Thursday, December 7, 2006

The Christmas Crunch

Some of the reasons I like to write:

I can’t think on my feet. I hate ‘pop’ quizzes. I have no quick answers. Everything I want to discuss requires time for reflection. And in one-on-one conversations, people are too impatient to give me time to wander around in seemingly irrelevant thoughts in order to clarify and rationalize my flat, yet angular, unexpected Picasso-perspectives.

Writing is a lazy craft. No mess to clean up afterwards. I tried painting. What a mess? Always brushes to clean, and waiting for paint to dry, or misting it so it wouldn’t dry too quick. Writing, on the other hand, happens inside a little box (my laptop), and when I’m done I just click the lid shut.

Writing allows me to be the creator of some unique thing that cannot be duplicated or compared to other’s. My presentation of something as simple as a ‘man’, or complex as a ‘woman’ does not have to look like others expect it to look.

Writing is similar to painting. Through writing, I am able to create my own picture. A digital camera cannot capture an exact likeness of it. You won’t find it cloned by slave labor in third-world countries for bargain prices as you might with sewing, quilting, painting, knitting, or any of the other things I like to do. Duplications so similar in every respect that they rub out a creator’s pride and pleasure and transform that good feeling into guilt about wasting time. That’s how I feel about the socks I’ve been knitting when I saw socks in a flyer for $3.99 a pair. That doesn’t happen with writing, and when I’m done, I don’t have to box and sort out the heap of nouns, verbs, and adjectives and painstakingly put them all back in their rightful place. I just twitch my nose over my writing table, and ‘Poof’, all my materials are tidily back in place.

Recording one’s thoughts is such good therapy for irresolution of the mind. Writing forces me to revel in the special gifts of life. Or to examine the irony. It’s a work of pride and prejudices. And through writing-participaction, I plan to delay the aging process by keeping my imagination toned and in reasonably good health. After all it is as much a part of my wellness as cholesterol-free arteries.

But writing is so unlike other crafts like knitting and quilting that are conducive to sharing. Writing is not a group activity. Writing requires solitude. And because solitude is not happening with Christmas just around the corner, not much writing is happening as well.

But you just wait until January. That’s when the marathon will start.

6 comments:

the old bag said...

I really like this comparison -- it requires much solitude to convert snapshots to word, and this fall my life has been lacking in that regard. It's a bit frustrating.

Dick said...

Good thoughts - & good writing too. A neat encapsulation that nails it down for me too (except the quilting & knitting comparisons!)

Roberta said...

Hi OB, you obviously understand my frustration but I guess eventually we will be released from the pressures of the season and able to return to word-art.

And P.S. - thanks for the note on furnace vents. I am so impressed with yours, they are totally lovely. You're so right, where is the entrepreneurial (sp?) spirit that could be collecting discarded vents and selling them like hotcakes to people like me?

Roberta said...

Thank you so much dick for the kind encouragement.

Matty said...

Roberta,
I really like the way you express yourself in your writing, actually any kind of writing that makes me think or ponder life's questions.
Writing to me is therapy, and not only that, but I leave a journal of some sort to my grandchildren.
How I would have loved to read my grandmother's thoughts on her daily life.

Roberta said...

matty, the support you give me is so much appreciated. And if you find any 'therapy' here that finding gives me therapy in return. Nice exchange.

I think journaling for your grandchildren is a great idea. It gives them opportunities to share moments with you (for all time) in such a special way.