Love that George Jones song. If you have an ounce of passion in you for anything, a single unblemished ideal, or if you feel a poignant stab in the heart for any kind of perfection, then you understand what’s behind that song.
Writers get it. Real writers. Lovers of the Muse. When you want something so badly that it makes your teeth ache and you swallow sand and you know that whatever the obstacles, it’s just right for you – not for someone else maybe, but absolutely for you — and life just won’t move forward unless you are in pursuit of that holy grail, well…that’s when you come alive. And only then. Passion sweats blood.
Only sometimes you bleed out. Bleed white. Your veins constrict, your heart turns into a dried husk, and your mind goes cold. That’s when you THINK you stop loving the Muse. Because passion that intense is draining, and rejection takes its toll. Your commitment may be true, but even a faithful dog backs off when it’s kicked in the teeth enough times. So your fingers slip off the keys; you quit caring. Hope becomes a dull ache, and you walk around in a novocaine stupor. You listen to loud music, you laugh at things that aren’t funny, you get hyper interested in feng shui or the kids next baseball game. The people around you who have patiently endured your impossible dream seem almost relieved. You are back. You are acting the way they act. Life is suddenly clear and simple and balanced.
And predictable.
But then you get a glimpse of color flitting past the window one day or hear a whisper in the leaves alongside an autumn path, and it’s like remembering where you placed your car keys. You vividly recall where you were going! It hits you full passion with a touch of dismay. Because you realize that you are wasting your life, wasting precious time. Like the white rabbit, you are so late! You can’t believe you let yourself become a zombie, that you lost faith with what you started out to be. The stars and the galaxies are still there; you just quit reaching for them.
But giving up on your dream is like letting the best part of you commit suicide. Because that’s where the real you lives. Your dream is where you are honest with yourself. If it dies, what’s left except to live a lie? And, yes, you can live a lie where appearances demand it, but you can’t do it 24/7. You need somewhere, sometime to live your dream, to know that it could really happen, to feel that you are worthy of it. Living a lie might meet the world’s expectations for you on the surface — it might even be noble, depending on your situation — but by definition it cannot be honest.
So you re-visit your dream. Secretly at first. Maybe life interferes with that a little bit. But you find a way, even if at the start it’s only in your mind, your heart. You imagine, plan, fantasize. And then you dare to reach out on a computer screen or a piece of paper. And the words come back. Because that’s who you are. Words and thoughts. That’s all anyone is, only with some people — writers – communication is infinitely more acute. You need words both coming and going. Like breaths. Inhale, exhale. Words are oxygen. You are a willing slave to the Muse. Forever in love.
But you only recognize that when you think you’ve stopped loving your dream. Because your passion is so great that it just exhausts your spirit and you have to take a timeout to let the ground springs refill the reservoir. To let the hurt of rejection subside. And you’ll probably repeat the whole thing again. Until you succeed. Or don’t succeed. It really doesn’t matter which, as far as what you have to do. Life is not a dress rehearsal. One take…action! Or else you go sit with the audience.
“He stopped loving her today… they hung a wreath upon his door.”
Yeah. That’s the only way to murder a Muse, if you’re for real. The only way to kill a true writer. And it says everything I’ve ever tried to say about the journey itself being the destination.
Thanks for reading along with these columns. I get a lot of e-mail from people who gave up on their dreams but think their dreams gave up on them. And speaking of e-mail, I’ve heard from a number of Glenn & Deacon Frey fans that my link to the September column is broken on some of the newsletter mirror sites. I think that column is being confused with earlier mentions of Glenn and Deacon from 14 months or so ago. Here’s the correct link to the most recent column: http://storytellersunplugged.com/thomassullivan/2009/09/16/thomas-sullivan-are-you-ready-for-fame-fortune-%e2%80%94-crosslake-redux-with-glenn-deacon-frey/
Oh, and another thing. If it says Comments closed at the end of this column, IGNORE that. WordPress has a glitch or two and that’s one of them. Your comments are MOST welcome, and the way to leave them is just to click the title of this column, which will take you to a new page of the column so fast you may not realize it changed. At the bottom of that column is the posting box for your comments. If you got here from my newsletter link, you may already see that.
