American Idol and slow cookin'

I just frittered away a half hour or so worshiping a story I wrote yesterday evening in the 45 minutes between watching Jon Stewart’s opening segment and the start of American Idol. Well, I did run over a bit because I perfected the story then posted it for the online class I’m taking called “Feral Writing,” and so I missed the first two Idol performers but the really good ones came later anyhow. I don’t vote but if I did I’d have to vote for Jacob, with James and Casey close behind.

The story surprised me. It was a revelation, that I can imagine whole stories like I make meals: look in the fridge, see what looks good or needs to be eaten, and take it from there. It unfolds naturally, one thing leads to another and ties itself up neatly at the end. I’ve been discovering this ability in the last  two weeks in Maya's exercises. Where does it come from?

When I say I was worshiping the story I mean that I was marveling, adoring something that had a mystery about it. I couldn’t figure out just  how it happened. Some of you who know me think I’m a pretty good storyteller but something qualitatively different seems to be happening now. It’s as if a whole lifetime of compulsive reading and incessant writing about this, that, and the other thing has simmered into a really tasty stew and I’m dipping in. Some slow cookin' has been going on. It’s ready.

OK, looking for more metaphors. This is like discovering a whole new closetful of clothes I didn’t know I had. What can I do with these? How can I put them together? Where can I go, wearing them? But really it is more like discovering a new box of old toys. I want to drag them out and play. It’s all about play. I have a feeling I need to keep it that way for now, not try to shape this gift into any productive, purposeful mold. I will not start a novel. I will not think about a short story collection. I will just keep taking scraps of memory and overheard conversations, wind them up, and watch them go.

If I voted for Jacob Lusk it would be because he knows about the mystery of gift. Judge Stephen Tyler called it “divine intervention” that brought Jacob to the stage. His voice is so huge no human could have invented it, and Jacob sings to the glory of God, not to the glory of himself.

It may take a whopping gift like that one to bring our attention to the divine, but each of us carries a refrigerator full of ingredients. You never know when God is going to come looking for a snack and show you how to make something really tasty.

My blueberry pancakes are pretty good, too.