You know, in case you haven’t noticed.

 

Image courtesy of maladie via stock.xchng

Jeff Goins published a book about this recently. Got me thinking about how titles and assertions can affect how we see ourselves, and, therefore, how we behave.

It’s odd how I’m so on again/off again with being willing to say out loud I am a writer, to make that descriptor a part of describing me. Like many things in my life, I find it easier to explain with a story.

You know those characters in musicals who can never say what they mean but can somehow find just the right song?

Well, I can think I say exactly what I mean, but it seems like some people don’t *get it* until it’s connected to a story.  And maybe that’s why I love Story so much.

One of my four most influential novels ends with this wonderful exchange that encapsulates my feeling toward writing. {I suppose this is where I say SPOILER WARNING for those of you who haven’t read The Perilous Gard. And tell you that you should read it.}

It begins with Christopher trying to convince Kate that he wants to marry her.

“Perhaps that wasn’t the most fortunate way of saying it. But I can’t think of the right words.”

“There aren’t any right words. You don’t even love me. You know you don’t. They asked you on All Hallow’s Eve if there was a woman you loved, and you said there wasn’t.”

I’ve never thought of it like that,” said Christopher. “How could I? If you were any other woman, I could tell you I loved you, easily enough, but not you — because you’ve always seemed to me like a part of myself, and it would be like saying I loved my own eyes or my own mind. But have you ever thought of what it would be to have to live without your mind or your eyes, Kate? To be mad? Or Blind?” His voice shook. “I can’t talk about it. That’s the way I feel.”

When it comes down to the question, yes, I’m a writer, yes, I love to write. But it’s like saying I love my blue eyes, or the way I think.

It’s part of who I am, and after that point there doesn’t seem to be a lot more to say.

We’re left with living.