eliminate the need to think about what the author is trying to say. Truth can be scary, especially when it comes from someone with a mental disorder. So the kids label, and the truth is ignored.

While reading the first few chapters of a new book today, I found myself pausing, resting the book on my lap, and staring off (going to my "happy place," as Liz calls it, evidenced by a smile, a cocked head, and crossed eyes) as I recognized the similarities in our writing styles and subject choices. She's a real author who has written real books. By comparison, I write drops that have yet to accumulate to even "mere trickles"... but I'm on my way. I do go to a happy place when I write, and this author talks about listening to that, heeding the creative voice. It's been on my mind lately, and she's written a whole book about it. Good sign.

Going to my "happy place" can be scary, like truth can be, mostly because I'm opening myself up to intense feeling. Unless controlled, feelings can take over and turn you into a horny toad... oh wait. That's from a movie. No, no... what I meant to say is that feelings can take over and turn you into someone who can be labeled with some form of mental disorder. I don't have a mental disorder, but experiencing intense emotions is a window into that world. Truth IS scary. It can haunt you long after the feelings are gone.

On the flip side, intense emotions are just emotions. Ghosts are just ghosts. I'm reminded of "The Sixth Sense" and how each encounter with a dead person is freaky as heck, until the boy finally talks to one... and she just wants help. Oh. Alright. Cool. So you follow the creative voice to a window and brave a look inside... and it's just a song or a blog post.

Crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon...

(Yes, I'm quoting a Melissa Etheridge song. First and last time.)