Thought – Silence – Awaiting Idea
The slow process of creation. The instantaneous process of destruction.
A friendship nurtured over decades destroyed in a moment of anger, weakness or chance. A city constructed over centuries destroyed in the flash of an atom.
A planet, this planet, your home, your provider, 5.5 billion years old, being destroyed in a whisper of time. What is 2000 years compared 5.5 billion? A hairs breath width in a ten thousand mile distance. The orgy of greed, the insanity of no sense action. The circle of destruction. Self destruction without conscience.
In the morning the family is happy. The accident which kills the father pre-fixes the happiness with two letters – UN.…
Hiroshima moments are seeds of doubts in the creative mind.
Why. Should. Could. The questioning words. Reality or fiction. Thats the way life is. How did the crisis occur? What made the character become frightened? Thats it isn’t it? The characters fear. Give him happiness and hold the happiness through the story and its tiresome. Give him happiness then take it away. Now this makes the story.
Some writers like to dictate. This is the way it is. Do not eat meat, the vegetarian is stronger than the carnivore. No one made better rice pudding than my crazy grand-mother. My father was the best any one could ever have. These jibber jabber stories bore the reader. Like squares in circles.
The best writers nurture. Nurturing fear within. I prefer the fear to enter into the experience. The cutting of the blade, no pain at first, soon a stinging sensation, warm blood around the wound, the fear of death. Adulterous lovemaking, no pain at first, soon a stinging sensation of guilt, warm tears around the aftermath, the fear of divorce, the living death. How does it feel to enter a valley of decay? Does little hope of survival means chances can be taken?
The walker in the woods doesn’t discover a body, she finds the thief’s hoard. After deciding to keep it, it takes two journeys to get the treasure to her car. On the way home she realises her phone is missing. Her partners tells her he’s received a strange call from a man who wants his money returned. “He told me if he doesn’t get his money back, he’ll make our children live’s short and unsweet” How do you feel now?
Evolve the story, look around the mindscape. The stories of actual life are often amazing. The stories of fiction can be like a maze where the reader is lost. The reader must feel comfortable in the story, he should feel as if there will be a conclusion. Evoke human emotion and the emotion will work for the writer or artist if there is a possibility that the situations could occur.
I know nothing. My mind changes from day to day. Nothing is certain. I am in the maze. Am I lost? Am I at the centre of the maze attempting to find freedom? Am I waiting at the entrance in fear of entering? How can I rise above the problem, so as I can look down and see the whole picture? I do not know, at this moment I do not know. I’m jotting words in free flow. This blog, this assembly of thoughts is my note book today. I am not writing words to a stranger. I am writing to myself.
There is a certainty in my mind. Even though the creative process is nearing a ‘full stop’, it is really at a ‘comma’. My note books prove the presence of an imperceptible movement. Liken the black books to the immense effort needed to get the 10 tonne boulder to start to roll at the top of the mountain. My note books are the leverage needed to find another story, another way out, the reason why I did something, experiences I enjoyed and ones I did not. Once the heavy stone begins to roll, there will be no stopping it. I care not for the destruction my words will cause. If my words evoke an emotion in another then I have succeeded in influencing the reader. I write for my pleasure and as a writer I need someone to read my words, if no one reads my words I am a journal keeper not a writer. These 2 clauses are a personal contract within my writing which must be fulfilled for the emotion of happiness to arise within my being. A writer needs a reader.
In my mind the successful artist is a manipulator of realities. Tubes of oil or acrylic paint, the key board, pencil and paper or camera, are a few of the tools. The artist take these tools and manipulates her observations into her creation. Creator = Manipulator.
Whilst I’m able to think I’m able to accept the world exists. When my thoughts enter the final sleep all which will remain will be the pictures I have taken and the few short books I have written. If another human reads my work when I think no more, then within the time they read those words I exist again.