“The question of the meaning of being, and dying and being, is behind the telling of stories around tribal fires at night; behind the drawing of animals on the walls of caves; the singing of melodies of love in spring, and of the death of green in autumn. It is part of the deepest longing of the human psyche, a recurrent ache in the hearts of all of God’s creatures.” M. L’Engle.
Meaning and being. Those two things are inseparable. When we don’t feel like what we’re doing has meaning, we don’t feel alive, do we? I don’t. In fact, life doesn’t have the ability to stagnate. Life either blossoms or withers.
And this being, this flow, it is what connects a reader to a story. When we pick up a book and become encompassed with the setting and characters, we don’t know it’s happening. We also may not know that the laundry needs folding or that it’s an hour past bed time. We’re living vicariously through the magic of story and we can’t get enough.
And then there are those other tales. The ones that fall flat. We try to press through the first few chapters and sometimes we’re rewarded with a worthwhile read and sometimes, well, we just put the book in the donation bin and wonder if it’s not too early for bed. Yawn.
What do you think makes the difference? Is there a way to learn this ethereal combination? Is it merely innate? Maybe a bit of both.
I wonder if the early story tellers tried to read their audience. Sitting around the fire and entertaining their tribe with a yarn about where Orion bought his sparkly belt, did they embellish a bit or take a rabbit trail when they saw eyes light up? Do you think some of the cave drawings were “all wrong” and had to be whitewashed and redrawn? Did they have Creative Cave Cartoon seminars?
And what do we, both story lovers and storytellers, have in connection with the stories of the past? Truly it’s the meaning that brings to life the being when we are only allowed to look on.
I’m learning that it’s the right combination of a number of things that make us believe we are actually participating, even when we are but white-knuckling the dust jacket of a beloved book.
What are some of the books that gave more meaning to your being? What was it about those stories that spoke to your “deepest longing”?
Not to sound like a broken record, but the book that has continually spoken to me is Lord of the Rings. The concepts of joy and sadness, loss, friendship, the changing of the world just always resounded with me. I think they ‘touch’ me because they mirror so much of life, but with a little more beauty. I also feel the same way about the Chronicles of Narnia, Jane Eyre and Harry Potter. Those are books I go back to again and again.
That’s not an overplayed song, friend! There’s a reason so many are drawn to those stories and why they continue to be bestsellers. I owe the amazing Narnia series for turning on my creative writing juices. There’s something that stirs the soul in these tales. Now if we can come close to that in our writing…oh joy!