Love It or Leave It...or Write Books about It

Friday night I was in the company of powerful storytellers. Three authors and a musician performed readings and songs in an intimate setting downtown. My friend Linda and I went together, and she introduced me to the singer, whom she has met a couple of times. I could have said hello and reminded the authors why they have a slight reason to know me, but I decided to just enjoy what they were offering the audience.

One writer in particular has a style that ignites my imagination. His details weave intimate, specific scenes that we could taste and hear. His writing was so vivid, I was with him as he recreated a scene from his childhood on his screened in porch while a thunderstorm was moving in and lightning cracked a huge oak tree. See? Just retelling it didn't take you anywhere. You weren't on his porch seeing him sink against his dad's chest, but because of his writing, I was. I'll have to buy his book and try to learn from him. It's harder to write like that. Requires more discipline and time at the very least...maybe some degree of genius, as well.

As for the "performers," if you will (is that what you call authors when they are reading excerpts from their work? Or are they still just authors?): they are all local to my state, and they seem to like it. That always surprises me. I mean, most of my adult life--and maybe for most of my youth--I've hankered to pack my Colgate, computer, flip-flops and photo boxes and drive south on the Interstate to some locale that never freezes. To get away from this Midwestern crossroads and just to try out the South. Just to live somewhere warm for a year or two and see if I could stand the insects and the sweltering summers and the tourists and snowbirds. I think I'd be okay, because I could consume endless grits and sweet tea, and right there I'd be pretty much set.

But these authors actually seem to enjoy living here. They like this state. They choose it. They write about it--proudly. They promote small towns and cornfields, limestone and geodes. They laud the diners and farmers, pond life, and simple living. They're all Quakers, too, however; so that may account for some of it.

I was left wondering if I ought to just accept that which appears will never change: I'm here. In nearly 40 years, I've never lived anywhere else--even after marrying a man who grew up in Europe, I'm still here. I should learn to like it; maybe even to love it.

Perhaps I should start writing poetry about it.

Oh, I forgot: I already did.

Any other suggestions?