…AND OTHER ROADBLOCKS IN WRITING!

Tag Archives: creativity

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Once home from communion with kindred spirits at Unity, I emptied the dishwasher. Classical ‘meditation’ music lifted my thoughts above lifting dinnerware and flatware from the racks, to how they move on with their jobs. That’s when (1) as a writer my abilities with similes and metaphors sprang into action, or (2) my Muse said, “Hey, look at it this way…” or, (3) God said, “There’s a lesson here.” Whereupon I said, “Yeah, but nobody will listen to me.” Whereupon He said, as He often does through My Husband, “Never assume!”

Dismiss my writing abilities if you will, grimace at the thought of my Muse, but you’d better think twice about ignoring Him and My Husband. There IS a lesson here. And you do well to never assume! You see, each piece in that dishwasher had cooperated with the others to serve tasty meals and desserts. How great that they supplied our needs!

Had forks, knives, and spoons rebelled and shut down the kitchen, we would have resorted to fingers, or drinking lumpy soup from a cup. (Nasty, potentially hazardous.) Had the crockery cracked and shut down the works, flatware would have been chasing food all over the tabletop. (Not pretty. Not sanitary.) And drinks? Well, hot coffee in my cupped hands is not my first choice. With or without cream and sugar.

So, when they get nasty, what do we do? We put them all in one little shower room and lock them in until the crap is washed away, and they are ready to get back to business. And, voila! They become our servants again.

Now, this little creative marble rolling around in my spacious cranium (think pinball machine) bumped into another idea. Hey, Genius! That’s sort of like politics, isn’t it?

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Wow! Yeah! But where do we get a dishwasher big enough for Washington? And we’ll need one for voters. They’re all covered with that crap called ‘baggage.’

Details, Genius, details. We’ll figure it out.

No moss gathers on my marbles! The next one kept rolling until it hit on still another subject that carries a lot of baggage. Hey, Genius! That’s sort of like religion, isn’t it?

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Well, that just set all the pinball machine’s bells ringing and lights flashing, didn’t it? Like politics, religion has had its share of quacks and fakers, abusers and misusers, hasn’t it? Thanks a lot for that idea! I can see condemnation—not commendation—excommunication, shunning, and fatwas flying my way now.

Details, Genius. Mere details. You’ll have it all figured out by the time your next post rolls around. Remember that little short story you wrote? The one that could apply equally to politics and religion? You might want to share that.

Oh, sure. Not that anyone will listen.

Never assume!

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… Or go anything else you choose, for that matter! See, I was sitting here thinking that with all the s—- (stuff) that life has dumped on me for weeks on end, my mind is frozen for something to write about except the stuff that’s been dumped on me, and you don’t want to hear that. Not with all the dumping going on in the world. Not even if it would make you feel better. Sorry.

Frozen? Yes. Mentally and physically. I woke up to 34 degrees in unsunny, overcast Florida, with a wisp of a hope of the temperature here rising to a Vermont summer heat wave of 60 degrees! I had slept to the white noise of the combination AC/heat pump barely taking a breath in its huffing and puffing to keep the house at a somewhat comfortable 72 degrees. And in my slightly wacky way, I imagined the AC part of the schizophrenic unit laughing at the heat pump, and saying, “Man up, Hot Stuff! Now you know what I go through the other 360 days of the year!”

Still, Hot Stuff’s efforts had no effect at floor level. Have you any idea what my tile floor feels like? Yes. Like walking barefoot with the polar bears—in their neighborhood! My feet hastily hustled me to the closet where I hauled down and dusted off a box with a fading label: Blue Slippers. I hauled out what I call my early-spring-morning-sky-blue suede slippers and caressed their lambs-wool lining. I was thinking that in a way, it was nice to be reacquainted since we’ve met socially perhaps three times in fifteen years since they came to live in my closet.

My feet, however, were unimpressed with my reminiscing to the point of the envy and crankiness I feel on a sugar-detox diet. To paraphrase a wise old philosopher, “If my feet aint happy, aint no part of me happy!” Once my feet and slippers were reunited, I got thinking how wonderful COLD really was. It had so aggravated me, I swung right into another of my Andy Rooney gripes—er—essays.

So, yeah, COLD is a great story starter. All you need to work it into satire or an essay is a bit of creativity—which every “very stable genius” has. And you’ll find some warm comfort in using your genius for something that makes the audience laugh with joy (or at least snicker) rather than cry in misery.

I challenge you to take a word, any word—honor, hippopotamus, truth, tricycle, courage, watermelon, love—and write something that will bring a smile or a belly laugh to someone in need of it! The world needs your talent.


John Milton wrote his blank verse on the fall of man, Paradise Lost, in ten books from about 1658 to 1663. Some scholars believe that earlier passages were written in his youth, and the remainder interrupted by the English Civil War. Why? Was it a change in style from early years to a more mature perspective? I can relate to that.

In retrospect, my youthful attempts at writing made me wince. But I forgave myself for being young and unschooled in a thing that came naturally. The ability of my mother and aunts to relate detailed family lore convinced me that I, too, must be the reincarnation of our ancient Irish sennachies, ready with the Merlin of my time—the computer— to record each precious nugget of knowledge and creativity. However, I soon learned that being reborn into a new time meant, “Get with it, kid. Nobody accepts poetry or prose in ten rambling books anymore!”

With this cold water showered on my literary efforts, I knew enough to know I didn’t know enough. So, I read about writing, took creative writing classes, joined writers’ groups and associations.  What did I learn? That I still had, and have, more to learn. Albert Einstein was right: “Once you stop learning, you start dying.”

So, it falls to those who can learn, to find ways for the less fortunate develop to the best of their abilities. In Luke, the Bible tells us that Jesus said, “Those to whom much is given, much will be required.” This is where my soapbox on writing merges with my pulpit on social conscience.

I think back to the 1960s when an imperfect man, John F. Kennedy, made a perfectly altruistic statement, “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.” It was a time of bright hopes for the future, and those words guided my teaching career.

Where is that bright hope today? Are we at the brink of losing paradise again? As did Charles Dickens in his time, I cannot help thinking of our time:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.   (~ Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities, Book the First, Chapter 1)

Back on the soapbox: Is this not an intriguing hook to reel in the reader? It’s one of my favorites. It made me hang on for the ride like Captain Ahab tangled in his own harpoon line. Why did Dickens speak of his time as both wise and foolish, as one of enlightenment and mental darkness, of hope and despair? His words foreshadow how the conditions of the period affected society as revealed in his novel.

You might like to read or reread this Dickens tale. Spoiler Alert: the best of times and worst of times refers to the fact that the ruling classes of both England and France then were woefully out of touch with the common people and very mistakenly believed the status quo would glide on forever. Sound familiar?

We need to think with less selfishness and more selflessness. Not only does charity begin at home—so does a change in society’s priorities. Start with your own social interactions. Lead by example, then demand the same of all public servants from the smallest mayoralty in the nation all the way up the chain to the United States Congress and the White House.

Let us not lose Paradise again. Vigilance is the price of our freedoms, our paradise.

Keep learning. Keep writing. Make your words count for the better. Be able to say of your actions and your writing, “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done…” as did Sydney Carton in Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities.