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Sunday, June 28, 2015

A Good Day for Writing

How do you know how well you're going to write tonight?  Seems like an odd question, but aren't all us creative types a bit odd anyway?  As a matter of fact, I can tell you what kind of night I'm going to have writing just by the kind of day I've had.

Today for example was a good creativity day for me.  I was really into the music that popped up on my I-pod.  I found myself hyper focused on lyrics today....drawn into the musicians choice of words, the meaning of the words themselves.  Then, the emotions those words induce, the effect they have on me all combine for a firestorm of creativity.  There's that moment that you realize the musicians music and lyrics evoke emotions for you.  Ah, creativity, sharing your inner most thoughts with others.  The same happens when you write, your characters and their emotions become "real" as you write them on the paper.  They become living works when someone else reads them, they don't just live in your imagination anymore.  Hopefully your reader care for and are moved by your characters and their story.

That bond of creativity, inspiration and the fear of sharing your creations with others really called to me today.  Here's part of what it pulled out of me tonight for Survival...Enjoy! :)


Excerpt from Survival of the Fittest by Emily Fleming:

     As soon as I returned to the kitchen, I revisited the sink.  I pumped a fresh dollop of soap into my hands and scrubbed them under the hottest water I could stand.  It was a cold, arid day and the skin covering my knuckles was dry and beginning to crack.  I knew I had better put lotion on them before Father got home or he would be angry.  He regularly called my behavior obsessive compulsive, but in reality, it was the only thing keeping me sane.
     I could hear Sean playing video games in the family room.  As I walked toward the stairs leading up to our rooms I called out, “Is your homework finished?”
     “Yes, ma’am,” he replied a little too regimental for my liking.

     Closing the door to my room, I slowly exhaled relieved that I could finally stop exuding false composure.  On the inside, I was a mess of emotions.  I was a sixteen year old who had been the mother figure for her eight year old brother essentially since his birth.  My life, all of it since I was eight, had been wholly dedicated to protecting Sean.
     I reached for the hand lotion as I slowly lowed myself onto my bed.  Snapping open the top of the bottle, I welcomed the pain I knew I would feel as the lotion tried, in vain, to quench the thirst of my dry skin.  Emotions were not something that I liked to feel.  I often found myself supplementing them with something physical.  The lotion felt cool and filled with relief at first, but the stinging burn quickly took over.  I closed my eyes as I let myself feel something, if only for a moment.  As the pain subsided, an eerie feeling of peace replaced it.  I let my body collapse onto my bed and enjoy this moment of complete relaxation.

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