Friday, 12 September 2014

On Creativity

I'm experiencing Lost Time again - is it just me or is time actually speeding up?  I began this blog post in early July, and somehow it's already mid-September.  Leaves are turning brown and dropping from the trees, the sun is beginning to droop in the sky (my garden will be shaded for most of the day now until all the leaves are gone) - yet we're having a spell of warm, dry weather that makes it feel as though it's still summer.

My Gran's funeral in June was a lovely one, as funerals go - there was a strong sense of love; both her love for us and ours for her.  It was good to see the family again - second cousins who were babies the last time I saw them are now sitting thier GCSEs.  Funerals are at least good for putting things in perspective again.  There is still a sense of sadness; of loss, I suppose, deep inside, but it's less raw, less painful, more thoughtful.  I think of her often.  I think I always will.

I've been using my wonderful abundance of leisure time to write short stories, something I've dabbled with on and off for years as a way of expressing myself creatively.  I write because I have something I want to show others, in the manner of a friend sitting beside you going; "Hey, this is cool, look over there."  It's been interesting to watch the creative process unfold; sometimes I get stuck on a story, can't find the right voice - who is telling this story?  Sometimes I'm not even sure what a story is about until it's written.  They start with an image, or a scenario, or a "what-if"; sometimes they're driven by a character who pops into my head fully formed.

Who are these people who come out of my imagination, and where exactly is it that they come from?

One of my friends has suggested that I start a short story blog so that other people can read them, and so this is what I've done.  If you'd like to keep following me, I suggest you turn your attention to writing and not-writing.

I've long been a fan of the American short story writer, Raymond Carver,  whose stories are brief, sparse, and utterly memorable.  His tombstone reads:

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.'

~ Isn't this all that any of us want?

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