Yesterday was a day of Getting Things Done, of running around, of errands and flu shots. Well, flu shot, I only need the one.
And everywhere I went were people of different shades, from different countries, there to help. At the Afghani restaurant with the amazing chutney I could have guzzled with a spoon; at Walgreens arranging for the shot; at Bed Bath & Beyond helping to get the biggest discount possible.
What a bland country this would be without our vibrant diversity. Imagine the food without global influence. A life without sushi?
People are people, no matter where we’re from. And for those of us writers, if you can’t see the humanity in everyone, the odds of you creating characters who ring true is absolutely zero. The odds of having something really yummy to eat while creating those characters, even lower.
People live their lives in every corner of the Earth, and though the trappings may be different, though the scenery varies, the lives themselves are remarkably the same. We can choose to help make those lives better, or we can be obstacles.
But the thing about obstacles is they rarely go anywhere themselves.
The act of writing is one inherently of evolution. We start at zero. We end someplace much further down the road. A writer unwilling to evolve, to change, to accept the flow of others, will have very limited stories to tell.
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