Wordsmith

To grow up Jewish is to grow up in awe of words. Had I grown up Catholic, I believe I would have become a painter, a mosaicist, or a jewelry maker. I remember seeing the Vatican in Rome and the Sisteen Chapel and thinking, Oh, I get it, this is what makes people believe in God. I did not grow up Catholic, nor did I grow up to believe in God in any traditional sense. I grew up to believe in words.

I remember in college, I would dream in typewriter. That is, as I thought the thoughts that lead me into sleep or those that woke me from it, I often saw them typed out, each letter hit on an imaginary keyboard in my head.

Now I make my living with words, weaving them into stories and eliciting them from people whose stories are locked deep within them. One of my greatest feelings of accomplishment at my present job came after I finished interviewing a man who has lived for decades with full blown AIDS. This man is a motivational speaker for a local AIDS group, so he's comfortable talking about hard subjects, including the details of his own disease, but usually he speaks as an educator, divulging his status simply to make a point. During our interview, we talked about his life, his lovers, his drugs (his prescription drugs, that is), and his struggles. We went into deep detail and the detail was fascinating to me (and hopefully later to the website's listeners, as well). Afterwards, the man thanked me for my questions and I felt wonderful. He was so happy to tell this much more personal story and we both agreed it would make a difference to whoever heard it.

Though I no longer dream in typewriter, I do often still dream in words. Sometimes, I wake up and can barely describe the colors and voices and smells of my dreams. The plot is completely tangled. But often there is one word or a feeling of a word that sticks with me, makes me see the waking world differently.

My writing guru, Mary, has explained that in stories dialogue is action. That words can be considered action is so revolutionary to me. Recently, I heard a lawyer who is also a novelist interviewed on a radio show. He related how his law school professor told the class that the law, after all, is only a collection of words. This stunned the man, because in his mind, the law is so powerful. But, of course, these are words that describe actions, and, more to the point, words are powerful. So, words = law = power or law = words = power.

As Chanukah approaches, I think of the story of the Maccabees, their war, their miraculous oil, the lesson that we are all vessels, empty oil jugs, and that God - however we conceive him - is here to fill us, to light our flames. As a kid, I used to wonder how much of these fairy tales could be true (I was a rather cynical kid). Now I realize it doesn't matter. It is the words that fill us with light against these short days and long, dark nights.