Monday, July 16, 2012

Unwritten

I love a good book. A story woven so intricately with words that touch your heart, tickle your funny bone, drive your desire, frighten the living daylights out of you, or leave you longing for more. For more words. For more pages. More chapters.  There is something comforting about curling up and getting lost in the pages, sucked in amongst the words.

I love second hand books. I love the way they smell. The discolouration. I like turning pages that have been touched by hands before mine. I like reading words that have been seen and read by eyes that aren't mine. I always wonder if the words were read the same way I read them. What the person before me took away. I often think about putting a note in each book I read before passing it on, nothing telling, just a little:

         
                                                   
                                                     "Wow, did you love it too? "



But the truth is, I never pass any of them on. I need to build a library as all these 'favourite' books of mine are starting to take over. I struggle to let go of anything that I love. That has touched my soul.

I only have one downfall when reading. One thing that I have always done and can't seem to stop doing. I start reading, then after a few chapters, once I have been sucked in,  I have to read the last chapter. I cant help it. I have tried desperately not to, but the unknown is too great for me. I always go right back to where I was, after reading that last chapter, but I need to know what's going to happen.  I need to know if the characters that I fall in love with survive, so I can protect my heart a little if they don't. I need to know how it ends.


Life is much like a book. It excites me, all these new pages, new chapters. Sometimes, a whole  new series.

I am writing a new chapter at the moment. Perhaps series. A new story anyway.
One with new characters and new adventures.
One that is full of unknown.
I don't generally do unknown. I usually have some kind of rough plan mapped out, a track drawn in the dirt with plenty of room to 'wing it' still. This time, I have no mud map. No scribbled ideas on a piece of paper. I do have plenty of room to 'wing it'. And blank pages.

Give a girl blank pages and no instructions and she will fill them with craziness. Colourful craziness. Amazing craziness.

Beautiful crazy.

I am enjoying filling these pages. Scared shitless, yes. Of what, I'm not exactly sure. Perhaps its the unknown.

Whilst I'm having a ball of a time writing this story, I have this burning desire to flick to the last few pages, and see how it ends.
I find myself on occasion mapping out an ending, because then it will be on my terms.

But we all know, unlike the most amazingly weaved words that I have ever read, that life doesn't allow for jumping forward. There is no peering into windows. There is no flicking to the last few pages to see how it turns out. There is no preparation.
There is simply living. Making the most of each moment. And trusting that the journey will shape the ending. And that the ending will be appropriate for the story.






 






1 comment:

  1. No, they don't. But as you grow and change your perspective on what a happy ending is will shift. I love this post - I really need to remember that I'm writing my own story. Sometimes I get so caught up in the crap stuff that I forget. I hope it's all going well for you x

    ReplyDelete

I love to hear your thoughts regarding my crazy thoughts.