My father, regardless of having just stated something incomplete, would often end his proclamation with the words: Period. End of sentence. My love of words was not fostered by his approach. However, my love for expression was.
I was speaking with a friend the other day. On the subject of the opposite sex he said, “Dating you requires a lot of responsibility. They want to, but quickly discover they can’t.” As you can imagine, I mulled his words over considerably. He was right.
I would like to say dating a writer is like dating anyone else. But it’s simply not so. That would be like saying driving a cargo van is like driving a sports car, or bicycling provides the same ride as a motorcycle. Oddly enough, when we crawl behind the wheel of a curve hugging coupe, rarely do we later fault it for hugging the corners tightly. And yet, it is known by my writing colleagues that the desire to date a writer is strong. But once settled in with one of us sitting beside them, they wonder why we think so much.
I had this happen recently while on an outing. This person placed on the table an incomplete situation. And, like my father, wanted for many reasons to put a period on the end of the sentence; regardless of its fragmented state. The woman I am, and the writer that lives within quickly flicked his purposeful period aside, and wanted to delve into the subtext; knowing lighter times, closure, or advancement is found upon doing so. This person whom sought out and pushed hard for a moment with me said, “You think too much.”
Please know dear readers, thinking is my bread and butter. But also, it is the crux of who I am. As kind as my words may be, the voice in my head rarely edits itself. After he spoke, I cast a glance to my side at his profile, and thought, “No shit Sherlock.”
I only know the thoughts of the writers within my close circle. One thing these gifted souls have in common is they are quite real. They express the whole of who they are. Perhaps due to the courage it takes to write, or the process of giving of oneself in this most intimate venue, we tend not to feel the need to veil ourselves. Generally, we can speak freely about most any subject without inhibition, fear or insecurity. What you see is, undoubtedly what you get. But we are without question a cerebral bunch. And often, our mind is the gatekeeper to our passions. If the mind is not properly enticed, the body refuses to follow suite. Unless of course enough wine has been introduced to the situation. In which case, even a tree begins to look handsome. A human flaw, most all possess. Coyote ugly extends both ways. To our credit, we usually pass out before entrapment occurs as our mind tends not to let us off the hook then either.
So to anyone considering sliding behind the wheel and taking a writer out on the open road, please remember – you wanted the experience. Do not fault us for not having enough storage space. Do not critique us for not being able to amble up a sandy hillside with big, knobby tires. We aren’t geared for those discoveries. Generally speaking we hit the long and winding road, and we do so with precision and acceleration. The hum under our tires rolls us toward our destination. But more so, the rhythmic sound of pavement unfurling underneath, will continually cause you to think as well. We have no desire to change our make and model – and never will. Of course, with that said, once you relax – its one hell of a ride.
The Kooks – Do You Wanna