Tuesday, April 7, 2009
The Insecurity of Silence
This week's influence is: Good Enough- Evanescence
Once upon a time, there was a little girl with long brown hair and eyes too big for her tiny face. She was knob-kneed and clumsy, with calluses on the pads of her hands and dirt under her fingernails. She ran like the wind on summer days, weeds and corn smacked against her bare legs and torn into her forearms. Stick-tights clung to her socks and holes in the soles of her shoes soaked her feet when she jumped the creek- only to fall in. In those days, the little girl only had her imagination to take her places. She dreamed of winged unicorns and rainbows and pink ballerinas in tutus. She dreamed of the smell clover in June and fresh cut grass and the smell of dew early in the morning. And she also dreamed of death and chaos and people dressed in black with claws and razor sharp teeth who chased after the winged unicorn. They chased after her in those dreams and the little girl ran and ran until she stumbled and fell and cried in the overgrown grass. The trees surrounded her, shielded her. She ran from those people until she couldn't run anymore.
Those dreams are the fuel of creativity. The very real feeling of never living a life that seemed so tangible. It's dreams that make everything possible.
I remember the rough rubber surface of my first basketball. My first real basketball was this orange monstrosity. It had black lines and was twice the size of my head. The rubber grooving was rough against my hands and the lettering was intimidating. The goal seemed so far away from my reach. I had an old green patch of grass near the barn, and I learned to bounce the basketball regardless of potholes and crab grass. I wasn't great at it. More times than none my basketball barely caught the bottom of the net and not from going through the hoop. My feet always seemed to connect to the ball instead of my hand. My first year of playing organized basketball seemed more like a soccer match than a basketball game. But I dreamed of being good. Of playing how I watched the players on TV. They dribbled the ball between their legs and made passes that wowed the crowd. People cheered for them. They played with smiles on their faces, sweat dripping from their brow. I was going to be THAT good. Someday, I told myself.
So I practiced and practiced, and I played until it was too dark to see the hoop. I bounced the ball up the gravel driveway and down the gravel road. I learned how to dribble between my legs and control the tempo of the ball. I played with the boys when they played on the playground and eventually when the next year came around, I made first team starter, instead of second team bencher. Increasingly, I started to get better and better and my confidence grew in my ability to play.
I was picked for AAU leagues and summer camps. I was the first player picked in pick-up games. First player picked in PE. I got mentioned in the paper after countless games. I had potential and then one day, I lost it. I woke up one day and it just wasn't important to me anymore. I let that old orange basketball slip through my fingertips and watched it bounce against that old beaten path to the goal until it slid up against the rotted plywood walls of the barn and stayed there.
The first time I picked up a basketball, I knew I wanted to play. The first time I held a bat in my hand, I knew I wanted to hit. When my fingers touched the bark of the old Catalpa tree in the front of granpa's yard, I knew I was going to climb to the top and reach for the clouds. The first time my eyes laid sight on a book, I knew I wanted to read. But the first time my fingers danced along the keyboard, I didn't know I wanted to write.
And when I was writing, I didn't know I wanted to write. But after I was silent that's when I realized I needed to write. For me, it's a matter if I deserve the ability to write and creatively express my voice. The desire to have something that's so intangible and so recognizable to the rest of the world is something I can't fathom. Before I knew what voice was I didn't desire to have one. Now that I know what it is I don't want it to be extinguished. I wake up day by day and feel as though my voice is sand slipping through my fingers. Every time my hand reacts to a little bit more slipping away, the more that disappears through the cracks.
Just as a blankie can be your security- keeping you safe in the darkness of night; silence is the equivalent to the polar opposite of that. Silence is a heated blanket of insecurity. At first it's comforting. In small doses you need it to survive. The heated blanket surrounds you. It latches onto you. It wraps the warm edges around your neck until it's smothering. It takes your sight away. It takes away your strength. And your ability to move. Insecurity is creatively paralyzing and it plays on the fear that what you once had, you've taken for granted to never get it back.
Everything in life is a learned process. You learn to ride a bike. You learn how to whistle. You learn how to write your name. All the creative outlets have a certain amount of knack (or talent) that you eventually grow and grow into, not to mention you have to learn the ropes of such an outlet. What most "artist" love about their outlet is it's a free range. It's like standing in a field and seeing nothing for miles and miles away; just the faint outline in the distance of the trees or mountains. It's that feeling of losing control over everything in your mind and letting it go. Thing about "artists" though is when you get too out of control, your mind can't be reined in. Creatively, it's not that you shut down, it's that you can't decipher between what's creative and what's tangible. Dry spells in the creative world can mean the death of a creative outlet. Don't get me wrong, creativity never dies; it just turns into fuel for something else. Something you don't necessarily want creative juices for. But just as outlets are free range, creativity is that open field with the sky as far as you can see. It's up to you to take the first step and embrace the sky.
I know we've talked (a lot) about how we learned we first wanted to write, but what was your first creative passion and did it fuel your need to write? Readers is it obvious to you while reading a book when the author loses the creative juices that started only to fizz out towards the end? Would you rather have the book or have it never written?
