Only By Really Seeing It
July 10, 2009
post by author, Alex Bigney
“Well, I’m not sure what it’s about…but I like it—and I want the rest of it yesterday!” That’s what he said.
After I had finished writing the first four chapters, in order to get some needed feedback, I began to let a few people read the manuscript. Sometimes I met with folks over lunch to discuss their experience and opinions concerning my curious project. So there, while downing a largish sandwich, a small bag of chips, and a bottle of exotic juice, I decided to continue writing Talking to Tesla.
“How could I tell someone what to expect? I guess I’d just have to tell ‘em to trust me. It’s something you’ve got to read to get it,” he explained.
I looked at the guy across the table, someone I hadn’t met before—watched him chewing and talking and chewing and talking….
“Hey, I’m no artist,” he went on. “Nothing at all. Never was. At least I thought so—but my daughter, she’s into art history—and I’m reading this and suddenly I’m wondering whether I might have some artist stuff goin’ on after all. It was like it was my life you were describing. I was surprised. I mean—I really got it!”
I smiled, thinking that it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me, eyeing his turkey and Swiss, and wishing I hadn’t chosen roast beef and the overly-sweet mustard.
“I don’t know you and don’t need to be nice, but when is the rest of it going to be finished? It’s like—way whacked out! You know—in the very best way!”
The realization that I was on an unexpected adventure started to sink in—I wanted the rest of it too—and I felt at least as surprised as he did. “Yeah, I think I’ll keep writing.”
“Well, I really believe this thing’s got legs!”
That was almost five years ago, and I’ve lost track of the number of similar conversations over lunch, at book readings, on the phone, in messages and emails.
“I didn’t expect to like it quite so much, as I’m not into what I thought it was going to be about,” said a friend. “I’ve started reading it now for a second time and I expect to read it again after that.”
“So, can you tell me what it’s about?” I wondered, hoping for some enlightenment—some phrase I might borrow when asked the same.
“You know, I can’t really say,” he stated slowly. “I really think it’s one of those rare original things. You just have to read it to get it.”
I’ve made a lot of friends since then. I think writing and reading have a way of easily connecting folks as we get to feel intimate without the sometimes interference of needing to be physically present.
“…bit by bit, just a bite at a time,” wrote one new friend from North Carolina describing the way she was reading my newly published book.
“I couldn’t put it down!” said another new friend from Las Vegas as he spoke of his marathon devouring of the book.
“It is a gem…We read it out loud which brings us into a spiritual realm…,” reported a local potter. “The book is very important….”
“I read it in the evening and was very moved by it,” wrote a well-known painter recently, “and then seemed to ponder it all night as I slept…Your book is not easy to describe to others…. Many times I feel like I understand it in a gut or primal way, but I can’t put it into words.”
The positive responses to Talking to Tesla, The Mirror That Is The Door continue to vary widely—including my own response. Each time I pick it up, it’s a little different. “I hadn’t seen that!”
To me, it’s a lot like a painted image, mine or someone else’s—each time I look I notice nuances that I wasn’t aware of, textures and relationships that were invisible before I suddenly see them.
So—what do I say when asked what the book is about? I guess I have to tell ‘em to trust me. “It’s hard to put into words. Take a look for yourself—it’s like something that you get only by really seeing it.”
