A short explanation before today’s post is read: This is my first #SATurday post. In these posts, I hope to share more of my personality and life with you all as well as engage in topics ranging from psychology to experiences to thoughts on life in general. Since writing and reading is such a large part of my life, it is most likely they will be brought up often – as you’re about to see below – but my intent is, honestly, your intent. Take these posts however you will and respond about any part. Unlike my previous posts, there isn’t necessarily going to be one message. Think of these posts as streams of consciousness. Hopefully, they’ll open the curtain to a more personal side of my life and your life. Most of all, let’s have fun with it! …
I don’t necessarily want this to be my first post. In fact, I’ve already begun the one I originally intended to share. It was more positive, less greedy, but also leaning on the creepy side. That’s all I’ll say about it for now. This one is much more punctual (and appropriate) but punctual suits it better since it is much easier to write. The words – in other words – are right on time.
Time is a tricky substance of writing. A novel that required one week to read demanded one year to write, and the story itself spanned over years. Words, in that sense, create time (or, at least, outline the foundation of time.) Without writing – whether it sketches out pictures or letters – we would have less history. Of course there is always oral history, but if you’ve ever played telephone, we all know how that turns out. “I like my cat” turns into “I’ll lick Michael.” And poor Michael gets picked on by the class for the rest of the week. If the class had been playing pass the note instead, the outcome would’ve been very different. Hopefully.
Writing has allowed us to solidify the story, the legend, the fable, perhaps even the greatest truths and lies we’ll never surely know. Maybe overanalyzing it is where the art of mystery is born – and overtime, the genre. So many genres. Uncountable amounts. And we’re still adding. For instance, I tried to explain what NA, a.k.a. “New Adult”, was to a friend of mine. Despite being a reader of that exact genre, she didn’t really understand – probably at a fault of my own. I can be rather wordy, a bit overzealous, a little too passionate, but mostly disorganized in my thought process. This disorganization is one of the reasons I write. Slowing down allows me to collect the chaotic conspiracies and theories and misspellings before I explain them in a relatable way. (Or not relatable. That happens, too.) Sometimes, it feels nice to be misunderstood.
When I think of my friend’s confusion, I find comfort in it. Her focus wasn’t on the genre. It was on the story. She could not have cared less if it were YA, NA, or Adult. She only loved the words – not the marketing plays my author life succumbed to along the way – and the reminder was a gentle one. Her confusion reminded me of my own story – a history where a love for stories existed before a love for genres before a love for writing – and her silence brought me back to that moment. It was in that instance that I realized we have more than a few ways to tell stories. It isn’t only found in pictures or words or textbooks. Stories are found all around us – threaded into our expressions, mashed by our stances, and even placed in a place not searched in often – in our silence. Maybe that’s why authors always litter stories with words like smiled, nodded, shrugged, and sighed. Emotions have paved the way to expression even before we could understand words at all.
~SAT on #SATurday