When I run out of steam for material I can always fall back on an old reliable writing prompt: "The Unexpected Visitor." That little phrase opens all sorts of possibilities, doesn't it? The obvious metaphor is death. Death comes knocking, etc., etc.
But death isn't unexpected in the end, is it? Death is expected, of course. Death is usually surprising, but not unexpected. Death is truly "The Surprise Visitor."
Surprise! You're dead.
Not funny. Right? Sort of. You can't say, "Oh, hi there...um, Death. I wasn't expecting you. Ever." You can say, "Oh, hi there, Death. You surprised me arriving so soon. Like today. Why can't you be fashionably late like my wife insists we be all the time. I know I prefer to be early usually..."
I doubt there's any use in having that conversation. There's probably no negotiation, though death is probably not pressed for time and could argue for as long as necessary.
I do have a theory, however, why many of us writerly types are, in fact, writers in the first place, or, at least, what motivates us to keep on writing when writing is the last thing we want to do or seem to be figuring out. The next time someone asks you why you became a writer or why you write, tell them you're dying. That you have things to say before your last visitor.
I doubt I'm leaving large accounts of cash to anyone. Besides, having been the victim several of the poor folks with lots of it, I don't think it's much of a blessing in the category of one's Karma. A big house that will saddle someone with a continuing mortgage? No thanks. A beat-up car? My last name in cheap plastic letters on a building (that was a tax-shelter to begin with) no one bothers to look up at when they enter? Again, no thanks. Some call that a "naming opportunity."
How about leaving what you thought about the world in words in thousands of books circulated in stores and libraries and home bookshelves? In the region of your hometown? Your home state? With friends and acquaintances across the world? That's a legacy, I think. When you're gone and someone misses you, but you've put every atom of your soul into your writing and they have it in their hand, you're there with them. Whether you've had that last unexpected visitor or not.
Let death be a friend to the energy of your writing. Not an anxiety.
But death isn't unexpected in the end, is it? Death is expected, of course. Death is usually surprising, but not unexpected. Death is truly "The Surprise Visitor."
Surprise! You're dead.
Not funny. Right? Sort of. You can't say, "Oh, hi there...um, Death. I wasn't expecting you. Ever." You can say, "Oh, hi there, Death. You surprised me arriving so soon. Like today. Why can't you be fashionably late like my wife insists we be all the time. I know I prefer to be early usually..."
I doubt there's any use in having that conversation. There's probably no negotiation, though death is probably not pressed for time and could argue for as long as necessary.
I do have a theory, however, why many of us writerly types are, in fact, writers in the first place, or, at least, what motivates us to keep on writing when writing is the last thing we want to do or seem to be figuring out. The next time someone asks you why you became a writer or why you write, tell them you're dying. That you have things to say before your last visitor.
I doubt I'm leaving large accounts of cash to anyone. Besides, having been the victim several of the poor folks with lots of it, I don't think it's much of a blessing in the category of one's Karma. A big house that will saddle someone with a continuing mortgage? No thanks. A beat-up car? My last name in cheap plastic letters on a building (that was a tax-shelter to begin with) no one bothers to look up at when they enter? Again, no thanks. Some call that a "naming opportunity."
How about leaving what you thought about the world in words in thousands of books circulated in stores and libraries and home bookshelves? In the region of your hometown? Your home state? With friends and acquaintances across the world? That's a legacy, I think. When you're gone and someone misses you, but you've put every atom of your soul into your writing and they have it in their hand, you're there with them. Whether you've had that last unexpected visitor or not.
Let death be a friend to the energy of your writing. Not an anxiety.
