The Narrative Method
For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a writer. Some kids desire to be a magician, or a firefighter, or a mailman. Mine always drifted back to books and characters and narrative… how could I climb inside of a different paradigm? Through books, I was able to get into a different brain, body, time period, location, storyline; ultimately, reading gave me the keys to see life through a different perspective.
And still, I’ve long felt that when reading from my favorite writers, their voice carries some consistency in the rhythm and perspective. Do you relate to this? I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.
My hypothesis is that even though I am carrying their voice and thoughts with me, ultimately I am filtering/passing through everything they’ve written through my own lens. No matter how many times I’ve read it, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe will always be a story that is shared and one that is completely, intrinsically unique to me. Isn’t that such a cool concept? The characters that each author has created become infinite, when each individual reader reimagines it; and, some qualities become shared, ironed out over and over again as lava flows cool and it becomes crystalized by the collective.
(At least, until the next paradigm shift).
Anyways, I digress. What I was getting at is that I’ve been wanting to write more for a long time now… at my core, it beckons. And yet, how to build that in?
As I set out to create a new fall rhythm, this year I decided it’s high time I add this in. At the advice of my friend, I sought out The Narrative Method to start bringing that participative practice, complete with witness. Each time, I’ve been met with a curious prompt, a community in place of what could easily become distance or loneliness, and a DM of encouragement, as the Universe sends me a cheeky grin.
What I will write each time varies; My ability to read it and be taken seriously is yet to be evolved. Even as I host an open mic night, my ability to cast my voice and use it appropriately as a gift (and not a weapon, in hindsight, as I have previously) is something that develops strength and concentrative intensity weekly. Flavors meld as I continue to bear and carry this torch with me. Every day that I deepen my practice and pursue the craft, I feel it becomes a little more unearthed in me. Of course I know there will occasionally be setbacks. Of course I know that voice that often rears its ugly head from deep within me will probably try and get its thoughts expressed; and yet, I cannot help but bring this, my battle cry, to the foreground of this epigraph,
“For When the Poet Picks Up Her Pen
The Forces That Lay Latent Within
Cannot Help But Be Broken
The Enemy Lines Are Unspoken.
What Comes Next Is Often Rest
But Deep Inside I Know I’m Blessed.
We Will Always Persist.
My Heart Was Made For This.”
So Then
I At Once Reached My Conclusion.
“This Dream Is Not A Real Illusion.
My Marriage Waits for me Yet
But Its Not What Happens Next
For What We Really Want
Only Comes Once We Pick Up The Pen
And Draw/Dream/Design/Build/Ask For It.
Anything You Want To Have
(And Anything Worth Having)
You Have To Build It In.
You Have To Build It In.
You Have To Create From Within.”
- So be it.
And so, over the next couple of weeks, as I continue to do The Narrative Method, I may occasionally be posting it. I won’t really worry about it being “right” or “worthy” or “good”, or even edited… but rather, by going through the motions of just writing it, reading it, and posting it, I’m slowly getting over my fear of publishing it.
Refinement comes in the process…. but in the meantime, I rather enjoy just sharing it, and who knows… just maybe, someone, somewhere, a little bit like me will find some solace in it. ❤