Meet my guideson Cooper.
You last saw him in my NYT best selling memoir Not Without My Father. My novel Hard to Die is dedicated to him, a fitting tidbit for this little story.
A story of my soul
For years, Cooper has been obsessed with dinosaurs. He is a walking encyclopedia of dinosaur trivia. Wherever he went, he spouted scientific names, specific diets, and times lived. No toy was as magical as one with a dino-theme. What better gift could two guide parents give a child than taking him to the cradle of dinosaurdom, Alberta’s Dinosaur Provincial Park? We redeemed every travel point we had to ship four humans to this spot for under $500, an epic memory-making experience for Cooper.
AND HE HATED IT.
Look at that face on our fossil safari. HE WAS MISERABLE. He never stopped reminding us how awful it was. We kept trying different ploys to coax him toward enjoyment, but he always pointed out what was wrong. He wanted dragons, not dinosaurs. A love of dragons is a recent development.
He came around eventually, BTW. I *think* we made some exquisite memories.
When I look at this face, I see the products of my soul. What are the products of my soul, you ask?
My books are living chunks of my soul, carved from my very essence.
This experience reminded me how I feel every time I hack off another piece of my soul in book form and launch it into the world. I want everyone to receive it with joy and unfettered glee, because it’s my soul, after all.
What you hold in your hands is more me than I am. It’s the purest me you’ll ever find.
And so much of the time, creators find themselves staring at a facsimile of Cooper’s bloody expression and wondering why they try. What’s the point of untethering finite lumps of one’s soul and flinging them into the world when so few people care? I mean, there’s only so much soul to distribute before it’s all used up. Gone. A dusty husk. A barren well.
If I am resilient or inspiring or strong, I am because I keep creating in spite of this collective face. Creators are compelled to drain their souls and watch what happens when you hold them in your hands. The two parts – making and releasing – are the essence of being a Creator.
8 Comments
Littles are always learning, but their reasoning skills are just forming. If they can’t make a connection or be totally engaged, they just go into a funk. Patience, patience, patience. Sounds like you finally got there.
I have no patience. One of many reasons I didn’t have kids. 🙂
Wow! That is beautiful!!!! And may I also say that your postcard was received and I cried and cried. Thank you Andra. As long as I’m alive you’ll have a FAN – personally and professionally. So proud of who you are and that you share so much with us. Thank you.
Glad it found you safely! I hope you were surprised. xo
Having recently purchased ‘Hard to Die,’ I look forward to reading that piece of your soul. Our books really are little pieces of us. Even if they’re fictional and bear no similarities to our real life, our experiences and thoughts still shape their formation. Loved your last sentence. Beautiful.
By the way, I can’t seem to find the share button on your posts. I have to go over to Twitter and paste in the URL in order to tweet it. Not a big deal but thought I’d let you know. Of course, it’s probably right in front of my face and I just don’t see it!
I’m glad this piece spoke to you, Carrie. And I’m sorry about the sharing buttons. The saga of my website would take 10,000 words. Sharing buttons were one of many things that didn’t quite work when it launched a couple of years ago. For a while, I got fed up and walked away from the whole mess. We’re working now to transition to a new space where (HOPEFULLY) everything will work. Thanks for sharing my words.
That sounds frustrating. Every time I think about going to a self-hosted site, I read about problems people have had, so I end up staying with wordpress dot com.
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