Magical Synchronicities | Arundhati Roy – Stories Select the Writers, not Writer’s Selecting the Stories

I had a series of magical moments after I had moved from a cafe to a waterfront area. I was looking over the Table of Contents (TOC) of this book I’m writing and realized several pages were not ‘recognized’. I was doing the quick and assured fix of formatting the title text and making sure there were page breaks, and this one page simply would not allow itself to be recognized. It would not appear in the TOC.

I had no choice but to look at the content more closely, having decided that I had completed this page, and then realized…

…that I  could subtly change the wording of this part of the title. And, oh, I see, it would be better to omit this and re-create this series of lines instead.

I had wanted to use the quick and obvious fix of reformatting the title, which functioned with other pages, but this one page would not allow me.

So, i don’t know about you, but I think that the book, via the computer, was not allowing me to hastily skip over this page, but insisted that i look at it more closely. This part of the story, did not want to be portrayed in that way.

I think it’s like magic, and I call this a synchronicity. Like a gut instinct or intuition.

sunflowerssunflowers to the left of me sunflowers to the right

 

I understand what Arundhati Roy means when she says that writers think they cull stories from the world, but in fact, the stories cull the writers.

“Writers imagine that they cull stories from the world. I’m beginning to believe that vanity makes them think so. That it’s actually the other way around. Stories cull writers from the world. Stories reveal themselves to us. The public narrative, the private narrative – they colonize us. They commission us. They insist on being told. Fiction and nonfiction are only different techniques of story telling. For reasons that I don’t fully understand, fiction dances out of me, and nonfiction is wrenched out by the aching, broken world I wake up to every morning.”

Here was the approaching back drop.

ducks the geese had already flown in two flocks to grass lawns

 

sunset september 6 in Providence, Rhode Island

 

sept 5th sky I had seen a green blue moon at sunset and later an orange pink crescent