Keep a Light Burning
By Tonia Harris | July 31, 2021 |
The Writer Ghost Lights
One of my favorite fanciful notions is that of the ghost light, the light theaters leave burning center stage, a light that serves a practical purpose, yes. A way to keep the dark safely at bay until proper lights can be reached and turned on. It’s also a light said to appease the spirits in the theater, a way to give them what they most want- the stage.
As a writer, I’m learning to keep my own ghost light burning, an offering to the restless stories and luscious words too often just out of reach. I visit them, humbly, with pen and paper, and keep a record of them, of their stories. But the question I kept asking myself is this- am I truly a writer if I’m only scribbling in spiral-bound notebooks for a few minutes just before I go to bed at night?
I tried to imagine taking a wrecking ball to the entire endeavor. I think if your soul is done with a thing, it would know lightness at the thought of walking away for good. I didn’t. And there was this- those scribbles brought me joy, a little hope, especially during our current cultural, political, and environmental turmoil. That ghost light mattered.
What I realize is that writing is the lens through which I see the world. Not a thing I could cast into darkness and never step foot into again. My time writing perhaps a page a night isn’t wasted, it is time spent in practice, like meditation or long-distance running. No matter how dim the light, the ghosts were there and they never once stopped talking amongst themselves.
It Waits For You
There is what I have come to believe is a myth we tell ourselves to keep doing the work. A myth I believed, and it stunted me. This notion that if we don’t catch the idea and drag it by its tail end to our computer screen, another writer will snatch it for themselves. There is good in this, yes- we need to commit to the work, absolutely. Yet.
Yet, I politely counter that it waits for you. It’s more than an idea, a story, it’s not something floating on the ether, but a thing that you own. Your Voice. There’s enough strife in the world, we don’t need to go to war with ourselves. Taking the time to grieve, reset, heal, and find what renews you will not dim that particular light. The stories belong to all of us, and not just writers, but all artists and creators. That lens is what is particular to you, it’s your experience, passion, weirdness, and the full glory of your humanity.
It belongs to you and it’s full of the grace you likely aren’t giving yourself. Let it burn, waiting patiently center-stage.
I read once that while they closed across the globe during the pandemic, theaters kept those ghost lights lit. They meant it as a symbol of hope, the darkness and overwhelm would end and we would all have a light to help us find our way back to storytelling.
The act was a promise and a prayer.
Tending the Flame
What do the ghost light and its incumbent entities require of us?
They want us to remember who we are and where our own magic happens. They want us to acknowledge we are only truly home inside of the story, and to own the one thing that we can—our truth.
This is a struggle today; truth has been turned into saltwater taffy. Let yours speak to you, whether it be on a notebook page or your laptop, through music or that strange magic between two crochet needles, or a new calling.
This requires careful listening, and the best way to practice is by listening to the stories of others around you. Asking questions, following your curiosity. Remember again how the telling of a story can change everything when you see the relief in a friend’s face or the ease in the set of a stranger’s shoulders.
In that connection is the power source of the light you carry with you.
The question that always arises is: Am I a writer if I’m not writing?
Imagine full dark in that haunted, vast room.
Did your heart stutter?
If it did then, I promise, it’s burning, it’s waiting.
The Grand Re-Opening (Redux)
There will come a time to flip the switch and pull the curtains back. I can see it when I couldn’t before and that old excitement sizzles. Voices raise, a set forms in my mind’s eye and all the writing is on the wall. Just below, right under my heart, the conductor raises his baton and there it is. A story with my voice splashed all across it. I’ve been here before, I’ve walked away more than once, but it waits and we belong to each other.
The audience? Perhaps they don’t know it yet, but they’re waiting as well.
How do you tend your ghost light, or have you found your way back to your own grand re-opening?
