As I sat in my comfy chair, looking back over my old blog posts in search of inspiration, a feeling of melancholy washed over me. It settled thoroughly on my shoulders, sudden and unexpected in the midst of my exploration.
I had found myself scrolling through a graveyard full of forgotten projects – the product of a writer moving on. Titles and stories either long forgotten or long given up on covered my screen. Intertwined, Everending, Forsaken.
None of those stories are completely forgotten, of course. Yet, in a way, they are.
Those versions of those stories are long gone, and they’ll never be seen again. Intertwined is no longer called Intertwined. Forsaken had a complete story overhaul, and I likely won’t write it for another couple years. Everending, 5+ drafts later, looks completely different and is on hiatus for the foreseeable future as I finish up the Ophelia Brown series.
It’s such an odd feeling, as a writer. To be reminded of stories that you came up with – stories that only exist so long as they exist in your mind – and realize that you needed to be reminded. Because you forgot about them.
If a writer forgets about their unwritten stories, even for a little bit, does that mean those stories cease to exist until they’re remembered? Whole worlds, entire people groups and families and cultures, however developed or undeveloped they may be…do they just…stop?
Sure, Everending has been written down (way too many times, but that’s a conversation for another day), but what about Forsaken and Intertwined? Versions of them exist somewhere in my laptop, but the real versions of them – the ones that will end up in your hands some day, hopefully – haven’t been written. So, when they fade from my mind, I suppose they at least pause for a little while, in their own ways.
I’m sure that, to the logical mind, this rant makes very little sense. But I hope that, to the creative mind, I’m getting something across. At least a fraction of the vague concept floating around in my mind.
It all comes down to this: my mind creates stories. That’s all it ever does. But there are countless worlds and characters and creatures that it came up with that were lost, somewhere along the way. Names nobody will ever know. People nobody will ever meet. Countries nobody will ever visit. Stories nobody will ever read.
And I think that makes me sad. Just a little bit. Not so sad I’ll stop writing or creating or coming up with new stories. But sad enough to realize a truth that underlies everything that I do: to create is also to lose. And there’s both beauty and sadness in that truth.
I think, even more than that, this little truth I’ve discovered with my stories applies to so much more than just writing. To live is to lose. To love is to say goodbye. To laugh is to cry.
But isn’t life so much more worth the living because of it? Aren’t stories so much more worth the writing?
As we get closer to Halloween (a holiday that is not celebrated by some Christians, which I do acknowledge and respect), I’ve decided to use it as my reminder. A reminder to myself of things ending – the leaves changing colors, the warm weather officially going away, the year coming to a close, slowly but surely. But in that reminder, I’m reminded of something even more important: that life is always worth the living, and stories are always worth writing. Because although there is loss in both, there is twice as much beauty.
