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There are stories and there are stories.
Chaosmanor tells exciting stories, full of exotic animals, violence, weaponry, sex and life. And I ruminated on the nature of stories because mine have none of the above, and in a way seemed to be very boring, a beige painting next to something big and splashy and wonderful.
My stories have no exotic animals, very little weaponry, some sex, and much talking. Talking talking talking.
When my friend first told me he was very likely going to jail, I spent some time staggering under the knowledge of this. It's not an easy knowledge to have. It came in dribs and drabs, pieces from too many jigsaws to make sense of. He said to me: I would prefer you don't know the details. I need somewhere I can be me until I go in. I said: fine. But it wasn't fine, and I struggled to allow him this sacred space of my own home whilst he was a "me" which wasn't really him. Eventually, I became so stressed I lost my milk and spent too much time unable to cope with simple things. This was not acceptable.
He said: I will tell you if you ask me.
So I said: Tell me. But I can't do this without some coping mechanism. Let's walk.
I asked him to tell me his story. And as we walked, it occurred to me that he should be grateful to me. Every person involved will have their own story, their own point where they cut and pasted and took part of the story and made it their own. The police would have taken their parts of the story, the people involved will have taken their parts of the story, and the chance to tell his story from beginning to ending would be rare. My own story is as complex as his and the notes interweave like an opera. But I remained as silent as I could, asking questions for more details and knowing he was too caught up in the moment to understand the full value of the gift I had offered him.
Maybe in a few years I'll ask him again. He's not going anywhere. He got six years, maybe four and a half if he's a good boy.
Stories are the way we say things to make sense of the horrors around us. Sometimes I stagger under my books. I'm telling stories of the women in the fantasy novels. The powerful ones, the miserable ones, the beaten ones, the married ones, the mothers and the virgins. I wonder what I'm staggering under to spend so many thousand words exploring these women.
We tell ourselves stories because sometimes the reality is so huge, so big, so daunting, we can't cope. We tell the story differently each time, savouring the parts that bring us something, and rewording the parts that don't meet our needs. Eventually we face the story and somewhere along the line, we've become big enough, wise enough, adult enough, to be able to accept the story, and take it into us and make it a part of ourselves that no longer needs to be told.
Maybe that's what I'm doing. I'm making myself bigger so I can absorb more women's stories. I'm telling these stories to help myself cope with the horrors that are already too close to home.
Chaosmanor tells exciting stories, full of exotic animals, violence, weaponry, sex and life. And I ruminated on the nature of stories because mine have none of the above, and in a way seemed to be very boring, a beige painting next to something big and splashy and wonderful.
My stories have no exotic animals, very little weaponry, some sex, and much talking. Talking talking talking.
When my friend first told me he was very likely going to jail, I spent some time staggering under the knowledge of this. It's not an easy knowledge to have. It came in dribs and drabs, pieces from too many jigsaws to make sense of. He said to me: I would prefer you don't know the details. I need somewhere I can be me until I go in. I said: fine. But it wasn't fine, and I struggled to allow him this sacred space of my own home whilst he was a "me" which wasn't really him. Eventually, I became so stressed I lost my milk and spent too much time unable to cope with simple things. This was not acceptable.
He said: I will tell you if you ask me.
So I said: Tell me. But I can't do this without some coping mechanism. Let's walk.
I asked him to tell me his story. And as we walked, it occurred to me that he should be grateful to me. Every person involved will have their own story, their own point where they cut and pasted and took part of the story and made it their own. The police would have taken their parts of the story, the people involved will have taken their parts of the story, and the chance to tell his story from beginning to ending would be rare. My own story is as complex as his and the notes interweave like an opera. But I remained as silent as I could, asking questions for more details and knowing he was too caught up in the moment to understand the full value of the gift I had offered him.
Maybe in a few years I'll ask him again. He's not going anywhere. He got six years, maybe four and a half if he's a good boy.
Stories are the way we say things to make sense of the horrors around us. Sometimes I stagger under my books. I'm telling stories of the women in the fantasy novels. The powerful ones, the miserable ones, the beaten ones, the married ones, the mothers and the virgins. I wonder what I'm staggering under to spend so many thousand words exploring these women.
We tell ourselves stories because sometimes the reality is so huge, so big, so daunting, we can't cope. We tell the story differently each time, savouring the parts that bring us something, and rewording the parts that don't meet our needs. Eventually we face the story and somewhere along the line, we've become big enough, wise enough, adult enough, to be able to accept the story, and take it into us and make it a part of ourselves that no longer needs to be told.
Maybe that's what I'm doing. I'm making myself bigger so I can absorb more women's stories. I'm telling these stories to help myself cope with the horrors that are already too close to home.
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thinky thoughts good
Date: 2008-07-24 06:36 am (UTC)From:most people can barely get their around their own stories. I'm so proud of knowing so many wonderful people who can carry so many more.
maybe you're staggering under the stories because you're still coming to grips with balancing the complexity?
Re: thinky thoughts good
Date: 2008-07-24 07:23 am (UTC)From:I find people fascinating, and wonder if the Mythology by Descartes (I think? You should know better than me!) is actually more useful to me now that I expect.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-24 07:13 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-24 07:21 am (UTC)From:Yours certainly sounded more exciting!
I'm kind of thrown out by a few things recently, and the thoughts on stories we tell ourselves to get through the day seemed to be even more applicable after the weekend. I really appreciate hanging around with you guys and listening.
I would love to curl up somewhere with a glass of wine and a fire and talk about this sort of stuff right now. It all seems to be coalescing in my head and getting it out would be nice.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-24 08:34 am (UTC)From:Btw are you free sat arvo? I would like to come round and hang out.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-24 08:38 am (UTC)From::-)
Hee! Matching icons!
and... yeah. And thanks for the compliment too. I think there can't be one without the other, or the whole text is pointless, and the older SF is spectacular in only meeting one of those two needs in the reader.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-24 08:45 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-24 09:19 am (UTC)From:You speak beautifully. I value your story. I know my own story better through your story, and I can appreciate others' stories through this as well, and you're right. There are so many, and they are so close to home always.
I love you. I know you're thinking and processing and am happy to make time to be with you if you need it.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-24 02:10 pm (UTC)From:BTW Batman was FUCKING AWESOME!
no subject
Date: 2008-07-24 02:38 pm (UTC)From:*love*
no subject
Date: 2008-07-24 10:06 am (UTC)From:hon, would you like me to you some advice to pass on to your friend about coping in prison? or is it just too hard for you?
no subject
Date: 2008-07-24 01:55 pm (UTC)From:I don't know if I get to speak to him yet or how to do so. I could ask him mum I guess but I think she might need some time without me pestering them with questions, so any info you have would be gratefully appreciated.