Tag Archives: creativity

Gratitude and a Cabbie

Gratitude

I live, for better or worse, in my own sphere of life. It can be as large or small as I’d like, but I do enjoy the room to grow. Being in said bubble, I don’t always think of the little extras to acknowledge the people around me. Showing gratitude is one of those “nice to do” actions, as people don’t often read minds. I’m one to show my appreciation through action. I might fix a door, or paint a window, or whatever. People don’t always pick up on this I’ve noticed. They need to be addressed directly.

When my blog follow count passed 50, I will tell you straight up it took a few days to remember the previous observation. I’m often Hell-bent on whatever piques my interest at the time. So, in this moment of clarity, I will say it: thank you all very much for your interest and feedback in my work.

When I came to WordPress in late March, I had left a fairly unappealing forum. There were a small number of quality people willing to engage in my interests, which I appreciate immensely. It wasn’t all bad, no. On the whole, though, I found it a fairly unrewarding experience. I spent the better part of three years trying to make sense of my life on there with little to show for it. I said adios to that place, and closed that chapter in my life.

For the last two months, I think I’ve had a better response in volume and quality of feedback from you all. There is also a greater shared interest with other bloggers. We all love to write, and that brings us closer together. I like visiting other people’s blogs, too. If I can throw in my two cents, I usually do. It’s all about interacting with one another. I wanted a community, and this is the best thing I’ve found so far. It certainly beats my hometown.

For this, I shall sing “Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love for You,” a la Glenn Mederios:

Just pretend I’m singing. It’ll work out better for the both of us.

 

Taxi Driver

Reading this series by Andra Watkins made me recall a situation that happened earlier this week.

My relatives from Pennsylvania were here over the weekend to visit an even more distant relative. On Monday, I decided I will take them back to the Columbus airport. On our way, my aunt was discussing her interest in genealogy. With little to provide on the topic, I drove the car and listened. Our family is fairly loose knit, and we barely know a thing about one another. Apparently, my great-grandmother’s surname was adopted by her when she was a child. We now have no clue what her real family name is. Oh, noes! My aunt wanted to know my thoughts about not really knowing my heritage.

I was quite comfortable with it.

People find this sad for some reason, but I’m not too bothered by it. I’m still here, aren’t I? It wouldn’t change my life too much to know that I had a couple of dead kinsmen build a church out of the boat in which they arrived over in some one-horse town close to Hooterville. Whoopie! Wow, I’m so complete now.

In fact, I don’t want to know much more about it. Instead, I declared I’ll make it all up as I go along. I’m quite serious about this. Sometime in the near future, I shall tell you about my family. They may not be remotely real, but I’m sure going to enjoy it.

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Restless

Some people have writer’s block. With such concerns beautifully outlined in Folio and Ink’s post “The Separation of Art and Craft in Literature,” I could see why people would feel uninspired. In a rough way, I would assume this lack of inspiration from the core aids and abets the dreaded blockage. Although… I’m not sure if inspiration is completely out of my reach. It feels like wafts of smoke above my head waiting to be pulled down and inhaled.

The bigger problem, in my mind and to the best of my… limited… abilities, is the distraction of restlessness. I want to be entertained and entertain as well. I want to create something of value from these wisps of vapor and mold it into something we all can appreciate. Often times, though, I find myself running my fingers through my hair and the subsequent oily digits massaging my forehead as an endless stream of thoughts and desires run around in my mind like a centrifuge.

I’m vaping, drinking pop, eating snack mix, and watching In the Heat of the Night with Sidney Poitier while writing my thoughts here. If it weren’t so late, I’d want to grab a beer at the tavern down road. It’s closing by now. I’d like to be anywhere right now, I suppose. I get wanderlust often.

On the other hand, I have this thought, this scrap of an idea that I want to develop in my head. I’m tugging at the tendrils of the cloud, but I spin out. It’s so hard to concentrate when my mind’s in several places at once. Some of it is external (e.g. the movie isn’t helping), but a lot of it is internal. If it’s not the lack of concentration, it’s the fatigue and depression. It’s all so frustrating at times.

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