Righting Stories

For many people, writing is a therapy. I know that I’m one of those people and I always feel somewhat better when I find other people for whom that’s true as well. Reading the words of people like Morgan makes me feel more normal.

One thing I’ve learned about myself as time goes by…I write WAY more when I’m down and feeling crappy and bleh and stuff. When things are going right, I don’t ..well..write. I guess only one right/write can I handle at any moment. But I feel kinda remiss about not writing about the rightness, or increase of rightness at least, that’s going on for me. Especially when I’ve unloaded so much wrongness in this space!

We write more when we needs therapy than when we don’t. It’s a normal way to be.

Of course, it’s my brain telling me that it’s normal, so I’m not entirely sure that it can be trusted.

I don’t know about her assessment that she has “unloaded so much wrongness.” That’s a bit harsh of an analysis. One reason we all read, is to feel that we are connected with people who can understand our experience. To find that connection. Of course, if  our writing is all negativity, then it’ll likely be discarded. A little negativity, or even 50%, or even more than 50%, however, is not only accepted, but probably desired.

Of course, I’m feeling a strong need to write about depressing things right now, and it’s my brain that’s telling me to write about them, so when my brain tells me that writing about depressing things is desired, I’m not entirely sure that it can be trusted.

Righting Humanity

I heard recently that the only difference between human brains and the brains of all other animals is our ability to construct stories. The example was somewhat funny– and illustrative– it goes like this:

Put the picture of a canary in your head. Got it? Good. Now, make the canary’s feathers red. Got it? Picture of a red canary in your head? Good. Now, give the canary purple stripes. Purple stripes? Got ‘em? Good. You’re looking at a picture in your head of a canary with red feathers and purple stripes.

Now, realize that there is no such thing– anywhere in the world– as a purple striped red canary. It does not exist. Only we can do that. Only humans.¹

The implication of this, for me, is that fiction is humanity. It means that stories are a distinctly human experience. More than that, stories are the only think that we think we have separating us from the rest of the Goddess’ creation. Stories are, in fact, the very thing– the only thing– that make us human. Stories define our humanity.

That’s big. No, that’s just downright fucking huge-o-mongous! And you thought words were important before knowing that? Is it any wonder why some of us feel stories are so important? Is it any wonder why we seek stories out, in so many forms, as if they are air or water? Think about it? If stories were not important, they’d have gone away– but they can’t, because we are human.

We are stories.

I have friends who denounce fiction. They feel that it is not important and that they will only read non-fiction because fiction is “a waste of time.” That never sat right with me, and now I know why. Fiction is our humanity, but not just fiction, all stories. Good stories, real stories, fake stories, and even bad stories.

Stories are what make us people.

When you think of it this way, it’s probably no surprise that we write more when we are feeling “wrong” than when we are feeling “right.” I suspect that is because those are the times when we need to connect more to our humanity. When we need to right ourselves. When we need to “right” our human stories.

Those are also probably the stories that others in our tribe, other humans, want to read the most. They are the stories that connect us.

Of course, my brain needs to “right” about some pretty serious things currently, and it’s the one telling me that all this is important, so I’m not entirely sure that it can be trusted.

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1. so say the scientists, I’m not sure if they actually asked the dolphins this, yet, since they don’t speak dolphin. [↩]