...telling.

I just finished reading a book. Not the book I began in Jackson, about art and beauty and aesthetics...this book is a story. It's fiction. It came from a woman's imagination, rooted in the truths she was aware of, and accepted by people like me who find the same truths settled in our hearts and souls.

It's not a grand work. It's unique in and of itself, but not at all unimaginable. That's not the point of telling a story though. It's not about coming up with an idea that no one has thought of before....no one would read that book...or rather, we would read it, but we wouldn't be moved by it.

Even the great writers who changed history with their shocking ideas and/or hypothesis, were only able to change history by connecting their new thoughts to the present ones.

Let me put it this way: I could create my own language...right now...and it could be brilliant, and maybe even beautiful...but no one would understand it, until I could translate it for them, or give them the key to understand it.

That's why I absolutely LIVE for story-telling. I made that realization today. Go figure! On a normal Saturday morning, much like any other, alone in the kitchen, finishing a story. I realized I loved this story. I was MOVED by it.

It spoke to me; and it wasn't the innovative part of my brain that it spoke to. It was speaking to that part of my brain that is comfortable, settled, safe, and happy. It's a part of my brain that doesn't get a lot of attention these days, and when it does, I am usually creep there...guilty and unsure. 

But reading this story reached right into that comfy part of my brain and sent warm waves of life through it. I think that's my imagination at work! THAT is how my imagination is fueled! What a wonderful discovery to make on this lovely, ordinary Saturday!

Of course, it was the finishing of the story that really sealed the deal. I closed the book and literally GRINNED. Because that's my favorite part of a story. The ending. Not because it's over, but because it signifies that there was a reason for the story, and a conclusion that would resolve all the conflict within; and THAT gives me hope. I connect with stories. All sorts of stories, because I want my life to be a story. I want all the conflict and the hurt and mistakes I've made, to come to a conclusion. Not death necessarily...but meaning. Ultimate meaning.

Within a single life, one can live out hundreds if not thousands of stories. If I look back carefully I can probably already start counting them...but it's not completely done yet is it? I'm not quite satisfied yet. There are SO many questions that haven't been answered. So many conflicts that haven't been resolved...in fact at this particular moment of my life I feel more conflict than resolution; I guess I'm hoping that means I'm in for a big realization soon :) Something that will bring sense and peace to my heart and my brain.

So that's what I've learned today. Stories give me hope. Doesn't matter if they're "well-written" or not if the story comes through.
If you're curious as to what book I finished reading, ask me and I'll tell you...just not on here :P My "story" I've just written would be instantly discredited by several at the mention of the title :D


-Ginny