Kate's eagles

I was just wanting to avoid writing for a minute, and I thought to myself, "I wonder if Kate DiCamillo has a blog." And by golly, she does. Please read this entry with me.

Okay, let's get this part out of the way: Don't you love her? I mean, don't you?

And then also, what she says reminds me so much of why I do what I do, which I have been wondering about lately (as always) and questioning my own sanity. So often I feel like Laura Ann Worsley, my writing like a green plastic purse, and I go about slapping people and whooping with delight at the little observed treasures, because I saw them, I knew them, I wrote them down, and I want to share them. And I'm saying, "Look at that airplane up there! I know there are lots, but I saw this one, and I want to share it with you!" And often the response is, who cares? That airplane isn't so great. I've seen better ones. I didn't really want to look at an airplane right now, I have better things to do.

And I want to be Laura Ann Worsley, because at that point, she didn't run behind a tree and cry in heartbreak and anguish. She was just plain pleased.

Why do artists and writers do what we do? Why do we spend years plotting and crafting and polishing only to share the book with the world, where perhaps it will be rejected, scorned, mocked, despised, or just left unsold and eventually pulped? It's a tremulous place to be, for one like me. I'm not good at slapping purses and whooping. And mostly I think I'd prefer to hide behind that tree.

But oh, when you see not one eagle, but TWO, and there's someone there who sees it too. Oh, to catch sight of eagles in good company. Beauty beyond comprehension somehow comprehended, for a moment, because you're not alone. There's a moment worth risking for.

Next time: contest voting and results!