Birthing Stories (Not stories of birthing, but giving stories life)
So I watched the movie Juno the other day. Very cool movie. I know you’re thinking, “Wait, isn’t this a writing blog? Why does she keep talking about movies and TV and her kids?”
It’s because they’re stories, dude. Even what I write about my kids-stories. Movies start out as writing. So does TV, as we can see from the recent Hollywood writers' strike. All television shows came to a complete halt because there were no writers writing those stories (except reality shows). A writers’ strike is right up there with a garbage strike and a massive transit strike for those of us addicted to the feed. Which I’m NOT. I’m just sayin’.
And you know what else starts out as writing? Music. Amazing, right? Recently, I went to see our friends and neighbors, the Micic’s, perform at a little spot in Manhattan. Alma Micic sings and her husband, Rale Micic, plays guitar. As I was watching the two of them up there, immersed in their own worlds, emotions flitting across their faces-pain, passion, wonder-I realized they were swimming in their own stories. They write their own music and each song is a story they’re riding. It has a beginning, a middle, an end. Some of their stories are uplifting, some make me wanna get up and dance, others bring tears to my eyes. But all of those songs started out with a pen and paper.
So, too, with Juno. I'm not gonna review it or anything, but I'll say this. It wasn’t a novel story idea-teen pregnancy. But the way it was done was totally new. The teen’s parents were 100 percent supportive of their daughter, the (usually wicked) stepmother was loving and awesome, the impregnator was completely in love with his pregnant girlfriend, the military dad was a giant softie, and tons more stereotypes dropped flat on their a$$es.
Because that’s what life is, right? It’s not one packaged stereotype after another; it’s this constant ebb and flow . . . an evolving co-creation where we have some say in how things turn out. Maybe not ALL control, obviously, but a bit, don’t you think?