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<\/p>\nThis month I found myself, in the midst of reworking a story, wondering why I bothered. There are times when this feeling surfaces in me where I think of the long hours I put into my art, my craft, and wonder if the balance of a story\u2019s existing is worth the effort. Wouldn\u2019t my time be better spent volunteering at a women\u2019s shelter or writing non-fiction articles about issues I\u2019m passionate about? Is my writing fiction just a way of softening the edges of the injustices and suffering I see in the world around me (or in myself), a way of couching dirty realities in pretty language paintings?<\/p>\n
For these moments, I have two notecards covered with quotes. I take those cards out and read them when I start feeling like this, like there is just not a story in the world that could possibly matter more than teaching starving people how to grow food. What they remind me of is that stories are, in their own right, a very necessary kind of food\u2014a food without which we cannot live any more than the kind of food we put in our mouths.<\/p>\n
Stories aren\u2019t just passive entertainment. We turn to stories to tell us how to make it through those times we don\u2019t think we\u2019re going to make it through. In college I needed to see Scarlett O\u2019Hara and Madame Bovary live through loving the man they couldn\u2019t have (in my case, the man I couldn\u2019t get back). Sometimes I need to watch Holden Caulfield and Beloved wrestle with their versions of despair so I can contextualize mine. And sometimes when a darker emotion has me in its sway, I want a story full of sparkle and sass, a life raft from the shadowy depths of my internal ocean, reminding me there is a surface, after all.<\/p>\n
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This.<\/em><\/p>\n That\u2019s perhaps the most important reason to write\u2014stories are our collective wisdom regarding how to make it through any and everything. There are endless reports of rescue<\/em> workers in the depths of war zones and the scenes of natural disasters holding frightened children close and telling them stories. Yes, they\u2019re also providing life-saving care, but stories are a part of that care. They help knit together shattered safety. Stories can help us form a context for understanding what\u2019s happened to us.<\/p>\n Stories also help us explore, or discover, who we really are and what is at the root of our struggles. The meaning we ascribe to a story reflects this perfectly. To me, Hamlet isn\u2019t about hesitation\u2014it\u2019s about what happens when we let our intellect overrun our heart. \u201cBeing too much in your head\u201d is one of my biggest challenges and Hamlet <\/em>reminds me of the cost of living there. And that\u2019s why a good story isn\u2019t just a fun read\u2014it\u2019s a journey of self-revelation: how many times have you been reading and thought \u201cI\u2019m totally like that\u201d or \u201cI\u2019m nothing like that\u201d or the ever-popular \u201cOh crap, I didn\u2019t think I was like that, but really I am\u201d?<\/p>\n A good book will hit you like this–out of nowhere.<\/em><\/p>\n I read a book recently about a woman who was in a great marriage\u2026and then an ex-lover showed up. I love my husband, he\u2019s amazing, but I learned a lot about my own longing from that book, and the way I can get trapped in a fantasy world just like that woman did, imbuing past lovers with magical qualities when my husband and I aren\u2019t connecting the way I think we \u201cshould.\u201d Danger, Will Robinson! Note to self: watch the gossamer-myth spinning. It distracts from what I need to pay attention to in the present.<\/p>\n And that\u2019s why I have those quotes. When I forget the power of our collective storytelling, my reminding factors poke me and say, \u201cStories help us live, and make sense of, our lives. Keep writing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/theresarogers.art\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/10\/danger-waves.jpeg\")
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