I wanted to post yesterday, but as I sat at my computer the news flash came of Steve's death. I wept.
There's a song somewhere that says that we are part of a story. I find that intriguing, now that I'm a writer. I've heard it before, I know I have. But it never stirred my soul as much as it does today.
As the subcreator of Giraffes and Dentist and Blue and Sword, I know I can move my characters any way I want them. The lands that my characters live in are all made up by me. I twist their hearts this way and that. They do as I bid and they are happy. (Until I kill them off. Bwwaahhhaahhhaaa!)
But in the end, the story is complete. As far as I'm concerned. I think a good writer will have her stories carried beyond what she tells. Her readers will take a scene or a character and continue that on in their thoughts. What an exciting thing!
As for this life we live, we are part of a story, too. I don't believe we are jerked around by a creator, per se. But I believe their is a mind behind the story that watches and waits, as I usually have to do for my muse. And that mind is gleefully waiting for the next chapter of my life. I really believe it is gleefully waiting.
That makes life so exciting, doesn't it? To know that the 'author' waits, breathless, for my next step.
I swear I haven't been smoking anything. Just exhilarated by life and happy, so very happy, to be a part of the story. Especially with people like Steve Jobs and Margaret and Angela and Judy and Anne and Maureen and Carol and Brian and Mark and Beth and Julie and Abi and Elli and Kiki and Sabine and Gesina and......
(((Sharron))) Rip Steve Jobs.
ReplyDeleteI had to laugh; it felt like a God-type joke: my security word was slybum.