So 2nd Story and I are like this(right now, take your fingers and cross them). We're tight. I mean real tight. And in that comes meeting really great people that you get to become tight with too. Once a month, as someone who helps "teach" people to write for 2nd Story, I get to have three people come to my house and sip wine or drink water and listen to the stories people are working on to perform. We give pep talks and suggestions and it's almost as good as therapy. It's great. It's Oprah sans the whole "I'm GOD" deal. Love you Oprah, just playing.
Anyway, last night was my last meeting with the group I have been working on since January. This was hard because a) you get so attached to your group before you have to switch them out for new people to join and b)because I got a slap in the face.
The writing, yes, the writing is amazing. These people can write... but it's the stories. The stories! OK. I'm going to give you a quick recap of what the three people are writing about:
1) Her mother died when she was young and out of nowhere her little niece is like, "Who's this...?" and points to the mom's picture... because she never met her and everyone realizes the force of death.
2) A hero of mine is a parent of a brilliant five year old and tells the story about how she never wanted to be a parent and when she adopted this amazing little girl she realizes she has a much bigger purpose in the world.
3) An adorable middle age woman tells the tale of making out with Jim Morrison after he just puked.
Yah, I know. Shit.
What am I getting at here? Well, after these people left I started to think about my stories... and about my life. And panicked thinking about this: Am I boring?
I mean, stories one and two and three are insane. They are amazing. Mothers and parents and kissing a rockstar. I'm none of that! I've only made out with guys who are mediocre bands that usually break-apart after a month of playing at lame-name venues. And I'm not a dad... I mean, I babysit the cutest baby in the world... but I'm no dad.
PAUSE.
So, I know what you're thinking. You thinking this: Byron, shut the "f" up. You're not boring...
OK maybe it's not about the boring... it's about the things we remember and the things we want to share with others. See, I'm getting older(Stop it. I am... and I am realizing that my memory at twenty-five is not what it was at sixteen) and I only imagine as I get older the stories that I am going to want to tell are going to get a little cloudy and the details a little shifty and the nuances a little hazy. And in that moment I realized why I am a writer. Not just to tell stories but to document experiences and to share them with others so they can remember their experiences and document them and then we have about bunch of documented experiences that people can look back on while they are talking to holograms and flying in cars and say: Wow, people were awesome back then even if they didn't have flying cars.
So maybe I'm not boring, I just need to share the stories I keep tucked away. And it's kind of cool to figure out why you love doing what you do.
And screw it, I may not have made out with Jim Morrison, but how many people do you know have served martinis with Drag Queens lip-syncing Beyonce behind them? Yup. No so boring.