Just One Thing to Say

At the James River Writers Conference this year, Robert Goolrick (and I had a totally fangirl reaction to him! What a writer!) said most writers have just one or two things to say. That's it. And they spend their lives trying to say that ONE thing, better and better (hopefully) with each book.

I tend to think he's right.

I do not consider myself an optimist . . . but I consider myself a very content, happy person. In fact, I am the LEAST likely person to ever be depressed mainly because I tend to face whatever difficulties life hands me with a "put on your big girl panties and deal with it" or "it is what it is." YET, when I think about the ONE recurring theme in nearly EVERY book (even all my comedies) . . . it's grief. I find the human condition--the idea that we are born alone and die alone, that we say goodbye to so many people we love along the way--to be fascinating. And nearly every character I write is processing some major loss, trying to figure it out, put it on a shelf where it won't consume them, put on a braver face and go out and live.

Ultimately, I think my characters are trying to make SENSE of things that make no sense. And the resolution of that is acceptance. It's the same lesson I learn. And re-learn.

And re-learn.

It's funny, but I rarely, if ever, feel sorry for myself for being sick--not even when in the hospital for extended stays. It doesn't tug at me. I have Crohn's disease . . . because. People get sick and die . . . because. It isn't FAIR but life isn't. So it is what it is.

I find I waste MORE time trying to understand PEOPLE. Wondering at someone's seeming lack of conscience. The Penn State case, for example, is the type of thing on the news that TUGS at me. It nags at the edges of my consciousness. I find myself really thinking about it. I ask, Why? Or maybe more . . . HOW? How can people do such dark and awful things? The last couple of years, I have seen, as I've said before on this blog, Grownups Behaving Badly. People I thought I knew. Once I realized there was no solace to be found in trying to understand others, I turned the focus to me. How could I have been so betrayed or fooled by other people? Is it because I DON'T act that way--so I don't expect it in others? I'm not naive--so you'd think a grown woman would learn. But then . . . it goes back to never understanding the HOW.

And so it goes back to the writing. Characters trying to make sense of that which . . . never will make sense. And so then it becomes finding a sense of peace. A way to live WITH that which makes no sense. A way to live WITH grief and not have it overtake their lives.

In Illuminated (brief shameless plug: preorder it!) . . . Callie wishes she knew her mother, long dead. But her mother is unknowable. How can you know someone who never lived long enough to be there for you? And yet . . . I think part of the journey of my heroine is that at some point Callie finds the traits of her mother are part of her. To know her mother, she only has to look in the mirror. And that makes the grief . . . more manageable.

Do you have just ONE thing to say? And if so . . . what is it????