Not With a Bang but a Whimper

In 1925 T.S. Elliott wrote The Hollow Men.  I remember reading it in Ms. Pfeiffer’s English class my senior year of high school and thinking to myself within its dark somewhat twisted words, that made me think of scarecrows going to war, it was probably the most powerful thing I ever read.  Its themes are overlapping and fragmentary, much like the rest of Elliott’s work, but it was in its dark beauty that I found meaning beyond post-war Europe.

Elliott writes “We are the hollow men.  We are the stuffed men.  Leaning together headpiece filled with straw.  Alas!”  I think of those little scarecrow men leaning together supporting each other and knowing that they are not alone.  Was it what Elliott had in mind when he wrote it?  Probably not, but it makes me realize that we as humans are always looking to be whole.

Last night I wrote “The End” on my manuscript.  I completed a goal I had had in my head since my early twenties, and at one point decided I would abandon if I hadn’t done it by thirty.  Good thing for me I decided not to keep my word.  What I realized in those last moments as the music roared to life and the closing credits rolled in my head, was it ended like Elliott wrote “Not with a bang but a whimper”.

It is the quiet things that we do in life that sometimes have the greatest impact.  It is the things we don’t seek praise for, but find fulfillment in that sculpt us.  In the moment that I wrote the last line, I knew that it had ended.  I knew that I had crossed a line somewhere between the closest thing that I knew of child birth and graduation. 

When Barbara Walters or Ann Curry ask what happened on that momentous day when I finished my first novel, I hope to tell them I mowed the lawn.  I hope to say that I sat in stunned silence on the phone with one of my closest friends as she screamed “You just fucking wrote a book.”  All I could do was answer her yes I did and stare at the wall because what I knew all the time was possible just never appeared to be probable.

Next month I will take my first steps on the unfamiliar road to publishing.  Like Dorothy I will start at the beginning of the yellow brick road and follow it all the way to the Emerald City.  And like Dorothy, I am definitely going to need a pair of killer shoes.

Mixed Materials...Create a blend of textures

 This week I will put the book to rest.  While I am excited beyond belief, I am also very apprehensive for the future.  It is one thing to know how a manuscript becomes a book.  It is a complete difference to know how a writer becomes and author.

 I believe that anyone can write a book.  It takes discipline, a bit of madness, the ability to listen to people that don’t exist, and a few bottles of wine.  Of all of those things discipline is the hardest.

See over the past few months I have been procrastinating, as the characters in my head have been pacing, sometimes beating against my brain for release.  I have buried them in the laundry, balancing the checkbook and dishes because I don’t want to let them go into the world.  I have asked myself all the questions that parents ask.  Are they ready?  Have I done enough?  Did I teach them what they needed?  Most importantly I turn the questions to myself.  Am I ready?

I can love the book with everything that I have.  I can hide the pieces of myself that I desperately want to expose to the world inside it, mixing the material of reality with the texture of fiction.  I can say the things I wish I was able to say aloud.  I can be stronger than I ever imagined I could, but eventually I have to take all those parts and hope that someone will see in them what I see.

We mix the materials of our world every day, from the clothes that we wear to the company that we keep.  Sometimes we pair silk with denim.  Sometimes varying heights of heels with varying lengths of skirts.   Others we mix and match our lives blending a palate of happiness, disappointment, fear, and triumph.  If you are a woman you can have all of those things in the same day, and you still get up and do it all again.

It is the mixture that defines who we are.  That can change us.  At times it is the mixture that makes us get up in the morning as we stand in front of the mirror moving portions of our personality forward and backward like the picking of an outfit.

Ultimately underneath the layers that build up across our psyche over the years we seek acceptance.  We seek to understand the word unconditional.  We seek the ability to stand raw and beautiful, and know with every fiber in our bodies that we believe in the things we say the things we write.

I have learned more about myself then I ever thought I was capable of knowing.  I have been taught more than I ever thought I was capable of being taught.  I have been blessed more than I could ever imagine, and I have been grateful more than I have ever known.

Color Your Life…Lust for vibrancy doesn’t stop here

First ‘89ers Day a brief history:

In 1889 President Benjamin Harrison proclaimed the two-million-acre region of Unassigned Lands open for settlement.  That April, an estimated 50,000 men and women lined up across what is now Oklahoma to make a mad dash for their own little piece of the good life.  By the end of the day on April 22, 1889, both Oklahoma City and Guthrie had established cities.  As Harper’s Weekly put it:

“At twelve o'clock on Monday, April 22, the resident population of Guthrie was nothing; before sundown it was at least ten thousand. In that time streets had been laid out, town lots staked off, and steps taken toward the formation of a municipal government."

This year marked the 82^nd Annual ‘89ers Day celebration in Guthrie, OK.  For some it is a sentimental time to come back to their hometown, cookout with friends and family, participate in the grand spectacular of the parade, carnival, and chuck wagon feed.  Yes, I really did say chuck wagon feed.  For me it was a chance to spend the evening with three of the most amazing women that I know.  Though our life experience has been varied, it is our roots that brought us home well that and perhaps the chance to date carnies.  Wait, I am definitely going with roots.   

My day yesterday reminded me of the ways that we color our lives.  The hues we adapt with chameleon like grace as we move through the world in search of peace, happiness, and Gucci.  The friends that come into our lives and what leads us home.  The things that define us in ways we may not be aware, that are sometimes poetic, sometimes ironic, sometimes just damn embarrassing, but we continue to grow to change. 

In the past three years I have been a veritable child with a pack of crayons, no not the little 8 pack, the big 64, running rampant in my own life.  I have been on a quest for vibrancy, a desperate explorer of experience.  Searching for those things that make my heart sing and that spark of life where the outside world falls away to a wonderland of the five senses.  My friends, bless their souls have decided, perhaps unknowingly, to take this journey with me.

 I will never say that trying to live a life outside the lines is easy.  It is full of people that want to roll their eyes at you or make snarky comments behind your back, sometimes even to your face, but it is in those moments of color I realize that vibrancy doesn’t stop here.  Last night my friends and I witness a couple that redefined color despite their penchant for white jeans and black leather.  It wasn’t the way they groped one another on the dance floor as their white clad legs seemed to meld together ironically to Prince’s Purple rain, it was the way they were totally and completely together.

 See fashion will come and go currently according to In Style magazine the “it” color of the month is marigold, last month it was honeysuckle, and the next month it will become something different.  We change like the color wheel bringing in hues based on our experiences from the black of a broken heart to the pale pink of kindness.  Those shades grow and change as well gaining and losing vibrancy as we make our way across our own big box of 64.

What I learned about life last night I learned from those two people on a dance floor.  To accept someone you have to be willing to be seen with them when they wear feathers and a raccoon tail on their hat.  To truly love someone you have to be willing to take that hat off their head and wear it yourself.   To be an acquaintance with someone you have to share a common bond even if they aren’t coloring their world as you are yours.  To be friends with someone you have to be willing to pick up your own crayon and help them fill in the lines.

I have more friends filling in my lines more than I ever could imagine and I was blessed enough last night to share an experience with them.  It is through our experiences that we have been able to enrich each other’s lives in way that we are probably not aware of.  Even if sometimes it just means letting a friend know that they could totally rock an outfit better then the girl walking past the bar or just getting a simple message that says I believe in you.  Without their lust for vibrancy I wouldn’t be where I am today and able to do what I can do.