I often use a statement:
"It isn't my purpose."
The quotation comes when I encounter an area or question that is interesting but not something I care to consider longer than a few seconds. It usually arrives when people talk about politics, television programs or sports that I don't follow.
My trouble with those and many other regions of interest is this: I have a sponge for a brain. My brain/mind is a sop. It absorbs far too much and at times I wonder if new entries don't actually "write" over older ones, like a computer hard drive.
I'm cursed with a very excellent memory, and it is nearly all visual. When I write, I use the visual memory. The words are just means to interpret and describe. I have to kick and shove the words around to get the visual to present itself in letters, words and phrases in proper order on the blank page.
This organism's mind is a virtual catalog of visuals. I suppose that is why I am an artist with four hands. I write and I paint. One pursuit is syntactical and the other is textural.
Some of those regions of endeavor or interest do intrigue me, though. If I had been a scientist, I would have immersed myself in neuroscience. The brain, how it works, and especially why it works, interests me. But there are great minds at work on that region.
Mihaly Czikszentmihaly and Elkhonon Goldberg, the former a superb Psychiatric genius and the latter one of the world's foremost neurophysicists, have that region cornered. I read everything they write and every word written about them.
The problem with me is that I don't have the time or patience to delve into areas that divert me from the tasks I have chosen. When I wrote the post about discipliness, it is what I barely hinted. Time is nearly all-consuming to me.
Today I went down to a restaurant for a quick brunch. It was quick because when I finished the crispy bacon and moved my fork over the scrambled eggs, I pulled an idea out of the ether that stopped me in the act of chewing. In two minutes, I had paid for the food, donned my scarf and cap and zipped my jacket as I walked toward the frozen car.
I drove straight home and got on this computer and wrote it down.
It was a two-thousand word story about a salesman who uses a children's book to make a million-dollar sale at a hospital supplies expo.
Now where the hell did that idea spring from? What brought it out between the bacon and the eggs? Did I overhear something in the brunch line? Was it a combination of events along with the background chatter coming from the overhead television monitors, or what?
Give me a break! It is the curse, I tell you. My head is so full of the visuals that sometimes they run out of storage room and they leak while I'm eating my Sunday brunch! As for the time issue, if I had remained there eating, it may have gone away. I may have forgotten the whole scenario.
Now I have another short story. I'm still a little hungry, though.
8 comments on A Piece on Words and Visions ...
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Thank you for this post, John, gab [SMILE]
Also... I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed that great line and used it in a blog which you inspired. I gave you the credit and even put you in the title. Thanks for the inspiration.[SMILE][HEART][HEART]
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