by Janis Susan
May/Janis Patterson
Every possible morning I go out to the hot tub for what I
call my attitude adjustment hour. Actually, it's a time of exercise designed to
keep my problem back working and reasonably flexible. As I loathe exercising in
or out of water I never dreamed it would become one of the most pleasant times
of my day.
About two or three houses to the East of mine is an
absolutely enormous tree - some kind of oak, I think. Like most trees it has
thin spots and holes in its leafy body. Some days - depending on clouds, haze,
perhaps even how the breeze rearranges the leaves - the rising sun will shine
through those holes and thin spots, turning them to glowing embers of the most
brilliant gold. It is incredibly beautiful and so inspiring. For a precious few
minutes - sometimes less than a minute - I am treated to one of the most
gorgeous displays nature can provide. Then the sun shifts and what was a look
'beneath the skin of a glowing orb' turns into a very prosaic tree - still
beautiful, but nothing except a tree after all.
So what does this have to do with writing? Nothing much,
unless you take into account a writer's attitude toward her work. Most days we
plod along, putting one word after another - sometimes well, sometimes just
because we have to keep going and hope what we put down can be remade into
something worthwhile - but then suddenly, like the sun turning the voids of a
tree into brilliant and glowing gold, something transcendent happens and for a
few incredible moments we can see everything about our story. We have a glimpse
of the wonderfulness our story can become. We know where we're going and why,
and sometimes even how. We have seen the light. Literally.
Not that writing is a magical process. It's hard work. You
sit at a computer for hours, creating worlds and populations from nothing but
imagination and caffeine, taking pure ideas and transforming them into words
that hopefully will share what you see and feel with readers. Sometimes magic
comes from books, but there's nothing magical about making them. Still, those
magical moments of transcendent insight are worth working and waiting for, with
or without a rising sun and a convenient tree.
6 comments:
Inspiring and so true on many levels. I also enjoyed your last article.
Nicely said, Janis. You are so right: those moments are precious. I love it when it happens.
Susan, on days when I have trouble finding the right words and getting them in the right order, can I come and visit you and your tree?
Transcendence does comes from hard work.
This was more than a post. I felt relaxed while reading it and sort of awed by nature. I saw my interruption of what you saw when you looked at the tree a few houses down from yours. In my picture, there were no fences, but rolling green lawns, smaller trees, and colorful houses. I felt like I was you for a moment watching the tree and its transformation. I felt like I was there. Good writing.
Beautifully said, Janis.
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