I’m sitting here, being privy to Rory creating beauty. Beauty written. Beauty spoken. Sad, and often tragic beauty, but still, it moves me. I sit here in disbelief, it’s so good. He just sat down and wrote it out, in one push. The best things are usually written that way, but I’m in awe. His words create a complete story, a complete image. You are left speechless afterward. Yes, he’s that good.
Occasionally I can write things that are really good. Most of the time I just write things that are decent. But to create pure beauty, pure emotion that moves people, rather than just capturing my thoughts accurately at the time, is almost always beyond me. I’ve discovered that most truly great things are created through pain. Rory’s had that in droves. I’ve had it occasionally, but much of it was before I was much of a writer. I wasn’t at a place in life where I could share my experiences with others in a meaningful way.
While I wouldn’t want to trade lives or brains with Rory, having had a generally good and decent life—where people took care of me and I was surrounded by love, and my home was my safe place to go back to when hiding from the pain of social life at school—has kept me from too much pain, and hasn’t allowed me to be terribly creative.
I found that when I was hurting, I kept a journal. When I wasn’t, I didn’t. But even when I was writing, I didn’t write anything terribly moving most of the time. I wasn’t in pain for long enough to be introspective about it, and can only look back at it in an intellectual way.
So how can I create beauty, in my own way? Rory would say it’s by me being a good person, a good mother, and a capable, enthusiastic soul who is interested in learning new things. Beauty comes in many forms, but it’s hard to see those forms that you are used to. It’s easier to see the ones that are hard for you to create.