Monday, September 29, 2014

Everything is Something to Learn

Something I've recently realized (a little too recently considering how long I've been writing) is that every experience, good or bad, joyful, sorrowful, humiliating, or strange, is potential. Every moment of life you experience is a moment you can accurately reproduce in your stories, should the need arise. The more you're aware, the more you absorb, the more real you can write.

I learned a lot this past week. Whether I'll ever need it or not, I don't know, but if I do, it's there now.

Now I know about the size and beauty of El Paso, TX, especially at night.

Now I know how a three-foot tall, 28lb toddler can KO a full-grown adult.

Now I know  the process of a military funeral.

Every little thing's a lesson for a writer. Every moment is potential. There's nothing quite like laying someone to rest to remind you to appreciate every single one.

And if for some reason you need a toddler to take out an adult, have said toddler lock their legs around the seated adult's legs at the last second while she tries to put the toddler on the ground in front of her. When the adult realizes too late that the toddler's feet are not where her center of balance said they should be, gravity and trying to avoid squishing the child will take care of the rest.

1 comment:

  1. I hope everything is settling down well after your trip?

    "Every moment of life you experience is a moment you can accurately reproduce in your stories, should the need arise."

    This, so much this. It also works for people -- I feel like I've known this ever since I started writing, possibly because the only way I've ever been able to crawl out of my angst/anger/any negative feelings (induced by whatever reason, justified or unjustified) is to Sherlock myself out of it, thus leading to forced awareness of what makes people do what they do and why.

    It's the feeling of being awake in a different country at 3AM when the entire house is sleeping, but the windows are open and the world outside is still bustling because, unlike your home, the city never sleeps. It's the smell of alien streets that are subconsciously familiar.

    It's knowing why someone said what they said even before they've figured it out for themselves. It's the look on your face when you force yourself to look in the mirror after weeping like a child, when you most want to bury your face in your hands.

    ...What you said just now, though, made me think of a challenge. I heard that humans learn at least one new thing every day. We as writers are already conscious of this when it happens, sometimes. We should write it down every time it happens, though, sort of make a patchwork quilt of human experience.

    Er, sorry for rambling.


    (Even if I'm not talking to you. Synchronously.)