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| Lake Thunderbird |
I used to dream about going far away and being somebody else. I often wondered with great distress how I would ever get to a, b, or c, (<insert names of glorified European countries) and how could I ever become this other, more exotic, more interesting person? And when I thought of the possibility that I may never get there and may never be some other person...well, it was depressing.
One thing that writing has taught me is to stop looking far away and zero in on the life you’ve been given. Instead of aching to be someone who is taller, shorter, older, skinnier, smarter, or someone with a fascinating accent and a history entirely different from your own...pay attention to what you have and where you are.
In Italy, speaking italian isn’t exotic, and in France, it isn’t necessarily interesting to be French. They are just people, too. And the places they grew up in are just their hometowns. That Great Exotic Elsewhere is another human’s backyard. It is the canvas for their mundane, everyday experiences. And yet, when I truly grasp this, it opens my eyes to the eccentricities and beauty of my own backyard, my hometown, my people, and my story. I don’t know the history or the intricate movements of an italian’s backyard. I only know mine that way. (Okay, so technically I just moved and I don’t know my own backyard very well. But bear with me here. This isn’t just a lesson for writers.)
What I’m saying is, in order to dig deep and write to the best of my ability, I had to get into the practice of engaging with my very own life. Instead of viewing my upbringing in Little Axe, Oklahoma, America (rather than, say, Paris, France) as a burden of limitations, I began to see it as something that can be grounding and fresh, like nourishing roots. Instead of viewing my everydayness as mundane, I began to look at my life as a thing that only I can be truly intimate with. Nobody knows my life like I do. Nobody knows what it’s like to be in Natasha’s skin, to have grown up daydreaming out the window of Bus Number Nine, or to have explored the snowy woods of my front yard with my brother and loyal border collie, Molly. I own that story. And my history, hometown, family, and fellow Oklahomans are all a well of nourishment I draw on when I’m writing a novel, such as Wolves and Men. I’m not from the Great Exotic Elsewhere. I’m from the Right Here. I’m from Little Axe. I’m from dusty summer roads, rose rock gardens, red clay ditches, Lake “Dirty Bird” biking trails, and mimosa-lined highways. It’s the view to which I’ve been given a front row seat, and it’s something I’ve learned to embrace.
So, with that said, I challenge you to do the same. How would someone who grew up on the other side of the world view your history and your story, except as something exotic, fresh, and fascinating? Nobody knows your story like you do. But it takes being intentional in order to see our own lives with fresh, creative eyes. Value your own, intimate perspective of the world. See it for the truly unique and interesting thing it is. And then tell me about it. I’d love to hear from you.
Can you describe a scene, moment, or image that only you own?
Have you ever been somewhere you’d always wanted to visit, only to find out it wasn’t as amazing as you’d expected?
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I will be at the Bean and Berry Coffee in the Shawnee Mall on Saturday, February 28th from 1pm to 3pm, signing books, giving away free bookmarks, and hosting a gift card giveaway! Come purchase a book, get it signed, chat about the book, pick up your free bookmark, and enter to win!
I will also be at the March INK event at Full Circle Books in OKC on Saturday, March 21st from 3pm to 5pm to sign books and chat about Wolves and Men!
