Common sense is a foreign word in my vocabulary. Some how I turn everything I do into a puzzle. Instead of reading something as it is, I read into it more than I have to. I am okay with this, for it allows me to come up with new ideas from just reading. For example, the blue sky turned grey. I don’t only see colors; I couple objects and actions with emotions, people, and personal experiences. I imagine a whole story line, one with a seventies feel, of an unhappy elderly marriage that is consumed in bickering that happens religiously every day:
“George, don’t, you can’t mix light with darks, the clothes will come out with a taint color.”
“Marge, don’t tell me what to do I know what I am doing. Just let me, be me for once.”
“Well you can start by tucking in that shirt, you look like a hooligan. Can’t you see I am only helping you out; you would be lost with out me.”
George mumbles under his breath as he throws in socks, Marge’s favorite sky blue skirt, and his dark navy blue work uniform with a white under tee.
“No I would be happy.”
I eat, breathe, and think random thoughts all the time. I prefer to stay in this state of mind because reality is too quite for all the traffic that is going on upstairs.
Just as Flaherty’s motivation comes in periods of a couple months out of a year, mine comes and goes as it pleases every other day. I may not be writing my thoughts down, but I day dream all the time as a substitute. Flaherty hibernates while I sleep walk, her heart moves her work while my mind has a mood of its own that drives its own Fred Flintstone mobile. It drives accordingly to the effort I put into it, one day I can be a body builder speed racing and others I am a turtle taking my time through the scenery in my head. One thing is certain, creative minds think alike, although differently, but both in a state of awareness.
In my writing, I have a lot of hit or miss finished products, although none of my pieces are ever finished. When I write, I have an itching sensation to finish or complete a thought. I can best relate to a subject when I can create an image in my head and further describe it and in most cases they are in forms of analogies and or metaphors.
As I begin a piece, it all starts in my head. I instantly zone out of reality and in to my imagination. I refer to this place as the play room in my head. I sit back and turn on a screen, as my eyes are glued on; I filter through a slide show of readings in mass, what my mom has told me, fights I have overcome with friends, movies, readings and etc. I think about the lessons they have taught me. I pick them apart and sort them out according to my feelings, the role others and I played, the raw situation, the outcome, how I felt the way I did in that exact moment and then I do what I do best and analyze, and then I apply.
Once I have mastered that part, I can turn on the lights on again and begin writing. As Flaherty stated “most of what poured out was trash.” Just like her output was not satisfying to her, neither was mine. I am a type of person who likes to have everything right. And by right I mean the type of right a two year old thinks by wearing a pink tutu and an overly sized green sweatshirt. I have a problem with getting an idea across clearly and in one word so I tend to make the majority of my papers based off of metaphors and analogies. That part is all fine and dandy until some one else looks at it and gets a quizzical face, as does a puppy when they tilt their head as to wonder how to reach the bone from the top of the counter. Frustration takes over and I try to re-mold it to fit others way of thinking and understanding.
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