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23 comments:
Huh. My first passions were books... Sure, I played competitive volleyball in grade school and high school, even some Junior college ball...but it wasn't the passion you felt for basketball.
I admit to passions that fizzle. I made jewelry and enjoyed it, but never enough to learn how to do it to a fine shine. I sang, but never loved it enough to push through the lack of partners.
Now? I'm writing, but terribly discouraged. I was sparked by the movies, though I always wanted to write. I found a writers voice...I just feel like no one is listening. Yeah, I'm in a major bummer mood...
So, it wasn't my first passions that drove me to write. I'm not sure, until writing, that I knew what passion was in regards to a calling...
Sometimes its best to just go with the flow for a while.Let yourself swirl like flotsam on the torrent of life.
Sin,I recognise that inspiration that can come from sport. One can get a great feeling of control and power when everything clicks into place. Soccer and Cricket were my games and I did pretty well until all the intellectual science stuff more or less took over.
I remember how difficult it was in practise to kick the soccer ball with the precision to emulate Pele or Becks. Then in a match, when the chips are down, sometimes the mind could float to a higher plane. The hustle around would seem to slow and freeze and there was only the ball at your feet and the goal visible through the pack of defenders. Some higher power seemed to take over and after striking the ball it would soar over the defenders, curl out of reach of the goal keeper and strike the upper corner of the net for a goal. I think the tension of a game can sometimes generate the intense concentration needed to produce that sort of magic.....or perhaps it was just a fluke. :wink:
I don't think you should ever try to force your creativity. Never allow yourself to be boxed in by the expectations of others. The true creative spirit must roam free. Be like a tiger loose on the savanna. Exciting, dangerous and very very unpredictable.
Fabulous blog Sin! :D
Art. My mother was very creative, drew beautifully, actually made me dresses a la Scarlett O'Hara from my dead great-aunt's curtains. I watched my mother draw, and took it up myself. I realized I'd never be the next Van Gogh (too fond of my ears), but still fiddle a bit.
I had the nicest compliment the other day in e-mail from a friend I worked with at my last job in an elementary school. She works in the same suite of classrooms I did and was doing a bulletin board with another staff member. About the same time, they both said, "I wish Maggie were here to do this." So while my work is not recognized on chapel ceilings, I can still do a mean bulletin board, LOL.
Sin, great blog.
I don't have any other passions except writing. I've wanted to write since I was in the fifth grade. I've had other hobbies. I can crochet, I like to cook. But writing's been the thing that I always want to do.
I'd like to say I have other things still, but there isn't much time now for much more than writing. I barely keep my house under control, my kid vaguely satisfied, husband happy, a few friends and close family, and writing all in order.
It's ok, those are the important things.
I was in the second grade when I told my very first story. I admit, it was totally off the cuff to impress my current crush (a blond boy who had the most beautiful blue eyes) he sat three rows over, in the last desk. But as writers we all know that it doesn't matter what or who is the source of the inspiration, just so it's present:)
The first time I remember being really serious about writing something is when I discovered fanfiction. To find a character that provokes you to sit at a keyboard for hours and write stories about where I wanted his character arc to finish was an eye opening experience for me. I agree with you Sin, you can learn a skill with much practice. I sucked at writing in the beginning, but the more time I spend in front of the keyboard, the better the product.
I dislike a book where the author writes a very rushed ending, or builds up to an incredible black moment, and then the story collapses. All authors have a vision for their story, and it isn't always understood or shared by the readers. I have read books that I wish I hadn't read for that reason. I can't say they shouldn't be written, because maybe it was the author's vision, a reader may never see an author's characters the way she or he does.
Great blog Sin.
Good morning y'all.
MM, I'm sorry you're down. I'm not thinking this blog did anything to help that either. Maybe together we can wallow in our sorrows with a fine keg of rum.
I always sucked at volleyball. LOL
I guess I'm kind of hoping that writing wasn't a passing fancy. I suppose the only way to find out will be to wait around and see.
Q, for some reason I have this fabulous image of you hair slightly damp from the drizzle of London and in those fancy soccer shorts kicking a ball around.
Except you have a devilish little grin spread across your lips and your hair is falling across your forehead in the most sexy way.
Now, I'm distracted.
I like unpredictiblity. I think that's partly the reason why I don't like to settle for writing up a outline before I write a story. For me, most of the fun is finding out how the character is going to develop with the story line. It's much like playing a game. You can know how to play the game but when the final buzzer sounds that's when you find out what really happpened.
Maggie! What a wonderful memory of your mother. I think it's soothing to watch someone paint. I can't draw a stick figure but my sister is a wonderful artist. She's been in the manga mode for the past few years and there's something about manga that's beautifully haunting. I think it's the eyes.
Do you have a lot of your mother's work?
I think when we're young and we see that sort of passion for something in our parents we want to adapt that same sort of passion for something. Obviously you're meant to write, Maggie.
I love to do bulletin boards too; but I can't say that I've ever heard of someone being known for them. LOL
Marn, you're excellent at time management. You could teach a class to aspiring writers on how to manage their time and still getting everything done.
