I woke up this morning snuggled under my yellow, down-alternative comforter, already writing this blog. Which proves, I guess, that one can become accustomed to anything, because I hate writing it and my brain usually shuts down the instant I set to work.
I think my sudden desire to write was more than bowing to the inevitable however.Since the pitch contest all you blogolytes have become real to me.
I no longer feel like I’m shouting into the blackness of a cave and trying to kid myself that the echoes coming back are a conversation.
Now I can hear your voice. I mean your voice. That distillation of personality and attitude transmitted in your intrinsic rhythms. I get your humor, your pain, your hopes.
All that in fifty words. Isn’t that amazing?
I don’t know you at all, and yet, I know you.
More than if we’d had one hundred sixty-some perky conversations of “Hi, I’m Lou-lou, and live in Walla Walla. I write XX. I have XX children and XX pets.” We list the pieces of our lives as if our visible attributes distinguish us. They don’t. They show which slots we fit in, not how we stand out.
It reminds me of a conversation I overhead once between (I’ll call them) Millie and Carol.
C: Do you know Sherri Jones?
M: Does she drive a white Toyota 4-Runner?
M: She has two children—a boy in the second grade and a girl in the fourth?
M: Is her husband branch manager at Westfork Bank?
C: Yes, I believe so.
M: They’ve lived here in Pleasant Acres four or five years?
C: That’s right.
M [shakes head decisively] No. I don’t know her.
Back to my thesis.
How do I know you since you used fifty words or less and didn’t talk about yourself at all?
This is the great mystery—the reason no one can define voice, although we all know it when we see (hear) it.
I used to notice that when my client began ask for what they wanted
*not what they thought they should want,
*not what they thought they deserved,
*not what they were willing to settle for because they didn’t believe they could have what they wanted--
When they began to put themselves on the line and stand behind their heart’s desire—sesions with them became miraculous, unpredictable, sometimes hilarious. Memorable. The more they asked for what they wanted, the more individual they became.
Instead of working a formula for life (which is what hanging onto our ego positions fundamentally amounts to) they were creating their lives from their heart.
Most people in her world think Emelina Caddington, PhD heroine of SEALed With a Promise is bland, boring, forgettable. When she first showed up in my mind I thought, "Girl, how am I ever going to make a heroine out of you?" A heroine is supposed to be someone larger than life, and she was smaller.
But she was right for Caleb, aka Do-Lord. I knew she was. So it was up to me to figure out the problem so they could have HEA.
After a few scenes I understood what her problem was--how she was keeping herself small. She didn't ask for what she wanted! Her story starts when she puts herself on the line and states what she wants. Okay, it's what she wants for her best friend, not herself, but it's a start. Do-Lord catches a glimpse of her heart, and she becomes real to him.
I think that’s why you blogolytes are real to me. You led with your heart. From your creative place. By the very act of pitching you said what you wanted and you put yourself on the line. Each of you had things that could have stopped you—maybe they have stopped you in the past—but this time you didn’t let them.
You said, this is who I am in the most private places, and, today, this is what I have to offer the world.”
I’m proud to know you.