[Day 3 of 365]:
Sometimes my writing takes me to unexpected places. Places that I’m not always sure that I want to go. And although I feel my doubts like a lead weight in my belly, I’ve given myself 365 days to learn whether it’s better to trust my MUSE and write the words that bubble to the top or just let her stories pass me by.
I’ve decided not to fight the DAEMON (inner critic), because I truly believe that resistance begets resistance. I figure I can teach the two squabbling children (logic & creativity) to play nice once in a while, or at least get them to take turns shouting at me, so I can get a little creative work done. This might even help clear my mind of all the cluttered themes, characters, and alien worlds that I’ve lost in there. Actually, I’m hoping I can take all that stuff in the brain pantry and cook up a great story that somebody besides me will want to read.
Since the goal of today’s writing prompt is to follow blindly, my words fell between the cracks of fiction and reality. I’ll let you decipher which is which. As usual, I’m just happy the words showed up at all. — LV
“Some writing begins with a sense of absence, a void, a sense of something missing or hidden…. Begin by writing the phrase “I don’t see,” and follow blindly wherever it takes you.” pg 28, Room to Write
by Bonni Goldberg
I don’t see the color purple like I used to. Purple used to mean playtime and rainbows. It used to mean grape koolaide and Kung Fu movies with subtitles too fast to read. It used to mean free time after school and skipping mind numbing homework on the weekends. It used to mean my grandmother went shopping again and got me the wrong kind of pants.
Purple used to be royal and special. The color of life exploding in front of me. The color hasn’t faded but the exquisiteness of it has.
Now, I don’t care for purple. I don’t wrap my favorite deck of cards in it, or gush over soft purple silk robes with gold stitching. I don’t laugh at old ladies that wear purple clothes or find their purple hair hilarious. Purple just reminds me of the abusive people who paint their dogs to look like zoo animals. Maybe, I don’t want to see it.
I don’t see clouds turn into shapes either. I just don’t bother waiting while they morph from an elephant carrying an umbrella into a galloping unicorn. It’s hard to watch them when I’m busy driving or texting or doing anything except walking the dog. There’s always dinner to be cooked, laundry to be cleaned, Family Guy to watch, and other vitally important adult activities.
But unlike purple, I miss the fluffy clouds floating past me, and the green grass that tickled the back of my neck. I miss checking to see if buttercups still smell like butter and reflected sunlight onto my best friend’s chin. I miss parks and meadows and the midday sun. I miss spinning fast on the merry-go-roundand never getting a headache.
The logic of adulthood, the day job, the constant ToDo list that’s never done, kills it all — like a homicidal nanny who can’t tell the difference between making cereal and gutting a fish. The daily grind seems to dull my senses, making them fuzzy and drippy and slow to respond. I feel surrounded by the walking dead. A society of zombies who want me to eat my own brain. “It’s tasty.” they say, “You won’t even miss it.”
I want to see families and children enjoying the extra time that I can’t seem to find. I want to see a world of living color minus the Fly Girl dancers. I want to actually stop and smell the damn roses. I know it’s possible, because I still remember the sweet moments of my childhood. I don’t want to go back, but I do want to see. The zombies say “That’s what television is for.”
I might see the world through adult eyes, but I’m not sure I see what’s real. I want to see more than what THEY tell me to see. And I want to write it down, so you can see too.
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“Sometimes, when you don’t ask questions, it’s not because you are afraid that someone will lie to your face. It’s because you’re afraid they’ll tell you the truth.” -Jodi Picoult |
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