Where These Essays Began
Five or six years ago, I decided I wanted to write about how we carry our words within us — whether or not we pay attention to the actual words we say.
How many times have you told another person I love you and the words have been automatic? It isn’t that you don’t mean what you say. Rather the words have become part of a cherished relationship. Or when you have said thank-you to a wait-person in a restaurant, when your mind was focused on the person with whom you are dining. And then discover, you don’t know which person was assigned to your table when it comes time to order.
However, this kernel of my idea about the words we say kept being nudged out of the way. I exhibited my photography, published several books of poetry, learned to write op-ed articles, and began a blog. Yet, the idea would not go away and leave me alone.
This past fall, the time seemed right. Funny thing — during this period of time, I had changed. And the world around me had changed. For months, I tried to fit my idea from the past into the present. But I couldn’t make it work.
Gradually, I realized I was trying to fit a square premise into a round hole. Or to use another analogy, it was like trying to fold up an unfurled parachute in a stiff breeze. The more I tried to write, the more tangled up I got in silk and ropes.
Sometimes writing is like that. A good idea refuses to develop. The partially finished manuscript gets relegated to the back of a closet — or sometimes ceases to exist with the click of the computer’s delete button. Most writers have one or more of these failed attempts stashed away. These are the easier alternatives, because killing an idea or premise gives a writer permission to move on, after having given it a good try.
Much harder is what I decided to do. I decided to set aside what I’d written over these six months. I would go back to the original idea and begin again.
So I re-started my writing project. Hopefully not too burdened by what I already had written. The parachute? I am looking for an parachute expert who can fold the thing to fit into the little pack. Freeing me to write about a Sunday morning whim and a whole series of events that totally up-ended my life and my relationship with words.
Actually, I don’t even know whether parachutes are reusable!
