I don't know what that means, but I like to say it sometimes because Shakespeare said it sometimes, and when Shakespeare talks, people listen.
That's my philosophy; If you want people to listen, throw some Shakespeare into the mix. Nod your head sympathetically once in a while and say, aye, there's the rub. It works especially well when someone is confused, or conflicted. Or, if you're conversing with Hamlet while he's trying to decide whether to be or not to be.
Aye, there's the rub!
I said this to my daughter last night after she read yesterday's post about American Promises (in bed).
"WOW, Mom," she said. "You put a lot of words in my mouth."
"I know," I said. "I'm good at it, huh?"
"But like, you made it sound like I was not only in the conversation, but also of the conversation."
"I know," I told her. "And I made it sound like people like you too."
"Only thing is, I wasn't in the conversation, or of the conversation," she said.
"Aye, there's the rub!" I said. "There's. the. rub."
Truth is, the only thing my daughter actually said while I was reading all the American Promises and adding (in bed) was, "Mom, you're making me uncomfortable."
I don't know why alluding to sleep makes her squirm, but she turns away when vampires kiss on television too.
But true stories are dull. That's where I come in. To capture the essence of a conversation--not the conversation as it was, but the conversation as it was meant to be.
I don't necessarily repeat what people say word for word, I repeat what I want them to say, word for word. It's called wish fulfillment.
Wish fulfillment is why writer's write. Learned that in college.
See sometimes I wish my daughter wouldn't say, "Mom, you're making me uncomfortable," so I pick up my pen and write in what I wish she would say. Somewhere deep inside her I believe there is a place that doesn't get uncomfortable when I speak (or when vampires kiss). By putting words in her mouth I am tapping into that place.
I'm not lying, I'm just liberating.
Sometimes I liberate my hub's words too. I'm like an artist that way--a great French photographer, maybe, or a painter--not a literalist, but an impressionist, who communicates other people's exact thoughts rather than their exact words.
My hub may not say all the words I put into his mouth, but he thinks all the thoughts I put into his head.
For example, he may not say, "Frailty, thy name is woman!" like Shakespeare did, but I know he thinks it, especially when I water the new grass for 34 minutes instead of four minutes like he told me to, over and over.
See 34 minutes makes new grass puddle and you want to avoid puddling new grass at all costs, particularly after your husband spent 18 hours a day over the weekend tilling and shoveling, and seeding, and moving rocks, and as Shakespeare would say, "throwing compost on the weeds."
There's the rub!
You get me?
P.S. For the record, I have never had to liberate any of my MIL's words. I always quote her directly because she is totally in tune with her inner uncomfortable thoughts.