"I must be boring you to death!"
The statement caught me a little off guard. I was interviewing a lady about her profession as part of our upcoming series on people and their jobs.
"Not at all!" I responded. It wasn't merely a trite remark. I really wasn't bored at all. I can understand how she might think I could be. She was recounting a typical day on the job, and, as I took notes, I am sure my demeanor did not exude tons of enthusiasm. I try be aware of that during an interview, but my ears are listening, my mind is processing, and my hand is putting it all down in words that I can hopefully read later. It's a busy activity! But there was no way that I was bored. I could sense her enthusiasm about her job. I could sense passion for her profession underneath her words. Therein is my fuel to write about it.
Writing, while very much an intellectual and cognitive exercise, is nothing but academic if it is not fueled by emotion. It comes from a deep seeded place somewhere down inside that seems to defy description. It's the proverbial clenching in the chest. It's the magma under the surface that races about seeking a fissure from which to escape. Writing flows from that visceral place, through the heart via the brain to the pen or keyboard. It is an amazing and inexplicable process. You'd almost imagine that to not write would end in an explosion of tears and foreboding. Writing is the preferred method of its escape, but if it won't come there, it will escape somewhere else. It has to.
While my interviewee does have a passion for her job, I can understand how she'd see it as boring to someone else. But I see in her something that goes beyond a mere timeline between clocking in and clocking out. If I can channel that through my own passion and convey that to a reader, then my job is complete. The passion inside of me will, like the trees in the spring, break forth in beautiful buds for all the world to see and enjoy. Such is beauty of a well-written word. I hope that comes through in the pages of Paducah Life.