talking about: writers
some of us write short things first. we sum up a story in a few sentences. we have a conflict and resolve by panning over the top and whispering the secrets of character motivation into the reader’s ears. we give a brief backstory. he used to be this, but now he’s not. then we spend a little bit talking about what he is now. at the end, there’s a question about what he’ll be in the future, but that’s not important right now. maybe another day. some of us take bite-size emotions, lay them out one by one so the reader can follow us into the forest and have a small adventure with a winged creature or the stars. at the end, there are so many ways to go home, and the choice is left open. some of us write short things first.
some of us write long things first. we have so much to say and we’ll take all the time we need to say it. there is a lot of backstory. time moves slowly and rambles a little as it goes, pointing out waystations and picnic spots along the way. the road is paved in places and rough dirt in others, but it keeps going, until finally we arrive at our destination, full of memories and snacks and jeans with holes in the knees. we are fulfilled by leaking our souls into the stories and hope nobody minds and maybe somebody cares. the house at the end is home. some of us write long things first.
some of us play at other people’s houses first. we don’t have that many toys of our own, or we simply enjoy the ones that others have. we bring in our own dolls and teddy bears to another world. we suggest the backyard as a new place to explore. sometimes there are no toys, just words between lips and fingers dancing in the air. we left the backyard and ventured down the street, boots on little feet. we spent long afternoons and time after dinner, too. some of us play at other people’s houses first.
some of us need thoughts, not sentences. we need the journey to be nebulous and wavering. the destination is shaped but not concrete. we want the skies to be the colors of our dreams and the shudder of sound in the floorboards to remind us of childhood and yesterday. we need to skip stones on meter and leave the door ajar. we wander through our spaces with curious eyes, seeking new intentions to blend with a past lesson. some of us need thoughts, not sentences.
some of us are all of us.
thank you for writing your stories the way you write them, writers.
