by any other name

I'm working on an editing project that has to do with words. Of course the book is written with, er, words, so there's that. But more specifically, the topic has to do with the cross-section of beliefs between Muslims and Christians and how each other's words are heard, felt and acted upon. Tricky things, these lettered vehicles. Nevertheless, they're what we've got, and roll them out we do. How they'll be received on the other end is anyone's guess.

Having made a career out of these little buggers, I know how slippery and surprising they can be. I actually just did a music bio for a new up-and-coming band, and while getting instructions on some rewrites I was told that the ladies in the band felt a couple of their quotes were taken out of context. Well at first my back went up (ok, it's still up when i dwell on it), but i can also see--and have had happen many a time--that none of us interpret things the same way. it's a little bit of a miracle, I think, that we're able to actually get the depth of what each other's saying at all, any of the time. but we do, and ultimately I have many awesome people that i think get me, what i'm saying, what i'm meaning. And i, them, as well.

It used to be that I'd look for opportunities to twist it up a bit, tease out the drama in the words, cuz the general sense in journalism was that if it bleeds it leads. One time, in particular, that was literally true. I was in the city of fog out west doing a story on a band who'd been on the cusp for so long (in music years) that they'd forged new territory balancing between success and obscurity. During my day spent with them, leading up to their rock show that night, the bass player decided he wanted to get his belly button pierced. seeing an opportunity for some possible drama, at least a bit of blood, to be added into the story, i went with him. as he jumped up onto the table in a slightly darkened room (why you'd want to get pierced in candlelight is anyone's guess. it made me queasy to think there might be a slip and he'd end up with a Prince Albert), the multiply pierced and tattooed woman who was going to decorate him pulled out her tray of tools: needles, antiseptic and such. He looked at the instruments, turned a bit green, wobbled, fainted and fell off the table. It was weird: One minute he was upright, a hardcore looking rock dude. The next he was a little boy crumpled on the floor. The piercing practitioner actually started to laugh. I was a bit apalled and a bit thrilled. Here was my lead...but damn, how embarrassing for him... Well, once he came to and as his eye began to blacken, the woman told him to get out of the shop and never come back. he got a little righteous to cover up his chagrin. Said he was pretty sure he hadn't eaten enough or some such, said that place sucked anyway. "You're not going to write about this, are you?" he asked. "Um. No?" I answered. words,words,words.

That night at the rock show, a kid yelled out from the audience, "Yo B, whuss'up wit yer eye? did'ya pummel someone?" And B just smiled, like, Hell yeah. that's the story and i'm sticking with it. And i realized, it's all how you spin those words and actions that count. Of course I led with that piercing peccadillo and B never talked to me again. But no matter, it didn't ruin his reputation much or for long...the band still teeters on the cusp and no one remembers that story anyway.

so the importance of words. entertaining? negotiable? necessary?

This weekend I had an amazing experience that reminded me how communicating without words can be transportive. In another darkened room with a group of amazing ladies, we poured out the language of beauty and stillness and pain and wonder and fun without saying much more than monosyllables. And we spoke volumes and it was good. I still love words, to say them, write them, roll around in their possibilities, but i'm really beginning to appreciate that I don't need to fill up all the empty spaces with them. Some things are better left unsaid.