A
friend was rejoicing at the sale of her first manuscript to a publisher. The
joy of being able to say my editor
for the first time brought back memories.
Yes,
there’s nothing like the first.
The
first my publisher. The first my editor. The first my book. The first my agent. These can come in a different order, but that^ was mine.
But
really, none of these is really mine.
I don’t own them.
What
writers have are stories. Stories we make with chapters we construct with
paragraphs that we make by joining sentences. Sentences we make with words. It
boils down to this: the only thing that we own are the words.
My
word!
Even
the words are a gift.
The
opening verse from the gospel of John rushes in:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word
was God.
The meaning of this enigmatic phrase, for me, is that all comes from thought. Thought
extended outward begins with words, and words begin with one word.
As
I sit and contemplate this, I realize nothing is mine. I rejoice at having nothing.
Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteA thought-provoking post. The word. The Word. It's all about the desire to communicate with others. To connect with them.
ReplyDeleteSo eloquent. I'm thankful for the cold weather that's sparking such deep and resonant words for us today.
ReplyDeleteWords can be the greatest of gifts.
ReplyDeleteI need some more nothing. :). I love words. They are power.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful post, a fabulous reminder of what matters, what doesn't, what we own and what we don't. Still though, I look forward to that time when I can say "my publisher". That would be the superficial side of this writer.
ReplyDeleteI don't know if you've read BIG MAGIC by Elizabeth Gilbert, Mirka, but apparently, even story ideas don't exactly belong to us. I like that.
ReplyDelete