What an odd sort of profession this seems to be.
Daily going into a solitary room and picking which suitcase to open.
There are several full of fears, well worn and traveled.
There is the suitcase of curiosity.
The suitcase of failure.
There are those packed in the corner of the room. The one filled with humor. Another packed with wit. Another of unbridled courage that often gets lost and goes missing for weeks at a time.
There is the tiny carry-on case full of wisdom.
There is the matching set of suitcases full of regret.
These are the tools of the trade, the ones I unpack daily depending on the story.
The story is key yet it’s not the point.
The point is what’s inside these suitcases.
Daily I get to remove their contents and wrap them around a journey and a character and a theme.
Daily I get to face my fears and remember my regrets.
This is a job for an insane person.
To daily look in the mirror and wince.
Then to try and make something out of that picture.
New suitcases come every day. Some nice and shiny. Some weathered and falling apart.
I pick and choose every day.
And often, I forget to put the contents back in their place.
I carry into the night the fears and the curiosity that I found earlier.
I find memories in my pockets before going to bed.
A story is lifeless unless the creator puts himself in it. A story is nothing without the worldview and voice of its narrator.
But to get to the worldview and voice, you have to unpack these suitcases.
And sometimes, at least for me, it’s a real drag.
The baggage I’ve carried for a lifetime isn’t that different from others, but it’s mine. Sometimes I bury the suitcases in the back lawn but they are always there again the next day, waiting to be opened, waiting to be used.
And use them I do.
Why I choose to open the cases that scare me the most is the one thing I don’t understand. The suitcases of laughter and discovery are there but often feel out of place in my work. The suitcase of hope usually only gets opened near the end of a story.
It’s part of the process and part of this crazy, wonderful thing called writing.
Labels: on writing
