This weekend is the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books and it is an extravaganza of all things literary. I haven't gone for the last three years because of scheduling conflicts but was happy to wander the booths and breath in the splendor of one of my favorite passions yesterday.
I also had the opportunity to listen to a panel of authors that have written deeply personal memoirs on life, love, and death. It was interesting to hear other authors discuss their process and even give a few hints on how they stay focused but what was most interesting for me was how all of them came back to the theme of being a storyteller.
Though their narratives were housed in the reality of their lived experiences, they all thought of themselves as storytellers. People that weave together words to convey a time and place. Delicately crafted sentences that express thought and emotion. Sounds and actions and the very fabric of life chronicled in detail for others to enjoy. As I listened to them discuss their process of telling a story I couldn't help thinking, what a magical thing us storytellers create for others to enjoy.
It was a thought that kept me bouncing about as I peered at the variety of booths and collection of books. It was so prevalent in my mind that it ignited a little spark of creativity and before the night was over I realized I have a new story of my own to share.