Aside comment

It’s not that I have been ignoring the blog.

Or doing other things, instead of writing a new post.

I have been working on a very complex piece. For a while.

I guess I could post other stuff in between. (So… my bad.)

I think the problem with my piece is that I keep trying to get other people to say it.

I keep trying to get characters in Delphi to speak it. But, ultimately, I think that is my problem. None of them can speak it. Really, only Sibyl or Kaitlin would be potentially viable options. But in the end, neither of them is a viable option. While Sibyl might be sad, she is not depressed. And there is a big difference between sadness and depression. And Kaitlin has no idea what “depressed” would even feel like. She is an upbeat, optimistic sort of gal. She might have problems and worry about stuff, like her pre-teen son, but she always sees the glass as half full.

The piece I am working on at the moment is the perspective of someone who is incredibly low and depressed and worried about slipping over the edge.

Alas, no one in Delphi can take on that role. Unless I introduce an entirely new character, which at this point in time, I do not want to do. I cannot force something into Delphi that does not belong.

I want to finish the piece and post it, though. My reticence is that it will then clearly be MY post.

Delphi just makes things so much simpler for me. All of the characters of Delphi are me. And none of the characters of Delphi are me.

However, once I have created – or hashed out – or come to know any of the specific characters, then I cannot honestly alter them, or have them do something they would not do. Well, I could, but then it would be untrue. And what’s the point of that?

So, the only thing to do, I guess, is to finish the landslide piece. And post it. Separate from Delphi. I could just not post it, but I have spent so much time working on it, and it is crying out to be told.

However.

It requires me to climb way far out on a limb, which I do not like to do.

One of the things I truly love about living in a small town is that I can walk pretty much wherever I need to go. And I will invariably bump into multiple people I know, and we will stop and chat. This morning I walked to the bank to deposit my child support check; to the small independent bookstore where I used to work (to hang out and catch up with the owner and the other woman who works Saturdays); and to the only grocery store in town (a small, mom and pop store) where I could pick up a few things to make dinner for tonight. [Sunday is usually my Giant Eagle day. I HATE going grocery shopping, but I have to feed an army (two teen boys!). I try to do it all at once, so I only have to go once a week. I know, SOOO un-European!!!]

Anyway, as I am walking along, doing my errands, running into friends and acquaintances, and observing people passing by and on the street, I keep seeing and noting and recording all of these really great scenes for stories. I don’t know how NOT to do it. It is pretty much automatic, and I can’t stop myself from doing it.

These people I pass by and observe, surreptitiously out of the corner of my eye, have no idea they are wont to end up in one of my stories. The dialogue is priceless! The conversations I have with friends are fodder for future fictional interchanges. Is it my fault they say such clever, interesting things? In such clever, interesting ways?

I want to capture it. All of it.

I want to capture the ins and outs of daily life, the details, the mundane, the unconscious gestures, the turns of phrase, the flips of hair -- all of which cloak the drama and pulse underneath.

Is there any meaning to life, or is it we who lend meaning to our lives?

The answer is in the details.

The answer is in the telling.

The answer is in the gesture, the glance, the odd phrase.

I must observe it and write it down. All of it. None of it. Some of it.

All of it gets written down in my brain.

Some of it gets written down on paper or on the screen.

None of it matters.

Sigh.

In the end.

Or does it?

And even if it doesn’t, maybe I still want to write it down anyway.

Because I have to.