Receipts in a Story - Poem

When I write stories, I write to solve problems.

Give a character an issue, and then create a solution to it…

Somehow.

Whatever the issue may be, I can always count on the fact that the story will be fixed.

I am a pretty positive guy with my view of the world, not allowing the constant negativity to make me see any less positive,

As the world cries anarchy and chaos, I wish for peace and civility.

As we all live in fear, I preach patience and love.

As the world turned black, I am trying to find the light.

So my characters, in all my stories, always win for the most part.

They end their journey with a smile and a laugh, seeing that they outwitted their foe and won the day.

They have done it and saved the kingdom.

They got the girl.

They passed the test.

Even though, maybe they should not have, if you think about the practicality behind it all, a little too long….

After all, it is just a story, and no more.

A figment of my imagination brought to life by the words I jotted down on the page…

The essence of a moment in my life combined by the compression of words in my head.

A piece of myself in a well-crafted fable form.

There is always more to the story than a story, and sometimes I wish that were not the case.

Words cannot just be.

They move, they live, they be, just the same as you and me.

This means that the words will lead me to a path whether I want them to or not.

See, a story needs to come from somewhere, from a place.

There must be a receipt to a story, in a sense.

Like how you can see where that shirt you bought came from, so too can a writer with their words.

Your shirt came from the store in the local mall, you got 15 percent off, and received five reward points for the transaction.

You now have 35 reward points, by the way. If you get to 50, you get a free bag from that store.

As for where that story came from,

That is where the situation gets tricky for me.

For you and others in the world are where the inspiration for the stories comes from.

Are you following?

The real I know, create the fake I make.

Which is fine as far as I can tell.

After all, stories must come from somewhere, as all things must.

What gets me is when the story I create comes from a bad situation….

In my story, the girl meets someone who inspires her not to give up.

In my story, there is no sadness at the end.

In my story, she doesn’t die.

But that is not what will happen in real life.

In real life, the girl won’t make it to Christmas.

She will be gone by then.

And we will all be saddened by it, but not surprised.

I hate that part of storytelling…

When my words in the fake world are only that…

They cannot help her in the hospital now.

They cannot do anything.

But what can I do?

Ignore the inspiration behind my story.

Throw it away like the trash, as it is no longer good.

That would be doing a disservice to myself and my effort in the field.

Surely, I would like to embrace inspiration when it comes my way, for it is not always the case.

Does a runner not want to run with the wind, rather than against it?

Should a sailor not want to go with the current?

And should a pilot not wish for a smooth ride?

So why then, as a writer, should I be anything but willing when I hear inspiration knock on my door?

“Hello? Who goes there?” I ask.

“It is me. Inspiration. I have a package for you. A nice new story idea. Something you may even finish this time.”

“Eh…. I don’t like good story ideas. Go away!”

“But sir, once I leave, I may not come back.”

And so I accept the package and tell Inspiration to leave shortly after.

I wish to reject inspiration not for the craft or my passion, for you all know those are high, but the awful knowledge I gain from it.

We did nothing to help her.

I did nothing to help her.

The best I can do is write up a few prose.

Regardless of the complexity of the prose and the ingenuity behind them, what difference does it make when the inspiration behind them is hurt by the real world?

Great, I wrote up a nice story for you all to read, as the mom lies down in the cemetery, mourning the loss of her child, for the darkness and depression became too much, and she only found one way out of this world.

Perhaps that is why I like to move on from my stories once they are done.

I don’t want to be reminded of the tragedy behind some of them.

I never tell the reader in the story they read.

I don’t include a blurb about it or anything.

In fact, the story serves as a source of hope for readers who wish to see through the bad times.

If I told them what happened to the girl, then they would be heartbroken, too.

So what am I to do?

Give up the pen and paper and never utter any words the rest of my life?

Or am I to live with the unusual burden of knowing the true result of the story?

If I choose the latter, then I am forced to hear the argument that my work may someday outweigh the real-world sadness.

Though it may never happen, I force myself to agree with this principle and move on with the stories.

Perhaps my story was never really intended to save her anyway, I accept.

Perhaps in my very own story, there is meaning that even I can learn about over time.

I can only hope.