Wishing you all the best holiday ever!
What inspires me today?
1. Thinking of the awesome people in my life.
2. Getting emails from my readers.
3. Reading inspirational quotes as I look for a quote for this post.
4. Creating my own inspirational quote. 😉
5. Letting inspiration flow through me while planning a new story.
6. Getting feedback from a first draft that will make my story better.
7. Walking with my old dog in the rain.
8. Daydreaming of my next travel adventure.
9. Anticipating the class I am starting tomorrow.
10. Getting a blog post up.
Confession: I personally identified with the label “loser” for the vast majority of my life. It started when I was young, and didn’t relent even after I had success as a writer. Even with millions of copies of my novels printed, translated into other languages, and published by different publishers, I still considered myself to personally be a loser: my writing was successful, not me. It’s crazy the ways we can manipulate our thinking to stay in our current identity, or the way I do, anyway. I guess I can’t speak for anyone else, though honestly, I think most of us do the same.
So now that I’ve confessed that I had an extremely large negative ego, I am also going to confess that at my extreme core, I didn’t believe I was a loser. I felt connected, valuable, and even cherished. Unfortunately, I didn’t believe that inner voice as much as I believed what I picked up from others, and then adopted as my self-image. Not their bad… or mine for that matter. Though it was my choice to believe outside influences or not, I didn’t have the maturity or confidence back then to choose differently.
It’s been a long road from that mindset, with many hard experiences and difficult realizations that have changed me irrevocably. To write them all would be a book or two. However, I do want to share an inspiration about loserishness that I received a couple of months ago like a bolt from the blue.
There are no losers. They do not exist. Therefore, I can’t be one, and neither can anyone else.
Since that realization, I’ve been thinking about it, trying to understand and discover the why of it, and this is what I’ve come up with:
First, my definition of loser: Losers are found at the bottom of the “heap” and are those who display the opposite of a trait, characteristic, or image of value. The winners are at the top, and they personify the desired quality. Most people are somewhere in the middle. I think that’s a pretty common definition.
But what is the “heap”?
Rich/poor? Wise/foolish? Famous/obscure? Intelligent/slow? Kind/cruel? Is it based on political leaning, race, gender, sexual orientation?
The possible combinations are in the hundreds at the very least. And here is why losers don’t exist: no one is at the top of all the heaps, no one is at the bottom of everyone.
You may be thinking (as I did) that some heaps are more important than others. That brings up more questions… Who can arrange the heaps according to importance? Who has the wisdom and smarts and knowledge to judge the ranking of every trait and characteristic with complete accuracy?
Not me. Not anyone I know. What’s more, even if an all-knowing intelligence accurately labelled the most important heaps for us, few would accept the labels. The reason? We choose labels that reflect our own world view and experience. Each of us decides which are the most important heaps to us.
And this is hugely revealing – not revealing of those we position within our important heaps, but revealing of ourselves. The heaps we chose as our most important say more about us than about the people we categorize.
So, to sum up: Losers don’t truly exist, because we are all at the bottom, we are all at the top, we are all in the middle, of literally hundreds, if not thousands, of heaps, and the only judge of which heaps are important, is our own limited world view and experience. Even further, if we pay attention to who we label winners or losers, we have a clear window into the value system closest to our hearts.
Of course, you’ve probably noticed there’s another way to see this. Instead of saying losers don’t exist, you can insist that they do – and then we’re all losers. Either way, the result is the same: everyone is in the same boat.
If I could go back in time and tell myself something, it would be this: “Lighten up. Yeah, you suck, but you also rule, just like everyone else.” And going forward from here? It seems a whole new world.
The last couple of days, I’ve been thinking about a boy I met just over a year ago. We didn’t exchange anything like words, but there was another sort of exchange, one that is hard to describe. But I’ll try…
I’m sitting on the seawall of a Caribbean beach; not a fancy resort beach, but a public beach in the heart of the Santa Marta. It’s a gorgeous, glorious morning despite being as hot as hades, and I’m just feeling relieved it isn’t as blasting hot as yesterday – yet.
I’m alone because Brad is swimming. Various people wander by, and then this boy comes up and sits on the sand about ten feet away from me. He looks around 16 years old, and he’s truly dressed in rags. He’s as skinny and sick looking as some of the homeless dogs we’ve seen around, and almost as thin as the dead dog we passed on the street the day before, it’s ribs like hoops rising above its sinking body.
I am nervous. People who are desperate, do desperate things. People who are in pain, hurt others. I have a daypack that carries things this boy can sell to buy food, or drugs, or whatever he desires. All he has to do is grab it and run. No way can I stop him.
And then he looks right at me with the most haunted eyes I’ve ever seen. They simply defy description. A passage from Graham Greene’s book, The Quiet American, explains better than I can:
Suffering is not increased by numbers. One body can contain all the suffering the world can feel.
I simply can’t imagine the things this boy has gone through, the horrors he’s lived. I feel like my heart will break for him. I wish I had money to give him, but I’m not carrying any.
He motions to me, and I realize he’s asking for a drink from my water bottle. I toss it to him, and he gulps down about half of it, then carefully replaces the lid and goes to toss it back to me. I shake my head and motion that he finish it. He gives me a smile in thanks, then downs the rest. A minute later, he gets up, nods and smiles goodbye to me, and continues down the beach.
