Inspiration for All Things Left Wild
by James Wade
Two years ago, our travel trailer
was parked on BLM land in the desert outside of Carlsbad, New Mexico. The famed
caverns to our north, the sloped peaks of the Guadalupe Mountains to the south—this
was a fine piece of country to make camp for a few days.
I took a long walk with our dog, a little scouting trip to explore the
territory. Other than some old ruts from an oil tanker and the occasional loose
cattle, this place looked so wild, so untouched, that I felt guilty about
even being there. I felt guilty that I was leaving footprints in what I took to
be this magical place where I didn't belong. But then I looked behind me and
the wind was blowing so hard that it had blown away those footprints. Seeing
that relieved the guilt, but it also brought a certain sadness.
Of course people had walked here before me, lived here before me. There'd been
civilizations and societies, distinct cultures and blended populations. There'd
been Indians, Spaniards, ranchers, oilmen, and every one of them had a story to
tell, about the land, about themselves, and about how so many of our internal
struggles have remained the same no matter how much the world around us has
changed.
I went inside and starting writing. I wrote a couple of paragraphs about the
country, then a couple about that yearning feeling that comes with being alive.
Yearning for what? I couldn't say. But there's a longing that most of us feel,
and I wrote about it. I wrote about that longing and a great many other things.
I wrote about poverty and equality and the beauty of the morning, about death
and love and horses. I even set aside my ego (however temporarily) and wrote
about how scared a man can get, how weak and lost the world can make us feel. I
tried to tell a story of nuance (something I feel is most lacking in our
society of extremes), of landscapes as magnificent as they are unforgiving, and
of the way the day slips into night whether we're paying attention or not.
I feel our lives are layered in ways we may not even be able to acknowledge,
let alone account for. I feel the enormity of existence is matched only by its
impermanence. I took these feelings and tried my best to turn them into words to
describe the strength of a woman, the complications of family, the fear that
makes religions seem both necessary and absurd, and the speculation that very
few choices in life belong completely to the individual.
Before long, I had a story that I could hold in my hands instead of my head.
Lately, with a baby on the way and All
Things Left Wild about to be published, I’ve been thinking again about
those things that led me to write the book in the first place—the same things
that keep me writing today. They’re mainly questions I don't have answers to;
not only have I not found any answers yet, I don't believe I've gotten any
better at hunting for them.
But I don't read books for the answers; I read them for the emotions, for the
stories, and for that most holy of agreements between author and reader that
says we're all human, we're all lost, but for the next 300 pages we're all in
this together. So, if you feel like coming along, you can get your copy of All
Things Left Wild from your local bookstore, from Amazon, Bookshop, IndieBound, or anywhere else books are sold.
I love every one of you. Keep reading. Keep trying. We're gonna be alright.
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