Beginning the Investigation
We pitched a "branded experience" to a client today.
With luck, I'll be able to take my toddler there in a few months and say "Look! Your mommy helped make this."
I wonder if architects feel the same way, when they create the blueprints for a concert hall or museum: This did not exist and now it does exist and I am partly the cause.
The toddler won't really get it, of course. I don't really get it: How a person's brain can generate the chemical activity necessary for a particular thought, and then, through a series of actions, change its physical surroundings to mirror that thought. I don't drink The Secret Kool-Aid but I still find the premise fascinating.
I had a revelation in the car on the drive to work this morning. I was listening to a podcast about Richard Simmons. Have you heard it? I'm only one episode in, but I'm hooked.
In the podcast intro, filmmaker Dan Taberski says, "Do you think I should try to find Richard? ... I'm going to try." I immediately felt a flutter in my chest. An opening. A voice without words saying: It's time.
It's time to start my own investigation. The part of my book I've been putting off for years, because for years I've been scared to ask tough questions, scared to seek out the people I need to speak to and scared of what I might find when I do. I've wanted to start investigating the occult part of my family history, but I hadn't given myself permission.
This investigation isn't just essential to completing my book. It's essential to my own character arc as well. To get the information I desire, I must give up my need to be likable. I have to stop being scared of asking awkward questions and possibly angering or upsetting people. Only by doing this will I grow as a narrator and a human being.
I couldn't have done it before because I hadn't arrived at the right place yet. But for whatever reason, I'm finally ready to dive in. I'm eager to dive in. I can't not dive in.
The blueprints are done. It's time to start building.