I fell about 12 days ago. It’s not something I wanted to mention. But my mother and I have been having interesting discussions about it and how it relates to creating stories. I credit her with the idea for this post as I would probably still not talk too much about it.
So
with that intro, what happened was with Hurricane Sandy we lost our power. In
the dark a week ago Monday I went upstairs to find something. Stupid me, I went
without a flashlight. I know my house and thought I could navigate. In my study
I tripped over something. I’m still not sure what. A dog bed, a dog bone, a
cord, my desk chair, whatever. I fell flat on my face, full force. My dear
husband called from downstairs to ask if I needed help. Of course not, I
responded. Then realized I really did need help. My eye glasses were missing and
I knew I’d hit hard.
That is not the point of
today’s post. The point is that I have lived nearly two weeks with the world’s
perception of a woman with a huge black eye. This is where the concept of
stories comes in. For a few days my eye was nearly swollen closed. It became
black and blue along with the abrasions down my cheek. People stared. And, they
made comments. Little side comments as if they were jokes while glancing at my
husband. Things like, “Boy, I wonder what the other guy looked liked.” Or, “You
two s
The best one was, “Oh, I guess you’ll tell me you
fell?”
My
husband absolutely did not hit me, but the people out in the world started
building stories. Some I think come from stereotypes. Some I think come from
certain assumptions based on news stories and the conversations with folks next
door. BUT, this is the real point, I think some come from the imagination. That
is story creation. I offered an opportunity for strangers to write an imaginary
story that buzzed in their brains. A woman with a huge black eye. What does that
mean?
I
am not at home right now. I’m visiting my parents. Yesterday a wonderful kind
and gentle man stopped by. He saw my eye and made a comment, about my husband,
attempting to be funny. It solidified my point. We all tell stories, think
stories, and are quick to make decisions about our world-view. Why do we write
mysteries, romance, horror, sic fi, fantasy? How do our minds want to wander
down certain paths?
On
the record, I fell. No abuse. But lots of interesting conversations that have
led me to think about how we create our books and what we like to
read.
5 comments:
Cassy, your post makes me realize how easy it is to make assumptions and speculate based on appearances.
It's like the homeless people standing at the on/off ramps of freeways with their cardboard signs. When I was a little girl you didn't see it as much and when you did it was easy to assume they were lazy, wasteful people.
As I grew up, I noticed them more and more. And in today's economy....there are many people looking for help. I've seen women as well. But the thing is, that people need to stop and think about is we REALLY don't know their story.
We can speculate, and consider them lazy bums who won't look for or hold down a job. But we don't know, and shame on us for assuming the worst. Even in the case of your eye. Sadly enough I believe that is just human nature.
I suppose from the creative standpoint, we as writers can make a story from anything, which is the fun of being a writer!
Barbie Jo: I think your point is extremely well taken. Thank you for sharing. It becomes hard at times to separate out the assumptions from reality. As we create our stories, part of what I wonder is how our mind works. What gets us going?
It's time for you to catch a break, Cassy. You have had one hellacious two years.
And you know how I feel about people judging. Smile and say "Man, the things I have to go through to get roses!!"
Liz: you are super de duper. I love roses!!
I remember once when my kids were little. I only had the three boys then and my oldest was in kindergarten. We lived in an apartment in the city, waiting for our house to be built in the suburbs. The school let my son attend the one in the suburbs which meant I had to take him and pick him up. One time I glanced at the clock and realized I was late. I freaked out, grabbed the younger boys, and whipped around to get my purse...running straight into the corner of the wall. I cursed but kept going.
I had NO idea my eyebrow was huge by the time I got to the school. The looks I got definitely implied I was late because my hubby abused me. I felt like an idiot saying the classic "I fell" or "I ran into a wall"!
My poor hubby. No matter how many times he smiled when he was with me pickig up, the other moms still gave him a polite but wary smile back.
It really did make me think twice before making assumptions myself in the future.
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