Despite an intent to steer toward the middle channel, life’s awash with sucking whirlpools and standing waves. In mid-May after losing my beloved greyt Kartoucheʹ, I collected my guy from Wenatchee Airport when he returned from Japan after a 4-month stint. Responding to seasonal parameters, we immediately leaped from winter-cave mindset and rushed into spring toward summer. Anticipation of deep winter’s freeze often sends us scurrying before we’re again forced into our rather luxurious cave.
Last week after attending Write on the River, where Larry Brooks, Booktrope’s Jennifer Gilbert, Jess Walter, and Jason Brick revved my writerly engines, we sprinted to Spokane. The highlight of this jaunt? A grand performance of WICKED, The Untold Story of the Witches of Oz. The final number of Act I, Defying Gravity, launched me into blissed-out sensory overload. The same happened during the finale.
Yes, I read WICKED by Gregory Maguire. No spoilers here, but the ending worked better in the play. As with the best of story arcs and character development, we discover aspects of ourselves. So it was with WICKED. At my best I am strong and self-actualized Elphaba—at my worst, a false and shallow Glinda. Yet each needs the other to become fully realized.
This theatrical production proved a delight on many levels. What struck me in this rendition was the theme of finding pack—and the joy that entails. Acceptance as theme either trickles or gushes through most of my stories.
Which makes me wonder: do we all struggle to create a pack of our own? I suspect my best friends, who are also creatives, may share this sentiment. When we gather for our biannual writers’ retreat this coming Sunday, I’ll ask. Perhaps I’ll query those who attend our book signing at A BOOK FOR ALL SEASONS in Leavenworth on June 7th from 1 – 3 pm, too. Yes, a shameless plug. In the meantime…