I have been spending a lot of time, over the past several days, remembering a blog I posted almost two and a half years ago. Here are some of the key excerpts.
"'How many times can you snap your fingers at one time? These are the important questions, Nicole...' You told me that once, grabbing my knees and leaning in, quite emphatically. Rather than thinking you were completely strange, I tried it. I can really only snap twice - ring finger and then middle finger."
It's amazing how long I can find myself clinging to something that never was, and had no chance of being. Recalling the total of maybe 24 hours we spent together over a year long period. Not that I'm sad or anything. I am genuinely happy for him, but it just feels weird. Weird that I construct such intense plans and expectations and how quickly I can fall. In both good and less good ways.
Given everything I've gone through over the past few months, I'm pleasantly surprised that I am not more reactive to this. Now I'm just sitting here staring at this page with nothing more to say on the subject, and thinking about a manuscript I have to revise.
Maybe that's a sign I have closure. It feels okay overall... except for the whole thinking about work part.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
An Intro
She seems to be surrounded by creative people. She likes creative movies and songs which are not readily comprehensible. She wants to be that creative. That interesting. She wants people like her to look at her life and want to be a part of it. She wants to start trying to write things but is already annoyed with this first attempt since it's not working as well as she would have hoped. Yet she's not sure what, exactly, this should be.
She just watched another Justin Rice movie. Now she wants to be able to prove her depth and worth and value in unspoken, anti-climactic, and uneventful moments like that. As she sat wondering why it was called Alexander the Last, how all of her other favorite movies got their names, she pondered the most challenging question. What to call this? Something that could capture the myriad of pensive and assorted moods she finds herself in. Right now, she is finding herself grateful for deciding to write the first draft of this with the kind of pencil she used to write with in the fifth grade, when she first discovered (and quickly forgot) her interest in creative writing. Or perhaps the "creative misappropriation and alteration of others' ideas" is a better term. Nothing she wrote when she was 11 was from her own imagination -- not surprising that a constant source of criticism from her boss is that she needs to be more independent. To better carve out her own niche, her own skill set. One thing she knows she can do creatively is take an existing thing or idea and modify it enough to feign creativity. And, for the most part, people haven't really seen through it. She fears one day she'll be a caught. Exposed as a fraud.
If she can't name her blog, how will she be able to identify herself, create her own meaning? Which ones are the silent, solitary moments rife with meaning and deep messages? And which ones are simply slice-of-life done poorly?
For now -- a name. Not to get closer to any specific answer per se, just a continuing ability to explore. A sort of Asymptotic Creativity, if you will.
She just watched another Justin Rice movie. Now she wants to be able to prove her depth and worth and value in unspoken, anti-climactic, and uneventful moments like that. As she sat wondering why it was called Alexander the Last, how all of her other favorite movies got their names, she pondered the most challenging question. What to call this? Something that could capture the myriad of pensive and assorted moods she finds herself in. Right now, she is finding herself grateful for deciding to write the first draft of this with the kind of pencil she used to write with in the fifth grade, when she first discovered (and quickly forgot) her interest in creative writing. Or perhaps the "creative misappropriation and alteration of others' ideas" is a better term. Nothing she wrote when she was 11 was from her own imagination -- not surprising that a constant source of criticism from her boss is that she needs to be more independent. To better carve out her own niche, her own skill set. One thing she knows she can do creatively is take an existing thing or idea and modify it enough to feign creativity. And, for the most part, people haven't really seen through it. She fears one day she'll be a caught. Exposed as a fraud.
If she can't name her blog, how will she be able to identify herself, create her own meaning? Which ones are the silent, solitary moments rife with meaning and deep messages? And which ones are simply slice-of-life done poorly?
For now -- a name. Not to get closer to any specific answer per se, just a continuing ability to explore. A sort of Asymptotic Creativity, if you will.
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