Blog after a baptismal swim –
Amazing to me now, the message in those Saturday morning cartoons some of us watched. Remember the singing frog? ‘Hello my darling, hello my-----? Hello my -ragtime doll?
And how the guy happening on the frog singing freely out in nature was so quick to scoop him up? The shock in the frog’s eyes was as pronounced as the dollar signs in those of the guy tearing him away. My thoughts back then were that the man was acting out of greed. He couldn’t hurry fast enough to take credit for the find. He should have left the frog where he was, I thought back then,or at least make a friend of him first. Instead he continued to bully the frog into performing publicly. It took repeated failure before the lesson of the frog sank in.
I liken that process to a writer: when an idea that moves me comes, seemingly from nowhere and I can’t wait to pin it down in words, I rush to my computer. Not feeling quite as clever when I see that the words before me aren’t nearly capturing the depth of what had come on insight, I find myself frustrated that I lost the heart of the original thought. The journey has brought me to appreciate ideas more when they first open, and to give them space to grow in; that rushing can choke or empty them of meaning. The waiting seems to be a part of what it takes for them to flourish. Brought to seeing an idea more clearly in its intent, I become less afraid that it will get away from me. The times I ‘m patient to do that, what it means for the novels, where it belongs in the whole, and what it adds to it, come naturally. Thank you for listening, and if you remember more words to the frog's song, do share.