May I invite you to follow me on Twitter? It’s fun and won’t intrude on your computer. 2 examples of recent Tweets: Nothing is easier to take for granted or quickly forgotten than constant magic…until you suddenly realize it isn’t there. And… Why is everyone telling me I should write a romance novel? Am I wearing chick-socks or something? Hey, I can explain. That was Halloween. Here’s the link: http://twitter.com/thomassullivan . I’ll also be happy to put you on the mailing list for free newsletters packed with stories and adventures, including photos, if you email me at: mn333mn@earthlink.net . Past newsletters are archived at the author’s website below under News & Articles. Your thoughts are welcome, your attention valued.
Thomas “Sully” Sullivan
Here are 17 cumulative comments from the archived copy of this column as of 2009 11-16. You can leave further comments here or by clicking my name in the right hand column of this page, which will take you to the archive copies, including this column.
1.
Thomas Sullivan
November 16th, 2009 at 00:32 | #1
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This is just a test post to try kick-starting the Comments Closed tag at the bottom of the main SU page so that it will be live (which sometimes happens after the first comment is recorded).
– Sully
2.
Vicki
November 16th, 2009 at 01:09 | #2
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Sully, your posts are always so inspirational and this one is no exception. The dream lives.
3.
Hal Joerin
November 16th, 2009 at 06:51 | #3
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@Thomas Sullivan
You’re right Sully. The maxims by which I try to live are, “The older you get, the more important it is not to grow up!” and “You can’t live in the past, there’s no future in it.” Alas, if only I could handle that last one. “I got the ‘…if only” blues’”
Wassup with pirate plans? Miss Carol & I are heading that way in December.
4.
Joe Iriarte
November 16th, 2009 at 07:26 | #4
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Damn.
You just described my soul.
It’s nice to feel understood on a Monday morning.
5.
Jeani
November 16th, 2009 at 10:20 | #5
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Another great column, but I have to tell you — about the email — nothing says “old man” quite like sending emails in HUGE fonts!
Jeani
6.
Thomas Sullivan
November 16th, 2009 at 10:46 | #6
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LOL. What’d u say, Jeani? You have to use bigger fonts or I can’t hear u. Seriously, how huge are we talkin’? I just used the next size up from normal (14 font instead of 12) because the column used to come out bigger that way on SU and the newsletter is on the same cut-and-paste page (font) as the column. I email to myself and the font comes out okay. Hope I’m not sending it out to 1000+ people in a format they can’t readily read! What browser are you using?
7.
Jeani
November 16th, 2009 at 11:22 | #7
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We’re talkin’ seriously huge. The email came to me in Times New Roman 18 — that’s EIGHTEEN! I can read it from across the room! The only other person who sends me emails in 18 — that’s EIGHTEEN! — is an 80-year-old woman with cataracts! (Excuse my exclamation points and caps.) But, hey, I’m just sayin’ …
8.
Thomas Sullivan
November 16th, 2009 at 11:37 | #8
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Lawsy, wonder how many fans/friends have been putting up with me sending them billboards all these years? Anyone else out there having this problem from my newsletters? You can email me at mn333mn@earthlink.net, if you prefer. Appreciated.
Thanks for the feedback, Jeani. Are you using a a Mac, by any chance? And what browser, if I may ask? Also, do the photos come in a size that fits your browser? They should. Have a feeling it’s the fact that I cut and paste from Times New Roman instead of using the default e-mail program. But I build both the column and the newsletter in the Word 2007 in the same file. There may not be a fix for this. Oh, and one more thing: have all the newsletters that come to you been the same problem? I haven’t changed anything. So if it was just this month, there may be some other code involved that won’t repeat next month.
– Sully
9.
