I spent a few years as the oldest of three children with a widowed mother. Then I spent many more years as a middle child when mom married a widower with two of his own. The oldest of those two became the oldest of all us kids and there were many nights when I woke up with a bloody nose or scared or sick, that I knocked on her door and pushed her into the mom role. I’m still not sure why us younger kids woke her rather than mom or dad, but we did.

Yesterday I called and got her answering machine and her message began the expected way,’hello, this is…’ but after she said the name I know her by, she continued with her full formal name that some call her, and then followed that with sister, mom, and all the labels for the various roles she has had in life.

I loved that message. And it made me think of those roles, those labels, the parts we play in life. I wondered if those labels ever fully define us. I’m not sure they can because each is simply a piece of us, obviously.

And that, of course, eventually led to writing, as most of my mental meanderings do. I wondered if this could be a tool for avoiding cardboard characters. If I think of every label my character could live under, each role that is played depending on the person applying the label, then I believe I would have a fully fleshed character. Because that character is going to react differently depending on the label applied at that moment.

Plus, with each label comes conflicts, multiple backstories, dreams, hopes, happiness…think about it. I’m going to have a completely different set of tensions and conflicts as mother, wife, sister, and even dog owner. Each separate set of conflicts meshes to create me, but I react differently to stress as a mother than stress as a dog owner.

So, not to belabor the point as it’s obvious I’m sure, but I think for future stories I’ll keep this  in my writer’s toolbox as one more way to help create real, believable, fully developed people.

And then I think I’m going to give my sister another call.

I am worried about this post. It is not my intention to offend anyone but the thought won’t leave me alone and I know by now that if words are haunting my brain they need to seep out the fingers or nothing else will get written.

Let me start by making it clear I am not knocking or mocking anyone’s religion. We all find the belief that we need to make it through this crazy world and I am not saying one is right and another wrong. So this thought I’ve had really, really, does not mean anything against what is sacred for another.

Several years ago I attended a Presbyterian church and an associated Bible study group. I went for a long time. My close friends attended, and I so wanted something to believe in. I worked hard to make it work for me. But these niggly little questions kept coming up. For instance, I remember asking the teacher how we could know that the books of the Bible were authentic, when they were written by very human men. The response was that the words were ‘God-breathed’, that the Holy Spirit moved through them and gave them the words. The analogy was that of a sailboat at the whim of the wind.

Recently, I was writing on a sequel story, and the words were flowing and all you who write know that feeling when the story takes over. When I was done, I sat back, drew in a deep breath, read back over what I’d written, and thought ‘did I write that?’

And then I remembered that Bible study group all those years ago, and had this thought I’m worried about sharing. Those books of the Bible, those words about the spirit moving through the apostles…isn’t that simply what happens to all writers?

I’m not saying my writing is holy! Far from it. But, what is it that moves through us that we call the muse? What is it that we writers can open up to and let in and let free, that separates us from people who don’t write? Personally I think those who don’t write just haven’t tried it yet. But really, how do you describe what happens when the story takes over and becomes words? When it leaves that ozone and finds a berth on the paper, or the computer screen? Word become form?

Christianity did not work for me. I suppose I’m closer to pagan than anything, although I usually say that trees are my religion. I find peace in the woods. But belief system aside, labels torn off, prejudices removed, think about it. Since the beginning of time, since oral storytelling, since the printed word, there is something that connects a writer to a story.

Tomorrow the days begin to incrementally grow longer. The winter solstice begins its slow turn back toward light. Whatever your beliefs are, I wish you a peaceful holiday.