What I still don’t understand completely is why this encounter struck me so hard. Giving a homeless boy a bottle of water? It seems like nothing, and I’ve given to a lot of homeless people. Why does this time stand out?
I think it’s because of the exchange between us.
My gift to him was water and kindness and truly “seeing” him, and I believe he recognized and appreciated that.
His gift to me was a profound example of extreme courage, and a simply bizarre strength and resilience that left me in awe. So many of us in his situation would dissociate and go numb, or become bitter and hard. There was no numbness in his eyes. No bitterness. He was just quietly, openly bearing the pain in his life.
Even now, that encounter makes me cry. I hope and pray that his life is better now. I hope and pray that if it hasn’t gotten better, that he is strong enough to bear it. I know I’ll always be grateful for our encounter, and I’ll always remember him. True courage is a hard thing to forget.
I’ve been wanting to read Eat Pray Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert for ages, and yet it sat by my bedside table for far longer than I care to admit, mainly because I’d seen the movie and so it was hard to justify the time to read it as well. Thank you “42 books” goal for that justification!
I have now read it, and I must say that I absolutely adored it! Elizabeth Gilbert’s emotional honesty is inspiring, her journey is heartfelt, and third, the woman can WRITE!
Fourth, and best of all, some things that didn’t make a lot of sense in the movie finally made complete sense, including the romance at the end. In the movie, I wondered why they had to add a romance to a perfectly good adventure, as if someone thought that was the only way a “woman’s” movie could possibly end. However, the book explained it very well. The last challenge for Elizabeth to fully heal after a devastating divorce was to prove to herself that she could be in a new romantic relationship and not lose herself.
I know from experience that it’s very hard to write a good script from an existing book, especially when (as in the case of Eat Pray Love) so much of the story’s power is expressed through the protagonist’s thoughts. You can’t put a thought on a screen, and unfortunately, what you put on instead sometimes doesn’t carry the same emotional integrity. As an aside, if you’ve ever wondered at the process that a lot of script writers and a growing number of novelists use to create their stories, click here: The Simplest Tool for Fast, Fun Screenwriting.
What I thought about while reading this book:
I CAN DO THIS!
Yes, I can eat, pray, and love, but that’s not what I mean. It has been a long-time dream of mine to be a nomad, and as I vicariously enjoyed Elizabeth Gilbert’s journey, I gathered an even stronger belief that I too can travel, learn, explore – when the time is right of course.
To repeat one of my favourite quotes:
It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.
~ J.R.R. Tolkein, Lord of the Rings.
I look at this as a promise. Maybe that’s why I take my passport with me everywhere, even if I’m just going to the grocery store or to pick up the mail. One of these days, me and my “company of adventurers” will simply sweep away on our own mega-adventure. 🙂
When we do, I’ll keep an account of my travels here. I promise.
I’m open for possibilities. I’m open for choices. I always welcome new ideas. I’m always eager to learn. I’m never going to close my mind from learning. ~ Cesar Millan
I have a new idea! What’s more, it’s a novel idea, and not a juvenile novel either. My juvenile novels are here, not here.
I have no aspirations for this idea, especially after writing the beginning of big novel a couple years ago and having my interest then wisp away to nothing. There’s no pressure for this idea to be anything but what it is – and what it seems to be right now is just fun and intriguing.
Soon I’ll start writing down ideas and arranging them on my big bulletin board. Always so interesting to watch what happens next. Will it change to a short story? A script? A fun exercise in creative expression? Or will it become a true novel? It feels like it might, at least right now, but I’ve been fooled before. 🙂
One thing only is for sure at this point: I’ll enjoy the exploration!
Know what your protagonist wants, know why she wants it, and know why the thing she wants isn’t the same as the thing she needs. If you know those three things, the rest of your protag’s characterization will fall into place. ~ Xander Bennett
Why symbols are important in fiction, from the book Writing Fiction by Janet Burroway:
People constantly function symbolically. We must do so because we rarely know exactly what we mean, and if we do we are not willing to express it, and if we are willing we are not able, and if we are able we are not heard, and if we are heard we are not understood. Words are unwieldy and unyielding, and we leap past them with intuition, body language, tone, and symbol.
“Is the oven supposed to be on?” he asks. He is only peripherally curious about whether the oven is supposed to be on. He is really complaining: You’re scatterbrained and extravagant with the money I go out and earn.
“If I don’t preheat it, the muffins won’t crest,” she says, meaning: You didn’t catch me this time! You’re always complaining about the food, and God knows I wear myself out trying to please you.
“We used to have salade nocoise in the summertime,” he recalls, meaning: Don’t be so damn triumphant. You’re still extravagant, and you haven’t got the class you used to have when we were young.
“We used to keep a garden,” she says, meaning: You’re always away on weekends and never have time to do anything with me because you don’t love me anymore; I think you have a mistress.
“What do you expect of me!” he explodes, and neither of them is surprised that ovens, muffins, salads, and gardens have erupted. When people say “we quarreled over nothing,” this is what they mean – they quarreled over symbols.
Pg 275, Writing Fiction, 4th Edition
…don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.” ~ Steve Jobs
… undefined time period.
“In the afternoons, Gertrude Stein and I used to go antique hunting in the local shops, and I remember once asking her if she thought I should become a writer. In the typically cryptic way we were all so enchanted with she said, ‘No.’ I took that to mean yes and sailed for Italy the next day.”
~ Woody Allen