As I sit in my bright yellow room looking over all of the traces of the time spent so far in this house, I keep thinking about the power of a good memory. By "good" I don't necessarily mean "happy" or "pleasant," but rather those memories that are meaningful enough to stand out, the ones that haven't faded into the background of my mind because of the experience they provided. Very seldom do I remember something from before about the age of 12; my childhood never seems to surface except on rare occasions. Or, perhaps the last (almost 9) years have just been too full for me to remember anything beyond them. I prefer the second explanation, though it may be a bit far-fetched. Thinking over the nearly 21 years of my life so far, I have noticed that the vast majority of my memories involve other people, rather directly or indirectly. Those images and scenes that come to mind the easiest are the ones in which I was acting with other people, acting for other people, or reacting to other people. Though not surprising, this observation is still intriguing to me as it shows how intertwined we really are as humans. The idea also helps me to see that in order to write a better story for my life I must pay attention to its characters.
I recently finished reading "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years" by Donald Miller, recommended by a good friend. Though slow-going at first, the last half of the book was quite challenging. The idea of viewing my life as a story that I write isn't new to me; most "writer-types" toy with the thought. However, I don't think I ever truly embraced the idea that I, as the writer, had the power to, well, write. I've been barely scribbling recently, just waiting for Him to give me some major inspiration, to stop my writer's block. I realize now that He's been waiting for me to first be willing to go out on a limb, write a few lines or paragraphs, knowing that He'll help me edit as I go along.
I have also realized that my character development has been a bit shoddy. The main character of my novel (me) has not been interacting with the other characters in the story enough to make it worth reading. Though my character is rather adept at being self-aware, she sometimes lacks the ability to see how deeply the characters around her affect her life. (I call this "the syndrome of the introvert") Of course, the interactions I have with other people in my mind are always fulfilling and exciting...the problem is getting the ideas on paper. I have been challenged to continue to fight past the urges to hide inside my own mind, to put the pen to paper and make bold lines. The things I risk - embarrassment, rejection, discomfort - aren't greater than the opportunity of writing a story that really means something, a story that I can be proud to show to God at the end of it.
"I don't wonder anymore what I'll tell God when I go to Heaven, when we sit in the chairs under the tree, outside of the city...he'll remind me of the parts I forgot, the parts that were his favorites. We'll sit and remember my story together, and then he'll stand and put his arms around me and say, 'Well done,' and that he liked my story. And my soul won't be thirsty anymore. Finally, he'll turn, and we'll walk toward the city...a city built in a place where once there'd been nothing." -Donald Miller
A Million Miles may be my favorite book of all-time, which is weird to me, because even though I find it to be incredibly inspirational, I've somehow managed to not apply a single thing I've learned from it to my life. What draws me to Miller's writing is that he and I approach life the same way, but in the processing of the information we receive, he always comes out as a glass half-full type of guy, while I come out as a glass half-empty guy. I assume this is why he tells great stories and I do not, because audiences like stories with happy endings and I usually sacrifice happiness for "reality".
ReplyDeleteThat being said, your post has got me itching to read this book again. I'm working through his Through Painted Deserts right now and it's constantly making me feel all warm & fuzzy inside.
Haha. I never thought I'd hear you use the phrase "warm and fuzzy" in regards to your own feelings. But if you feel led to read it again, I suppose I should give the book back to you. Perhaps you'll let me borrow that one when you're finished.
DeleteAlso, I cannot tell you how often I read Miller and think "man, he sounds just like Dylan." Which is a credit to you both in many ways, but also makes me think that perhaps it will take you a bit longer to really start writing a good story as well. It did take him into middle-age, if I recall correctly. Though, as I usually say about most things, being ignorant and not changing is better than having full knowledge of your situation and choosing to remain stagnant. Just some food for thought my friend.