This is lovely, Tonia. I love the idea of a ghost light within me! My WIP (IP-IP-IP x 6 years) is one my agent loves but which has been asking more of me than I’ve been able to give in order for it to see publication. I haven’t had to do a thing to keep the ghost light lit, because my thoughts are never far from these characters. I jot a sentence here and another there that will deepen characterization and at my fall retreat, I’ll start a major restructuring with new sections. The thought of walking away from this one does not unburden me, it stresses me out, so I will carry on.
Thanks for a beautiful post.
Kathryn,
Thank you for taking the time to comment and share what is going on in your own writerly world. A fall retreat sounds like a lovely haven to sink your teeth into restructuring (which I know is a scary and haunted process in its own right). As a fan I ask you please do carry on. Your stories and gracious voice are needed.
I love this, Tonia. Theater ghosts have such a rich history, and every theatre friend I know makes space to tell them that they still matter—even if those spirits don’t walk the stage in shoes we hear anymore. Yours is a fresh, powerful metaphor, and one I’ll remember. Thank you!
T,
I love that thespians are still holding space for the haunts because they’re so important. It exudes humility and grace, which as artists and craftspeople we need. Honestly, I talk to my home sometimes, say a little thank you. I’m so glad you enjoyed the essay. (Whew! lol)
Hugs and chocolate,
TM
Lovely as ever. I’ll keep this image with me though I struggle with the idea of the audience. Is it worth it even if only one audience member shows up? Yes. I think so.
But at your grand opening, Tonia, you’ll have a standing ovation.
Marta,
Goodness. Thank you, my friend. I woke up thinking about the audience this morning, knowing my post would be published. And I thought about all the varying theaters and the types of audiences they hold. I tried to imagine my audience, but when I could picture that one person, that one reader absorbed in the story, I felt what you did. That is enough to keep doing this crazy and impassioned work.
Happy writing, Marta.
Hey Tonia—I swear it’s true: only as I finished reading your evocative essay, absorbed in deep thought, did I realize that the song that was randomly playing was Peter Gabriel’s Don’t Give Up, Kate Bush’s angelic voice assuring me…
“Don’t give up
You still have us
Don’t give up now
We’re proud of who you are
Don’t give up
You know it’s never been easy
Don’t give up
‘Cause I believe there’s a place
There’s a place where we belong…”
So we’ve got that going for us. :) I always love reading anything you write, but I really love the idea of the ghost light. Thanks for shining yours for the rest of us.
V,
So you once again brought tears to my eyes and how I miss you. Thank you for the kindness and sharing that moment with me. Talk about synchronicity! That song holds a special place in my heart. A dear friend who introduced me to it years ago during a time I needed those words and her voice passed away recently. Yes, your stories are needed and you know where to find your tribe.
Also, belated happy birthday to you!
Miss you, too! It was such a spooky-cool moment. Me too, I swear that song is a part of me, but it tends to pop up when I need it most.
Thanks much for the b-day wishes! Feels like the sort of milestone I should celebrate for, like, the whole summer. So no worries about being belated.
This is beautiful and life-affirming. I don’t think of walking away from the stories I have to tell, but when I think of the angst attached to getting published, chosen, and seen, I often feel the drop. For me, though, the stories are the ghost light, and as long as they burn on, so will I. Thank you, Tonia.
Susan,
Please do keep burning. Thank you for taking the time to comment and talk about what haunts you. I feel that same drop, but the ghost light, it shines and fear does lose its power. Shine on!
This post triggers a strong like and a strong dislike in me. I love the ghost light image, which is your main point. For 20 years I’ve had various specific story ideas in mind. One was written quickly and never saw the light of day. Another took 11 years. Another 6 months. Another 14 years. I gained confidence over time that the ghost light would not go out. For my long novel, I suppose I finally finished it in part because of the fear that if I caught Covid, nobody would ever know or think of the story! But I dislike the question “am I a writer if …” — as if the mere identity of being a writer is more important than the feelings, images, ideas, thoughts, plots, observations, characters, wordplay, rhythm, and technique that make writing possible and even necessary. Identity feels to me more legitimate as description than prescription.
