Dear Muse,
Where are you today?
Your silence is killing me!!!
Are you still mad at me for not taking notes, while stranded at Dulles International Airport for 12 hours?
Don't worry---the story is there---it is hard to write and "people watch" at the same time.
The people I observed were marvelous beings from other lands and other lives. None spoke English as they talked among themselves.
Strangers, with stories I will never know....but I can imagine.....sometimes that is enough.
There was a man from India, followed by 3 wives. Beautiful people. Their sari's flowing in shades of tangerine, gold and brown. The first wife, or the oldest, was dressed in a turquoise robe, appearing wiser and definitely in charge of the other two. They chatted amongst themselves. The husband stood alone, oblivious of the laughter.
I remember the Monk running past me. Brown robes heavy as he ran. Hood slipping off his head to reveal a shaved head and a generous smile as he and his black companion ran to catch their flight. Bronze cross dangling from his waist....hitting his knees as he ran.
Or the "little girl" who sat down to recharge her cell phone battery. In reality she was probably 25 or 30 years old. Oblivious to the stares of strangers, self assured in her small body and her children's 6x jeans.
Several people moved to a window to watch a Saudi Arabian jet liner land. The name ablaze---palm tree and crossed swords were painted on the tail fin.
A young Amish mother sat down beside me, her toddler in a stroller wanting something to eat. She gave the little girl cereal and smiled at me. Then she pulled out a cell phone and began to text someone. They too, had just missed their plane. Her husband was trying to make other arrangements. This picture was missing some pieces....the dots did not connect.
People ran off and on for the 12 hours I was there. Trying to catch planes they were scheduled to miss.
Frantic souls at the "Customer Service" counter....trying their best to get somewhere else and fast.
Futile attempts followed by resigned fate that they too would have to wait many hours with other strangers....waiting their turn to go home.
So Muse, you might as well talk to me because the story wrote itself.
I think that's the most interesting thing about the writing process, and something I used to try and tell my students. Writing is like climbing down a ladder...you don't have to know what the last step looks like. Just write one line and the next will write itself. But so often it's really hard to sit down and write that first line, as you know.
ReplyDeletethat is so true...sometimes I feel like I am trying to herd cats!!!! The words are there along with the ideas but getting them to mesh is something else again.
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