i’ve heard, read, imagined poets, songwriters, and other authors say that the poem, song, or story comes to the person willing to write it down. if you aren’t willing to stop everything and write it down when it comes, the poem, song, or story will leave and go find someone else. this is why, i’ve surmised, that my friend d (who is also my favorite poet) carries a pen and paper everywhere she goes. i’ve been the person the story came to. i’ve stopped everything to write it. i’ve also been the person the story has left because i didn’t stop to write it.
right now i’m the person waiting for the next story to arrive. i’ve sent the muses a gold-lettered embossed invitation. i’m waiting for a reply. i’m certain the muses will r.s.v.p. “yes and bringing guest,” but i don’t yet know when we’ll rendezvous or where. will it be in the library with a ballpoint pen? will it be in the bedroom with a tablet? will it be in the car where i pull to the shoulder and type it into the phone? the story will reveal the clues to this mystery in its own time.
in the meantime, i’ve got things to do, drawers to empty, cabinets to clear, bookshelves to straighten, in order to make space for the story to enter.
in the meantime, i’ve got languages to learn (hola et bonjour) and a brain with memories, emotions, beliefs, and physical responses to unscramble and a lifetime of sleep that once eluded me but now greets me with a goodnight kiss every time i lay my head on the pillow.
in the meantime, i’ve got yoga classes and dates for tea and voice lessons and birthday parties to attend and dancing.
in the meantime, the life i’m living prepares me for the next big story that i’m waiting for, the story that will flow through me faster than i can write it down, the story that won’t wait for my slow fingers and will require that i develop shorthand to keep track of the words as they are spoken in my mind.
in the meantime, if you hear a poem, song, or story flitting in the wind next to your ear, please stop and write it down.