Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Where the Wild Things Are.
Have YOU battled your Wild Things?
The night Tab was pounding her fist on the desk, becalmed in the Sea of No Short Stories, she put on her writing suit and made waves of one kind or another. Several cups of tea later not a single story was churning. No ideas. Nothing. Zip. Nadda. The Sea was flat and glassy and refused to bubble with any thing, wild or otherwise. Her husband bravely poked his head into the office.
"Do you want to stop for dinner?"
But Tab looked at him and said, "I can't write this stupid *#&%(@#$ short story!" Her husband said she was being a tad over dramatic, a bit of a Wild Thing herself. So she stomped off to bed without eating anything.
That very night, as Tab calmed down and ceased stomping about the room and decided to give up and just let her ideas flow when they were ready, a forest of words grew and grew and grew until her ceiling hung with the vines of thoughts and the walls became the world around with all its possibilities. And ocean tumbled by, with a private boat for Tab. She returned to her computer and sailed off through the night, eager to discover where the Sea was leading. She sailed in and out of weak ideas and almost over a year to a place where the Wild Things were.
Despite her lack of control over the creative process and the fact that she really had to just go with the Sea, she faced those Wild Things even as they roared their terrible roars of self doubt and gnashed there terrible teeth of frustration and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.
And Tab said, "Be still."
And she tamed the wild thoughts running through her head with a magic trick of starring her doubts in the face until they were frightened and called her the most Wild Thing of all. And made her Queen of all the Wild Things.
"Now," said Tab, "Let my own wild rumpus start!"
And suddenly those previously antagonistic Wild Things began to howl with her at the moon and swing freely though the trees and vines of thoughts and create a wonderful dance with words on the page.
"Now stop!" said Tab when she reached her word limit set by the non-wild college and she sent the rest of those wild ideas to bed with out any more food for thought.
But then Tab, Queen of The Wild Things, was lonely and wanted to share her writing with someone who loved her best of all.
Then from all around, from far away across the world, Tab smelled something good to eat. So she gave up being Queen of the Wild Things, having achieved all she set out to achieve, at least for that evening.
And the Wild Things cried, "Oh please don't go, we'll never show up again, how we love you so!"
Again the Wild things roared their terrible roars of self doubt and gnashed their terrible teeth of frustration and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.
And Tab stepped out onto her private boat and said, "Don't be stupid, I'll be back next time I want to write a short story!" And sailed back over a year and in and out of days, into the night of her very own office. Where her wonderful husband had dinner waiting. And it was still hot.
(And my apologies. I needed the download!)
To check out what true literary brilliance looks like from the real Queen... um.. King of the Wild Things, Maurice Sendak, click on over to amazon.com and order a copy of this rambunctious tale,
Where The Wild Things Are.
Do it for your..self..um..kids!
And read often with a lots of vine swinging and laughter.
Oh, and if like me, you find pounding your fists does not produce any kind of writing at all, much less a string of phenomenal literary wonder, then give it up for a bit. Then grab the first words that come and be content to ride that boat where ever it may lead. Get it, type something, type anything and remind the Wild Doubts inside that you are a writer, you are a writer, you are a writer...
Moral of tale( though I hate tales with morals): The short story for my college assignment is complete... and thanks for letting me write off some steam :)