What the...?

I did something bad. I was so smitten by a song I looked up the meaning behind the lyrics. Subsequently, I am no longer smitten by the song. And therein rests the secret to enjoying life – enjoy it for what it means to you. I knew going into the process (aka, Googling with ferocity), that I might not find the results I desired. So why, oh why, did I continue on with my quest? Stupidity I suppose.

Now when I hear the song, I no longer feel connected with it in the same way. Instead, I now know the songwriter was talking about something completely different than what I had imagined – and hoped. They say curiosity killed the cat. If so, that would explain the fixed expression of displeasure my cat has. All of her journeys, most likely provoked by curiosity, apparently reaped disappointing results. I know mine did.

As a writer I knew how problematic my curiosity was. I remember after I wrote my first novel. The first few people that read it connected with it exactly as I had intended. One reader, however, had an entirely different picture painted in his head than I had ever imagined possible. I cringed, and wondered how I had failed so miserably. But I didn’t. He was elated with the picture he saw. And isn’t that the point? My ultimate goal shouldn’t be to transpose the picture that sits in my mind onto the mind of every reader (although selfishly that is what I want). My goal should be to bring them joy as they watch the movie their mind created using the tools I gave them. Those tools are my words. And each word is conscientiously chosen. Like spice added to a recipe, my words are weighed and measured carefully and with a desired result. From there, I need to let the reader's mind (mental taste buds), do with it what they choose.

Sometimes I create something that is savored. Sometimes I miss the mark. When it does, I do what instinct tells me to do: curl into the fetal position and suck my thumb like a baby. But after all that, I wipe the final tear from my eye, cowboy up and try again. And when I do, hopefully dishing up something worthy of wanting seconds.

I will never say who my characters are based upon, I will never say the intimate moments that may or may not have prompted certain situations in my novels. All of those things are very important to me, but in expressing them I run the inadvertent risk of tainting the mind of my reader. And those minds mean the world to me. When the first page is turned, I want their mental canvases wide and blank, allowing me plenty of room to create.

And I have to imagine, most songwriters would prefer the same. So the next time I hear a song, and conclude that it surely had to have been prompted by a passionate love affair; I need to leave it at that and take it no further. Because if I do, I might find out that it has less to do with a heated romance and more to do with a fiery skin rash – as was the case with the song mentioned above. I told you my discovery did not yield the result I’d hoped. You didn’t realize it was that bad did you? In this case my discovery was catastrophic. But it brought me back to a fundamental premise that my dog, rather than my cat, obviously already knew – if you like it, if it feels good and you enjoy it – that’s all that matters.

Sane