Today I’m having lunch with a friend, Tricia Sutton, who’s a fellow writer. A year ago, that would have been impossible. One, because I’d never met her, and two, because the only other writers I knew were family members. I was crafting jewelry then, instead of stories. But a series of vivid dreams, and a friend’s suggestion that I could turn them into stories, started a new cycle in my life … or restarted an old cycle, depending on how you look at it.
In the mysterious ways these things happen, it was just as well I started writing full-time then because, two months later, I broke a bone in my dominant hand and wasn’t able to use my jewelry tools again until recently. I could, however, type—one handed, for a while, but still.
So, I’m thinking about cycles and how we continually change and renew ourselves. Reinvent ourselves, even. I’ve met so many new people in this new writing world and one of them recently blogged about how we’re in a constant state of change down to our daily cell renewal. I love that thought: the fluidity of our being. Though, if it could be arranged, I’d like to do a one-time complete cell exchange, say, with Mariska Hargitay.
Then, I thought about our memories, which are only our perceptions of things that once happened, once existed, and how we are forming a memory right this instant as time passes through us like a ghost. This led me to question the nature of fiction writing, and whether what we create with words is any less real than what we perceive, which sounds eerily like the late night conversations I used to have with my third son, soooo … that probably means it’s time to shut up.
Happy writing today, people.