Life has been totally crazy lately (hence the serious lack of posts here!)
So – in protest of the craziness, and honestly a bit out of self-preservation, I bought a book just for me, just for my own heart. It has nothing to do with research for my show. Nothing to do with things I’m writing. I don’t plan to write anything similar to it.
I just want to read someone else’s story and disappear into it.
Enter John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars.
I haven’t even started reading yet, but I am already in love with Green’s words. This is his author’s note at the front.
This is not so much an author’s note as an author’s reminder of what was printed in small type a few pages ago. This book is a work of fiction. I made it up.
Neither novels nor their readers benefit from attempts to divine whether any facts hide inside a story. Such efforts attack the very idea that made-up stories can matter, which is sort of the foundational assumption of our species.
I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.
Made up stories can matter…
What a revolutionary idea.
We spend our growing up years with questions papering over our hearts like an interior decorator gone bezerk. Will you tell me a story? Will you read me a story? Tell me about the time when this happened to you. Why? When? What did the strawberry chiffon cake taste like? Do you think time travel is real? What would you do if you had a pet dinosaur. Can I watch a movie? Will you read me just one more story?
And why is that? When you’re 8 – the whole world is new for you. I’d never been to Africa, but I remember learning about ancient Egyptian culture. I remember going to the zoo and trying to imagine what it must be like to be a lion in the jungle. I remember trying out a British accent at 10 and wondering what life would be like if I sounded like that. When you’re so small, life isn’t old and average yet. It’s new and scary as hell and different. Every day is a new story.
But you still want to hear more.
I read the Little House on the Prairie books so many times my mom finally took them away from me so I would read something different. I read all the Nancy Drew books. I wrote stories of time traveling teenagers and strange alien spaceships and a girl who was in love with a boy and she could never tell anyone about it at all.
Those made-up stories mattered.
Every once in a while I get asked why I decided to be a tv writer instead of going off and becoming a doctor (blood and math. seriously?) or lawyer (arguing for a living? pass.) or businesswoman (I could have survived.)
I want to take this quote and just superglue it to my forehead so everyone who wants to know can read it. Made-up stories can matter.
And maybe my stories aren’t going to matter in the grand scheme of the world. I’m not going to cure cancer or solve an international crisis. But I’m sort of going after the smaller moments anyway.
There’s a Star Trek: TNG episode where the Captain has a chance to re-live his life making the ‘correct’ choices. He undoes a crucial risk he took – stupid youth gotten way out of hand – and in a flash, he ends up being some a mousy no one on his ship. I was 16 or so the first time I saw the episode, and I don’t know if it was just the moment I saw it in my life or what – but it sparked something deep and lasting in me. I was the quiet little wallflower who just wanted to stay out of everyone’s way. But I wanted SO much out of life – and up until that moment, I lived in fear that I would miss it all.
I suddenly saw my life as if I was headed into those sort of big crucial decisions – and I decided right then and there that I was going to make the big choices and take the big (dare I say stupid) risks and see what would come of it. My life has been scary as hell some days – but I don’t have a long list of What ifs?
That was a made-up story that mattered.
One of my favorite college memories is sitting in a friend’s living room with 10 other friends watching Triplets of Belleville. It was a moment in time where I felt safe and surrounded and like maybe – at least for the moment – everything was going to be all right. We laughed and talked and paused the movie to admire the artistry in every frame. We drank a good bottle of wine and bonded over our complete inability to cook dinner that night.
In it’s own way, that was a made-up story that mattered.
A little over a year ago, my best friend and I sat in her living room, painted our nails, ate dinner and marathoned 6 episodes of Dawson’s Creek. And it led into a whole discussion of life in junior high school and all of the fears and weirdness that came along with that time in our lives. We laughed at the horrible fashions from back then – and cringed when characters had to live through a moment we totally remembered from being that age. it was a beautiful reminder that we’re not actually alone in any of this thing called life and every bonkers moment we have – someone else has probably been exactly where we are. Today is not forever.
That was a made-up story that mattered.
And it’s true that maybe I would have grown up and become a less-wallflowery type of person. Maybe I would have taken the risk to be brave after listening to another song or after reading another story. Maybe my friends and I still would have had an amazing night without watching Triplets. And surely – my best friend and I could have found a thousand other things to talk about instead of Pacey (*thirteen year old swoon*)
But in those moments, those made-up stories made up precious moments of life I’m talking about and thinking about a year later, five years later, a decade later.
Those are the kind of smaller moments I’m after.
The kind I wouldn’t trade for anything. +
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