Words

"Sharing words can be as intimate as sharing a bed." - Louise Erdrich

I'm finding this statement truer and truer every day. Tonight I spent time huddled over the green light of a photocopier copying some of my favorite stories for a friend. This friend has started their foray into the world of being a creative writer and has a lot of questions about fiction writing. So, me being the friend I am, I wanted to give some examples and a little bit of guidance.

As I stood next to the machine, I started to get a sense of how intimate this act was. The stories I was copying are some of my favorite stories. Stories that I have a passion for, that I love, that mean so much to me. It's scary to think of these stories getting rejected, despised, even hated. In a way, I feel like if these stories get rejected, it's like me getting rejected. As though this friendship is over if we don't see eye to eye on these pages of words. Now, that isn't really the case. All of my friends have different tastes in literature, movies, and music. And those differences are wonderful and what makes those friendships work, but there is something so intimate about our words.

I've stood in front of a woman and talked to her for an hour, giving her my words, and hoping that she gets the subtext of: "I really really want you". Every romantic relationship I get into tends to start with me giving the girl one of my own stories to read, and me having story time with her. It's like a test. Even if she doesn't like the stories, it's important that she understands the value of the gift I'm trying to give. This last summer, when I first met Kat, it took almost no time for me to give her a copy of my Masters thesis. She could have hated "The Later Adventures of Impressiveman" she could have not understood a single bit of "The Tightrope Walker" (She did like and understand them.), but what matters most, was the look on her face when she took that black bound book. It mattered to her. The first gift I gave her was a copy of her favorite book as a little kid, Pat the Bunny.

I've given words that I felt were as beautiful and unique as snow flakes, only to see them smashed and grimaced at like ash between fingers. There are words that I regret giving and words that I'm so happy to have had the chance to share. There are words that I have never given to anyone. I'm excited for the day that I will eventually give those words to someone.

I love the role words play in my life and relationships. If the intimacy of all my future relationships, both romantic and platonic, is dictated by the words I give and receive, then things are looking really good. When my friend sits down to read Aimee Bender's "Call My Name", or Johnathan Lethem's "The Vision", I know they won't read them the same way as I do. But, I hope they'll take them and understand how valuable these stories are to me. I want them to realize that in me sharing these stories, it is my way of showing them how important they are to me.

There's no real way of telling how our words are eventually received. I'm fairly certain that when I tell Sarah, Beth, and Rae that I love them, that they take that word for all that it is defined as. Because it means so much more than that one word can really hold. I hope that Kat understands that when she reads the I love yous in my letters, that it means something different and specific to her, that there is a huge level of trust attached to that word.

I have these stories ready to go to my friend, a play half done in a mole skin note book on my desk, a letter about ready to go out to Kat, and this post is just about done. I have so many words about to be gifted and put out there. I hope my friends are lifted, supported, and loved by the words intended for them, that audiences will be entertained by my narratives, that Kat will feel my heart pound in my letters, and that my enemies will be scared by the silence of a wordless world.