I learned how to crochet. It's something to do when I need to calm down a bit; but it's not something I think could ever take over my love of writing. Before I wrote, I used to read a book a day. Although, I'm a speed reader so I guess I'm not really "reading" the book the way it's meant to be read and enjoyed.
Lis, dearest, I was just thinking about you this morning :)
I'm always worried I will run out of steam before I hit the ending of stuff. Since I suck terribly at beginnings, if I started to suck towards the end of it I guess I'd be in big trouble. LOL
But I've read plenty of books that start out with so much potential only to keep reading and it's a giant downhill slope from the opening paragraph on.
Boys will brilliant blue eyes are always a downfall. Mattycakes has greenish blue eyes. They get this little mischeivous gleam when he's feeling froggy. Yep, light colored eye boys are all bad news.
My first creative passion was writing. Though I was a singer when I was a kid. (Not a professional singer. A singing-along-with-the-album, strumming my Mickey Mouse guitar singer.) There's a picture of me singing into a microphone and giggling my ass off. (Probably the first and last time I actually liked the sound of my voice, actually.)
I did have a passion for horses and drawing. I was always drawing horses as a kid. My dream was to OWN a horse--a stable of horses--and be some show-woman who showed off horses. (Right. I could barely sit on a horse and ride it in a straight line, but sure...) I used up ALL my paper in 4th grade because I was drawing horses in Math Class. I actually had to be spoken to by my parents about it. I had to explain why I couldn't draw on paper that already had a drawing on it--why I needed FRESH paper to draw. (Even then I was a perfectionist.) I was so frustrated my drawings weren't like the ones I was drawing from.
And later I would draw too...I got into drawing pictures of people. I'd take photographs and draw them. I drew a picture of Robin Hood, and ended up making Kevin Costner look 17 in the drawing. (I hated adding wrinkles and too much shading.)
Drawing, maybe; and occasionally singing. I don't do either of those things now. I can tell I don't have near the talent for it now that I used to. (It could be argued I never had the talent for singing, but whatever. Back then I didn't care; I had a great time blaring out Hank Williams' I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry and Your Cheating Heart. Disturbing coming from an 8 year old.)
In meetings I still doodle horse heads at the tops of my meeting paper. I even add the unicorn horns.
I concurr: light colored eyed boys ARE bad news.
Brown-eyed boys are also bad news but the puppy eyed look is so much more effective, you forgive them quicker.
I bet you were a great singer, Hellie. Singing is just all about confidence and as long as you have the confidence, you can sing. You have stage presence.
I LOVE unicorns! I have the Once Upon a Time scrapbook and they have purple unicorn paper!! I don't care if it makes me seem like a dork, I love that paper. It's probably some of the prettiest paper I've found.
I've never had the patience for drawing. Nor the eye for it.
The only size I've been able to find it in was the 12x12.
I have that scrapbooking paper too! In two sizes...or is it three? Bought it and haven't scrapbooked since. *LOL* I keep thinking I need to write a fairy tale to put on it.
It's too bad I live with a boy. I'd have those really pretty embossed glitter pages framed and hanging up. LOL
I'm passionate about language. All my other passions--reading, writing, teaching--are just an extension of my love affair with language and its wonders. As far back as my memories go, I can remember falling asleep with words I loved running through my head. I still do that--only now the words form lines in a poem or dialogue for a story. :)
Since April is National Poetry Month, I've been reading more poetry than usual. Each poem adds fire to the passion.
Just wanted to say I'm having a day from hell and I'm not ignoring you. I'll get by later. Hopefully, not too much later.
But I do want to say quickly, you write fine in 3rd person. :)
Hel - The vision of horses... Isn't that every little girls passion at some point? I had the most hilairous high school friend. Had a real stickler for English 101. Every sentence she wrote in that class had a horse in it. Just to annoy the teacher. A prepositional phrase? Had a horse in it...
I gotta see if I can find her on Facebook! She was a kick...
Sin, yeah. Not a good time lately. But I'm working on it. Like I wrote last week, depression is just a friend of mine. And sometimes I am easily pushed into it.
A nice grand cask a' rum sounds like the ticket.
Forgot to say, sorry you're bummed, Chance, and great blog, Sin.
Gosh, I missed the entire party. *sigh* I'm trying to remember all my passions. When I was very little, I wanted a horse more than anything. When I was 7 I found music and that was it. That passion continues today. Unfortunately, I only have the talent to listen to other's peoples' music.
I found books when I was around 9 I think. From then on I was always in the middle of one book or another. In 7th grade our English teacher would give us reading prompts and I adored writing those stories so I guess that's when the writing bug bit me.
As for sports, my sister started playing softball when she was 11 and I was completely bummed because I wasn't old enough to play. You had to be 9 and I was only 8 so I had to wait a whole year. That was a mighty long year. :) I tried volleyball for one year then broke my wrist before the next season so that was out.
It is interesting what will inspire a story. I'm on a BB with a group of beginning writers taking Judi's class in Orlando... And someone mentioned a woman at airport security, who travels around teaching safe-sex classes, with props. And having her suitcase whipped open for inspection with a crowd around? And then it being just as swiftly slammed shut and being escorted behind some curtains to continue the search... Totally inspired me to start a story...
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