The Toolbox Tribe

When I broke my ankle in the beginning of June, I didn't shed a tear. There was a lot of gritting of teeth and groaning, but I never even got misty-eyed from the intense pain. But when I watch a movie or show with anything resembling sentimentality, I tear up. Emotional pain, it seems, triggers the water faucet, even if it is the contrived Hollywood variety.

The water faucet began to flow when I watched Casablanca (for the first time) at Taos Toolbox a couple weekends ago. For that, I was able to control it, think about something else. That's what I usually do when I'm in a crowd: just don't think about the plot! Only when I'm alone do I usually feel safe to let the tears flow freely.

It was the last night of Taos Toolbox, we'd all be parting in the morning. And there I was, in my wheelchair, getting misty-eyed. In the two weeks that our world lines came together, we shared more than a passion for writing and a yearning to further our craft, more than an isolated classroom where we worked our asses off. We became a tribe, a clan, a family who have not strings of DNA in common, but a gestalt to become better writers. Some of our world lines will merge in the future; some, frankly, their world lines will go in a different direction. Whatever the case, the experience has changed us, as any experience does. In each of us, there is a little bit of all the others. The DNA of The Taos Toolbox Tribe. I thank everyone who participated, has participated, and will participate. I am a proud member of The Tribe.