I don’t know how you knew I was ready for this, but my thanks to you and whatever spirits guided you.
I have not yet written, as you have, of things so close to my soul. I’ve been working on a mystery, something I’ve always wanted to write. The product has been thin and tepid. Yesterday, my muse gifted me a big chunk of what it needs. I still have to do the work of a writer, but now armed with inspiration from my muse and the strength that provides.
Like yours perhaps, my muse doesn’t answer when called; she arrives only when both she and I are ready. She is preceded by Frustration, Fear, and Impatience, dark demons with whom you and, I suspect, many other writers are familiar. I know what finding my way to her requires from me; I can only imagine that her journey is no less difficult. I think of that ghost light as the candle that leads us to one another.
Thank you for your post. It has brightened my path.
This is lovely, Tonia. Thank you for sharing it.
This is lovely, Tonia. Thanks so much for sharing. It can be so hard to keep those ghost lights flickering some days, but it’s always worth it.
Tonia, I love the image of the ghost light. As Susan said above, the stories themselves are the ghost lights; some are patient, others not so, but I do pay attention. That’s tending. Thank you for reminding us.
These two lines: “There’s enough strife in the world, we don’t need to go to war with ourselves.” And, “It belongs to you and it’s full of the grace you likely aren’t giving yourself. Let it burn, waiting patiently center-stage.” This was what I needed to hear. Thank you.
The ghost light works well as a metaphor, Tonia, but it gave me a tangibly warm glow—inner and outer.
Some stirring sentiments and careful craft in this one—lovely stuff! Thank you.
When and if I finish the WIP, there is a nice little mystery series with Mexican-American former MP who does a campus police job while her husband finishes his PhD that I invested years in, finished the first novel in, and never found it a home. I was halfway into the second in the series, and planning for a third, when the WIP fell into my lap, as a whole, in 2000 – and I’m still working to finish it.
But the other, I see now, had a lot of potential – and my skills are better now.
It’s nice to know Thea is waiting for me.
Opening this post today was perfect timing. Recently I’ve realized that although I have been a writer since fourth grade, I haven’t been writing anything beyond my journal for several years now. I’ve been more excited to consider embroidery projects. So I was pondering “identity.” Your post was lovely and comforting. Thank you for this gift.
Tonia, you have inspired me to realize that my ghost light is kept alive by actual ghosts — those of my forebears, who populate part of my most important WIP. Whenever I think of running away from it (which is often, because it is so demanding and the work is so rigorous yet absorbing), I’ll remember their kindly presence and encouragement. Thanks!
Ghost lights…I never realized how many I have shining each evening waiting for my steps from room to room leading my way to the bathroom then back to bed. Then often times I can’t go back to sleep. My characters give me ideas that I promise I’ll remember. But I never do.
The best ghost light is my hutch light that comes on unexpected but always at the right moment. The night I received the call from my son that my 38:year old grandson had died in a car accident…the ghost light on the hutch came on and I knew it was my mother telling me ‘he is okay, he’s with me’. Yes, we are blessed with a world filled with language and ghost to lead us to that perfect story if we just listen. Thanks for reminding me of bittersweet memories.
“But the question I kept asking myself is this- am I truly a writer if I’m only scribbling in spiral-bound notebooks for a few minutes just before I go to bed at night?”
Absolutely. But my answer is biased, because this is often what I do too.
“I tried to imagine taking a wrecking ball to the entire endeavor. I think if your soul is done with a thing, it would know lightness at the thought of walking away for good. I didn’t.”
Wow. Yes. Wow.
“There’s enough strife in the world, we don’t need to go to war with ourselves. Taking the time to grieve, reset, heal, and find what renews you will not dim that particular light.”
Hear hear!
What a tremendously lovely and affirming post. Thank you.