Thirteen years later, after a year defined by the number of good friends I’ve lost, I have developed a weird kind of writers block. I realized after almost a life time of introspection that I am at heart a story teller. In fact we are all story tellers and even describe our past as History (to be gender neutral Thestory). We look around us and take possession of the thoughts, dreams and ambitions with which we want to be aligned. Some are better at expressing “thestory” than others, but we all have a tale to tell. I have tried to figure out what is causing the block and I have come to the conclusion that it is not a problem with writing.... it is a problem of inspiration.
Ultimately it is not ones ability to structure a story that causes a writers block it is a failure to see the story unfolding in your life. Over the past year I have unconsciously overlooked so many things to write about it would fill a blog for the next 13 years. It is that block. It’s as if my grief has calcified into an obstacle that obsures my reason for writing. I was telling my story to the very people who are now gone. I still have things to write about but no one to tell the story to. It is like preparing to do a show in a theater that is empty.
Knowing this does not help. In fact giving reason to a problem makes the problem real. I have been told I should just think of those who have departed as still reading the blog. However, since they are no longer on this plain of existence, they already know what I would be saying, so why go to the trouble? (Note: I have a similar problem with prayer. How can I presume to tell Omniscience something it does not know, nor can I suggest a solution Eternal Knowledge would not do without coaxing. Who is man that he would attempt to inform Infinite Knowledge of anything?)
A story teller needs a listener, a show needs an audience and an artist needs patrons. Although art is created for its own sake it only transcends when it is acknowleged. I have a garage full of personal journals and old sketch pads which will all be junk to recycle when I leave this plain. The question of whether any of it is art or just the raw material to make something else is moot.
This is a new year and my resolution is to get back on the writers horse and try to ride it again. I have no idea where the ride is taking me nor even if this horse is truly trained. I’m just tired of being afraid to get out of the barn and see what is out there.
Here is a parable that seems appropriate.
There is a man who builds a house on a hill to have a 180 degree view of the ocean. He loves this view of God’s handy work and finds peace and happiness each time he looks out his window. One night there is a huge earthquake. The house is built on a rock and other than some minor breaking of fragile glass items the house remains sound and intact. As day breaks the man looks out his window to see that a large mountain has pushed its way out of the ground and towers above the standing hills. It totally obscures the ocean view he once had. The peaceful and beautiful view of the ocean he once enjoyed standing at that window is now gone.
The man was religious and looked to his Bible for help. He finds this verse which seems to be perfect, Mark 11:23 “…22“Have faith in God,” Jesus said to them. 23“TrulyI tell you that if anyone says to this mountain, ‘Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ and has no doubtin his heart but believes that it will happen, it will be done for him. 24Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.”
The man begins to pray that this mountain obstruction to his happiness be ‘lifted up and thrown into the sea’. He prays this way every night and every day when he wakes up the Mountain is still there. He believes, he asks, he prays but the mountain stays in place but every day the man expects his prayer to be answered.
One day as he wakes to look out the window he sees that the mountain is still there. He notices how the sun casts a shadow of ultraviolet blue on the side which seems to move and make room for the beautiful glow of the morning sun to burst on the lovely green grass. The mountain is so majestic and strong while at the same time soft and engaging. The man felt happiness and peace in this beautiful view. It was the answer to his prayer.
As you were,
Jay
I may not be one of the original individuals you started writing the blog for, yet know (and I am certain) many others like me look forward to reading "yourstory" as we have difficulty telling "our/thestory". We (or at least I) can see ourselves in "yourstory" but more importantly you provide me that intellectual spark and stimulation to my mind or that slap on the proverbial behind which truly helps me in many ways. I could go on and on. Through the amazing power of the internet...........you, your feelings are not alone!!!
ReplyDelete“Your audience is one single reader. I have found that sometimes it helps to pick out one person-a real person you know, or an imagined person-and write to that one.” ― John Steinbeck
It feels really great to read another post by you Jay! I look forward to many more in 2019! Can't wait to hang out soon! Ax
ReplyDeleteI look forward to reading whatever you decide to scribe. Glad you've decided to get back to writing.
ReplyDeleteI check every day to see if you've put down a new story. My prayer has been answered. And hey, Jay, you know as well as I that every audience is composed of one person at a time. I used to tell my students in advertising at WU that advertising must speak to one person at a time. An international beer company used to have a radio campaign for years that started off, "Hey (name of town)!" They customized it for every market. I used to hate it because I'm not my town...I'm me. Talk to ME.
ReplyDeleteYou always talk to me, my friend.
And it feels as if you are talking JUST to me.
Never stop telling your stories, Jay.
-Philip (another storyteller)