Am I the only one who goes through life comparing things to writing? I know for a fact that at least 100 people can compare writing to American Idol (see Rachelle Gardner's blog here). And just Thursday I compared writing to which lane you drive in here.
Photo by John Beagle
As I looked on the tables of my so-called "junk," I saw things I once delighted in (i.e., my Vanilla Ice cassette tape - "Ice, Ice Baby" rocked my world.). I saw wedding gifts I never delighted in. I saw books from college I never wanted to read, much less buy and keep. I saw VHS movies I loved in high school. I saw stuff I used while pregnant.
Those tables were full of the stuff of my life. And aren't our novels? I think writing can be like having a mental garage sale. How often do we peruse the shelves of our mind, picking little tidbits here, do-hickies there, as fodder for our books? Are your books just an amalgamation of you?