Thomas Sullivan
November 16th, 2009 at 12:46 | #9
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Having difficulties collating comments, because SU settings are different for main page vs. archived copy. So I’m posting Australian Vicki Tyler’s comment & my reply together here, otherwise they won’t show up in sequence.
[Vicki]
Sully, your posts are always so inspirational and this one is no exception. The dream lives.
[Sully]
Thanks a long ton, Vicki. Sorry that your posts are running into a mysterious wall. To other readers, Vicki — who is in Australia — is finding her posts are usually blocked here on SU. I was able to get this one up after she emailed me. Anyone else having that problem? We need feedback! If you expereinced similar difficulties, please email me at: mn333mn@earthlink.net. Thanks…
– Sully
10.
Janet Berliner
November 16th, 2009 at 17:48 | #10
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Your glorious words bring hope. I can’t thank you enough.
11.
Thomas Sullivan
November 16th, 2009 at 19:50 | #11
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And your feedback always takes away the hollow echo of what I try to say, Janet. Writing close to the bone exposes a lot that could be trite, as I’m keenly aware when I do a column — or even more true when I write a newsletter — so it’s good to know that something resonates with others.
– Sully
12.
Thomas Sullivan
November 17th, 2009 at 01:16 | #12
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Well, halleluijah, Vicki, I just discovered three missing posts, including yours. Best of all, I see where they were hung up in the WordPress system, and I should be able to fix them henceforth. Yours now appears twice (once incorporated in my response), and I’ll just leave it at that.
– Sully
13.
Thomas Sullivan
November 17th, 2009 at 01:20 | #13
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Sorry that your post didn’t appear right away, Joe. Just found a few of them that got hung up in the vettig process for some reason. Seems I was better at describing your soul than I was at finding your comment. I’ll be able to catch this quickly in the future, so I’ll look forward to hearing from you again.
– Sully
14.
Thomas Sullivan
November 17th, 2009 at 01:29 | #14
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Apologies that your comment didn’t post earlier, Hal (a.k.a. Peter Pan). Just discovered where WordPress hides its procrastinations. I’ll be able to find them quickly, if it ever happens again, so please don’t give up on the posting process.
As for the pirate plans, are you referring to Tonga? If they quit having earthquakes and tsunamis there, I’m on for a 12-day ocean kayaking adventure, camping from atoll to atoll around next September. It’s starting to look like the new flick “2012″ and the Mayan prediction for the end of the world in the South Pacific. Fortunately for me that’s supposed to happen December 21. Unfortunately for you guys that complicates your travel plans. Shoot for early in the month and don’t buy any green bananas, that’s my advice.
– Sully
15.
Robert Jones
November 17th, 2009 at 09:01 | #15
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Because it feels safer (and more “predictable,” there is some comfort in sitting “with the audience.” But from where can a habitual audiencee find worthwhile satisfaction that only scrambling onto a stage can provide? From another perspective, where would an audiencee find external stimulation were it not for those who do follow their aspirations and scale the slippery steps onto a stage? Sitting perpetually with the audience puts more than one’s butt to sleep.
Yet another dose of stimulating motivation culled directly from the experiences of The Sullivan, who has been there, done that.
Excellent and effective piece, mon ami.
Oh, and one more thing: you should write a romance novel. It would be like no other.
Amalgam
16.
Thomas Sullivan
November 17th, 2009 at 10:34 | #16
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Exactly! There wouldn’t be an audience if there wasn’t something better than being an audience. If you never mount the stage, you have never lived. And the more you live on the stage, the more meaningful your life is. Am still laughing at “sitting perpetually with the audience puts more than one’s butt to sleep.”
Well, I guess the term “romance novel” balks me a little, but of course any classic novel is at some level a romance, and romantic idealism is my stage. Can I write it and live it at the same time?
– Sully
Ditto, ditto, ditto, to all the above, Sully. Thanks for another good one.
Belatedly I am catching up on my Storytellers reading. I suppose I should read it with my morning coffee.