written by someone who had the emotion to think them in the first place. Every word Carnegie Lane put on paper came from a place she recognized somehow belonged to her. The words carried the intense and absolute need to be loved, to belong to someone.
It is fact that even the greatest writer can only draw from the knowledge of feelings that live deep within them. Love songs and love stories display the inner most secrets of someone’s soul. When you put that down on paper, knowing exactly from the depths of your soul where it came from and be honest, you allow it to flow without ego stepping in to guide it. The words will be drawn to you. The love story becomes poetry and the poet sends the message on the wind to attract the ones it was meant for. Like a birdsong.
How long it takes for them to hear that song, depends on the strength of the intense want. Like the words in Roads , it found her wanting more, and it allowed her to explore what she was thinking at the time.
Exploring the song again now, allowed her to remember that even way back then, something in her world wasn’t working. She just had a great way of denying it to everyone around her, especially, to herself.
She remembered the day she put away her Doc Martin boots, knowing they were suddenly politically incorrect to be worn in their new circle of friends. The dark make up had to go, replaced with gentle clinic tones that highlighted what was real in a world of plastic surgery and Botox. The music she danced to in public became dull and boring, something that sat in the background and didn’t intrude on the conversations that appeared to matter more than the creation of sound. Her life was stripped bare, in order to have a new life. One she never chose yet one she continued to allow, no matter how great the loss.
That was why she wrote that book. Every part of her was calling out to be found. Every word she wrote tore her apart a little bit more than she already was. Every heartache and loss showed the depth of despair she carried for not ever having found him , or from possibly losing him. It screamed how much she wanted her world back, just the way it was.
Maybe, just maybe, that was true. She hadn’t found him yet. Her world was all back to front and her marriage had really only served the part of her life that allowed her to have a family. Now it was possible that the one it was meant for just happened to be a successful lead singer in a band, who she had never met and yet, she liked him. She liked that he called her, she liked that he offered her help. Most importantly, she loved the fact he enjoyed her story. It gave her hope.
So what happens the day she finds what she is looking for? Does it all end? Does her creativity stop at one book, one story, one reflection of a dream? Or was it just the beginning? The song she was listening to ended and at the same time the phone rang, like synchronicity.
She was brought back from the memory of her life seventeen years before by the reality of a relentless digital bell. She got up and answered it. Not expecting the conversation to answer most of her questions and be the salvation to her immediate prayer.
“Hello” She said a little sleepily, still caught in the mood of her music.
“Carnegie?” The female voice questioned at the other end. She sounded too young in her opinion.
“Yes…This is Carnegie Lane.”
“Carnegie…Its Katalie Bowman, great to hear your voice.” Carnegie’s heart began to beat a little faster.
“Wow, Katalie, I wasn’t expecting a call. Hi, it’s great to finally talk to you too.”
“Well, we have some great news. We have a publisher for “ Impossible Things ” The offer is being put together this week, and we are having some meetings next Wednesday.”
This was clearly good news.
“That’s amazing. I thought it took much longer than this.”
Katalie laughed a little. “It often does, although this is a great read. It hit a nerve with everyone who read it,
It is fact that even the greatest writer can only draw from the knowledge of feelings that live deep within them. Love songs and love stories display the inner most secrets of someone’s soul. When you put that down on paper, knowing exactly from the depths of your soul where it came from and be honest, you allow it to flow without ego stepping in to guide it. The words will be drawn to you. The love story becomes poetry and the poet sends the message on the wind to attract the ones it was meant for. Like a birdsong.
How long it takes for them to hear that song, depends on the strength of the intense want. Like the words in Roads , it found her wanting more, and it allowed her to explore what she was thinking at the time.
Exploring the song again now, allowed her to remember that even way back then, something in her world wasn’t working. She just had a great way of denying it to everyone around her, especially, to herself.
She remembered the day she put away her Doc Martin boots, knowing they were suddenly politically incorrect to be worn in their new circle of friends. The dark make up had to go, replaced with gentle clinic tones that highlighted what was real in a world of plastic surgery and Botox. The music she danced to in public became dull and boring, something that sat in the background and didn’t intrude on the conversations that appeared to matter more than the creation of sound. Her life was stripped bare, in order to have a new life. One she never chose yet one she continued to allow, no matter how great the loss.
That was why she wrote that book. Every part of her was calling out to be found. Every word she wrote tore her apart a little bit more than she already was. Every heartache and loss showed the depth of despair she carried for not ever having found him , or from possibly losing him. It screamed how much she wanted her world back, just the way it was.
Maybe, just maybe, that was true. She hadn’t found him yet. Her world was all back to front and her marriage had really only served the part of her life that allowed her to have a family. Now it was possible that the one it was meant for just happened to be a successful lead singer in a band, who she had never met and yet, she liked him. She liked that he called her, she liked that he offered her help. Most importantly, she loved the fact he enjoyed her story. It gave her hope.
So what happens the day she finds what she is looking for? Does it all end? Does her creativity stop at one book, one story, one reflection of a dream? Or was it just the beginning? The song she was listening to ended and at the same time the phone rang, like synchronicity.
She was brought back from the memory of her life seventeen years before by the reality of a relentless digital bell. She got up and answered it. Not expecting the conversation to answer most of her questions and be the salvation to her immediate prayer.
“Hello” She said a little sleepily, still caught in the mood of her music.
“Carnegie?” The female voice questioned at the other end. She sounded too young in her opinion.
“Yes…This is Carnegie Lane.”
“Carnegie…Its Katalie Bowman, great to hear your voice.” Carnegie’s heart began to beat a little faster.
“Wow, Katalie, I wasn’t expecting a call. Hi, it’s great to finally talk to you too.”
“Well, we have some great news. We have a publisher for “ Impossible Things ” The offer is being put together this week, and we are having some meetings next Wednesday.”
This was clearly good news.
“That’s amazing. I thought it took much longer than this.”
Katalie laughed a little. “It often does, although this is a great read. It hit a nerve with everyone who read it,
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