Fired in the Kilns of Imagination
Good afternoon to all the Tribal people out there,
This week, I had a conversation with an artist - and fellow Tribe member -- Dylan. He and I were riding in his car and got to talking about the ebb and flow of our creative lives. Right now, he said the issues in his personal life had led to a short attention span and he cannot seem to make himself complete any work of significant size.
I understand his frustration.
For a while, after the end of the longest relationship of my life, there was a period of several years when surviving -- being a single mom, working 2 to 3 jobs, and full time college student -- was all I could focus on. Previous to that, I had been quite prolific -- having published a poetry book and several short stories. The ideas and the characters buzzing around in my head were things I took for granted. I didn't realize they were blessings. Gifts.
Somehow, in the course of survival mode, I was drained of all else that I was. There was simply nothing else.
Dylan and I got to talking about our favorite authors. There were several mentioned. We both liked Clive Barkers' "Weaveworld." I also loved the world and characters created in Frank Herbert's "Dune."
There was something in the air during that conversation. As I thought about those authors and those stories, I was suddenly -- and with brilliant, vivid detail -- reminded of the wonder I felt when I read those tales. I was hit with it all over again.
It was a rare and wonderful moment.
I tried to express it to Dylan. I tried to explain suddenly that stories such as those were the reason I wanted to be a writer.
I have these worlds in my head, you see. I have these visions. I desperately want to share them, but I want to share them EFFECTIVELY. I often wonder if I am good enough as a writer to be able to do this.
My riding companion seemed to understand.
You see, my creative brothers and sisters out there ... there is this place that I learned how to reach. I used to go there and it felt so powerful ... That was the place I had to go in order to write. There were worlds that were being fired in the kilns of my imagination and they haunt me and won't leave me alone until I get them out there.
I am writing again. I am about to launch my work out into the cybersphere. The blessing of imagination has returned and this time I don't want to take it for granted.
It is my hope that in working through my own struggles to figure out how to do what I love to do ... that you all will be there, too.
We'll all find each other. We will share our worlds ... in words, on canvas, in photographs, in verse, in song ... we will each present something amazing from this lonely human existence.
Is it crazy to have such lofty dreams?
Maybe.
But, at least I still have dreams.
The hugs are on the house tonight, ya'll.
Until next time,
LA
This week, I had a conversation with an artist - and fellow Tribe member -- Dylan. He and I were riding in his car and got to talking about the ebb and flow of our creative lives. Right now, he said the issues in his personal life had led to a short attention span and he cannot seem to make himself complete any work of significant size.
I understand his frustration.
For a while, after the end of the longest relationship of my life, there was a period of several years when surviving -- being a single mom, working 2 to 3 jobs, and full time college student -- was all I could focus on. Previous to that, I had been quite prolific -- having published a poetry book and several short stories. The ideas and the characters buzzing around in my head were things I took for granted. I didn't realize they were blessings. Gifts.
Somehow, in the course of survival mode, I was drained of all else that I was. There was simply nothing else.
Dylan and I got to talking about our favorite authors. There were several mentioned. We both liked Clive Barkers' "Weaveworld." I also loved the world and characters created in Frank Herbert's "Dune."
There was something in the air during that conversation. As I thought about those authors and those stories, I was suddenly -- and with brilliant, vivid detail -- reminded of the wonder I felt when I read those tales. I was hit with it all over again.
It was a rare and wonderful moment.
I tried to express it to Dylan. I tried to explain suddenly that stories such as those were the reason I wanted to be a writer.
I have these worlds in my head, you see. I have these visions. I desperately want to share them, but I want to share them EFFECTIVELY. I often wonder if I am good enough as a writer to be able to do this.
My riding companion seemed to understand.
You see, my creative brothers and sisters out there ... there is this place that I learned how to reach. I used to go there and it felt so powerful ... That was the place I had to go in order to write. There were worlds that were being fired in the kilns of my imagination and they haunt me and won't leave me alone until I get them out there.
I am writing again. I am about to launch my work out into the cybersphere. The blessing of imagination has returned and this time I don't want to take it for granted.
It is my hope that in working through my own struggles to figure out how to do what I love to do ... that you all will be there, too.
We'll all find each other. We will share our worlds ... in words, on canvas, in photographs, in verse, in song ... we will each present something amazing from this lonely human existence.
Is it crazy to have such lofty dreams?
Maybe.
But, at least I still have dreams.
The hugs are on the house tonight, ya'll.
Until next time,
LA
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