Friday, March 7, 2008
(actually this post turned out to be just a personal writing oriented pep talk. Yeah, lets call it writing pep talk to self, number 2,387)
I was having a bit of snit, snit fit, yesterday. It only lasted a bit. But still some unsettledness has come of it.
I had been having a lovely day.
I decided to listen to Oprah's New Earth classroom.
I have mixed feelings about the book, some things I like, some I don't.
I decided to read it though, because of the beginning, when Eckhart speaks of flowers, and birds (and gems). There are no gems in the story I am working on writing, but his reference to flowers and birds, and the symbolism, natural inspiration/feelings from that, echoes well their meanings in my story Echo. So that interested me. I liked that. Our meanings echoed so I entered.
Anyway my snit, or should I say my ego's snit (according Echart) is merely this, too much of what is in his book, reminds me of elements in my story. And like any sane writer type of person, I feel like I have been robbed. Well not really, not like it was taken from me, but since someone else, has already presented it, like I can not present it, thus I still have what I had, but the value in giving it to others has been taken away.
I have been down this road with myself and the work of others, before. I believe ideas are given, not just to one, but like a stream, a currrent, ideas flow, and several people, (2, 20, 200, 2000) receive it, or parts of it, only it manifests itself differently through the lens (eyes, heart, soul, life) of each person. So it isn't the same exact thing, but different versions of like ideas. And I have told myself in the past that this is true for a reason, because we all need to hear, certain ideas over and over, and to take them in, in different ways, and forms, till we can fully know them. Thinking over this again started to make me feel a little bit better.
Further talking myself out of my snit, involved lots of, his book is a self-help book, yours is a novel. Some parts have like ideas true, but aren't these universal ideas anyway? I am sure many published books have both the ideas presented in his work and yours (this made me feel both better and worse). And there are elements in both works (as far as I have read him anyway) that are sure to be different. And one is a story, and thus automatically different. And the concepts are presented differently. Well yes, but some aren't, actually, I heard some words come out of his mouth that were things I had written. And that did so bum me out. But still, they are not the same. And why can't I take some comfort, some value in those parts which do echo? Why can I not decide that it validates, rather than invalidates, the story which I wish to tell?
And isn't the story called Echo, for a reason. Yes, because it is full of echoes. So what harm is there in more? I guess I don't want mine to be the echo, because then it would seem like a copy, like his was the origin. But just like in your story, none of the echoes are copies, they all echo something deeper. Both works are echoes, of some other, an intangible origin, just like all those other published works that echo the same themes. None are copies, all are echoes. That we feel and hear, and try to echo back, to source, and on, to future.
I am a bit wary of reading rurther into his book, for I have little doubt, that I will be faced with this issue again. But since the messages do echo, I know, that there is need for me to hear them, and take in such words, as I shall find there. And he is to try and help us to set down our egos and certain concepts of I, my, and mine (ideas my work doesn't address, nor for that matter does my mind). And I can see value in reading these ideas. Plus now that my ego is stomping around wearing big clunky boots trying to make lots of noise in its angry disappointment, or sulking quietly," what is the use, I have nothing to add, to give, so why bother?". It seems it might be of more value than ever to try and see beyond ego's thinking.
It is amazing to me that this is just the beginning. That I am still at the beginning of a writing journey. By the time I work through all these blocks, and starts and stops (which it seems I must do, over and over, and over again), and have the full draft, and then rework it, till it is as good as I can make, by the time I am finally "there" with the work "finished" in my hands, a time that seems far off, that a great amount of energy and work, and courage will be needed to get me to, by the time I am finally "there", I will still be at the beginning. Deeper in, further in, but nowhere near the end. Maybe best I think of it as the middle, least I become too discouraged. Yeah I can do that. The middle, and with a high vantage point, where you can look off into the distance and imagine, it wont take much for my journey now, and then as you walk down and start tredging through, realizing "Oh my God, I might never make it. I had no idea it was still so far away". But I don't mind lending to myself the illusion of it being closer, and easier than it will be, in fact, I feel I need to. For it seems to me I have been on this path a long time, indeed I started over 10 years ago, (I keep wandering off to side paths) I need to hold within me the believe that I have covered ground. And I need to hold that belief to help me to keep walking, and once I am further in, till walking back out through the start seems as long and difficult a journey as walking on through does, till that time, best if I focus on my progress and not the distance yet before me.