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When I was little, I wanted to be a great author when I grew up. Well, actually, in kindergarten I desperately wanted to become a nurse, but that quickly changed when I found out that I'd have to deal with blood. Blood gave me the willies. Still does. (Did I really just use the word 'willies'?) Anyway, I'd mass-produce stories and wheel them around in my little red wagon, selling them for 25 cents. When I grew a little older, and got my first computer, I'd type story after story--usually about fairies, or ballerinas, or orphans (for some reason I found orphans terribly romantic). Reading these stories now, I laugh out loud at how, well, elementary and immature they are.
But what I remember best is how much I loved writing. I devoured books, and then clickety-clacked on that sticky old keyboard, trying my own hand at the craft, anticipating my own masterpiece. I had this brown corduroy hat I'd wear. I called it my Author's Hat. (Creative, I know.) I'm pretty sure I really believed that it made me write better, that it had some sort of powers that would turn me into a literary genius. I think it's because my role model at the time was Jo March: I'd picture her scribbling away madly in a garret (I'm not really sure what a garret is even today) with some sort of cap sitting askew on top of her head.
I have no idea where that hat is anymore, and if I did I don't think it would fit. But I think that once I stopped believing in the hat, I stopped believing in my writing. In fact, I stopped writing. I think I've finally figured out a relatively good replacement for that hat, though. I think it's good books.
I believe that good books make me write better, and that they have some sort of powers. Maybe not to turn me into a literary genius, but they definitely inspire a long-dormant creativity within me into action. The latest good book to light that spark? The Catcher in the Rye. (Yes, finally.) I've been clickety-clacking all night. And I love it.
1 comments:
Yesterday, in my Developmental Psych class, our prof was talking about how life-span development is all about gains and losses...and she said, "if I were to tell you all that right now, we were going to go outside and make up a game and play it for the next hour and a half, what do you think would happen?" and none of us said anything...and she goes, "exactly. you've already lost your ability to think outside of the box and be spontaneously creative like children."
and that made me ultra depressed. so I'm glad that you're writing, because that's proof of creative spontaneity.
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