Imagination and Creativity

Imagination and creativity are what I think I want to talk about today. No one has asked me about either. Or not recently. However, does one lead to the other? Or do they both exist as reflections of each other? I’m not sure of the answer to either question.

What I do know is that I have always had a creative mind and an active imagination. One certainly leads to the other for me, and it’s not necessarily one before the other. For the time I’ve been in this reality, I grew up being an avid reader. Science fiction and fantasy have been my favorite genres to read, but I enjoy mystery and even the occasional non-fiction work. All fiction, no matter the genre, require imagination to fuel the creativity of writing. Creativity can certainly fuel your imagination. No one can deny that. Someone else’s creativity can spur your imagination, which you can see with the plethora of fan fiction and artwork scattered about online. Yet, what else could fuel one or both imagination and creativity?

Emotions can. Which emotions, you ask? All of them, I believe. Jealousy creates the desire for answers to the fears which spawn jealousy. This fuels the imagination to be creative in finding answers, or justifications, for why your jealous of something or someone. Grief seeks answer for the loss, be it due death, divorce, or whatever, of someone or something you care about. Your imagination then runs with possibilities of why it happened, how you could cope, and so much more. These internal sources are responses to events in our lives, be they major or minor events.

Yet couldn’t there be other sources of creativity and imagination? External sources can be quite powerful.

External, you say? Those are obvious things. Talk about something else.

Obvious? Are you sure? Music and movies, television and books are certainly obvious. Yet, what about a walk around your neighborhood? The birds and squirrels in the trees? Or just the cats and dogs stalking and chasing each other along with those bird s and squirrels? Life around you, bits of overheard conversation, and so much else that is exterior to you can spur your imagination and lead to endless. Sometimes, just a phrase or chorus of a song can cause you to imagine near endless possibilities. For example, what does “Love is the death of peace of mind” evoke within you? That is from an actual song, with that being the title, by the hard rock group, Bad Omens. Or the song by Linkin Park that contains the phrase “bridges I have burned”? What imagery and ideas do those external things spur within you? How does music affect your emotions? All of these can be paths that your imagination can use to create characters, universes, and even plot points for a story.

But those are obvious, you whine petulantly.

Maybe for you, but not necessarily for everyone.  Even so, what about the sunrise?  Or that lightning illuminating the darkness of a nighttime storm?  Tornadoes ripping through a town or city, destroying all in its path?  Winds rattling trees and bushes, as though something unseen crawls through or under them, can feed your imagination.  All of these things can spur your creativity.  Feed your imagination.  Just pay attention to both the internal and external world and you never know what will happen. 

And don’t forget to enjoy life.

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Creationism

The sun had just gone below the eastern horizon, though its light still cast long shadows across the freshly plowed fields.  Two figures walked behind the horse as the trio took the long bladed plow back to the ramshackle old barn down by the small house they called home.  The taller of the pair behind the horse, a man of middle years with hair bleached almost white by the hot sun, guided the plow and the horse on a predertermined path from their fields to the barn.  Beside him walked a boy of not quite ten seasons, his hair almost as white as the man he walked beside.  Both wore overalls stained and dirtied, with dust filled hats fallen back off their heads, held around their necks with a roughly twisted length of leather rope.

“Dad?” The boy glanced at the eastern horizon with its streaks of red and purple and green and the ever darkening blue.  “How did all of this get here?  Where did it come from?”

“Well,” Dad answered with a long, drawn out word.  “Grab a handful of dirt son, and toss it in the air before us.”

Confused, the boy did as instruction.  As they watched the dirt get blown away as a small cloud, the boy looked back at his dad.  “Well?”

“As I was told when I was no older than you, the earthen and the heavens above us live and die just as we do.  Once, long, long ago, a universe got so old that it faded and died as universes do.”

“Did it turn to dust and blow away like the dirt I tossed?” The boy looked at his dad with amazement growing in his expression.  “And you said that grandpa would turn to dust when we buried him last winter.  Is that what happened?”

“Sort of,” chuckled Dad.  “Except, when universes die, the stars and suns and worlds like ours die as well.  With no light in the day or night skies, the universe sort of fell asleep and didn’t wake up, kind of like grandpa.”

“Did the universe’s children and grandchildren get sad like us?” The son asked after a short silence. 

“They say that the universe was so old, all of it’s children were dead, so it was alone,” continued Dad.  “But when the universe died, everything became dust that simply floated in the nothingness.”

“Did flowers grow on the universes grave?” The son exclaimed quickly, though likely because they were passing some at that moment. 

“Kinda like flowers,” chuckled Dad.  “A new universe, maybe two, sprang to life just like flowers seem to do overnight.”

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You’re Not A Christian…

With the recent passage of more totalitarian laws attempting to ban abortions by criminalizing it, in direct violation of established judicial decisions to the contrary, it’s become clear that there are no Christians in this country. If there were Christians, they’d be electing people to their legislatures who will fund free prenatal care, pregnant mother wellness programs, and low cost birth centers. If there were Christians in this country, they wouldn’t be terrorizing women who are just trying to do what is right for them and their family. However, they ignore the teachings and instructions of their supposed savior, Jesus Christ, and go on a power trip where they feel obligated to force complete strangers to adhere to arbitrary rules designed by back-door moneygrubbers whose only goal in life are to be emperor-gods and own everything.

So, you aren’t a Christian. You don’t love your neighbor. You don’t do and give to others the attitude and compassion you demand others show you. It’s all lip service to you, so you can look at yourself in the mirror and lie to yourself about what a wonderful person you are. You, yes you, are what’s wrong with country. You are why the USA will never be great, never was great, and is the laughing stock of the world.

Maybe you should try following the teachings of Christ. Be a true Christian. People might like you. Also, you might get into heaven when you die, should it be real.

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My Beloved Dragon

September 9, 2018 – Eight months ago, my life changed suddenly and completely unexpectedly. My partner, my love, my crazy, dragon-blooded man died while visiting his best friend. I tell you this because when someone you love and have spent a third of your life with suddenly vanishes, you are never the same. We talked occasionally about formally getting married, but one thing or another stopped us. Not having had that ceremony didn’t stop us from living those traditional Christian vows of “for richer or poorer, in sickness or health, til death do you part.” We made each other smile and laugh and whine for this or that when one of us were sick. Just over sixteen years together. It hard to believe it was that long, but also seems like no time has gone by at all. I still remember that first night we finally met in person, the accident on our second or third date when I was forced to call a friend to come get us and take him to work, and the day he brought a dog up from his parents’ place after we’d moved into a house with what we thought was a secure backyard. Both the dog and my dragon are gone now, together in whatever lays beyond death.

Now I live in a house that feels too big, surrounded by memories, and left with projects still to be completed. A larger circle of people I consider friends and family because of that man. A man who, to my experience, had not enemies, could make everyone smile at the very least, if not laugh out loud despite being in a bad mood. So, while I miss him incredibly everyday, I am so very glad that we connected and fell in love. I know he was happy that I had convinced him to come meet me despite having just gotten off work and it was nearly 10 PM. Both our lives would have been so much poor had we not met, not talked until well after midnight.

So, why do I say all this? I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to talk about him. Share a bit of the “us” that is now just “me”. And that hurts to write, let alone think about, even so many months after his death. While I may have regrets about what I didn’t or couldn’t give him, I will never regret the time I got to spend with him or the love we shared.

May each of you find that one person who adores you. I did and I cherish his memory. Rest-In-Peace, my dragon.

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Hello Again

It’s been too long since I’ve mused upon these pixels. 2016 saw the death of our beloved dog, Big, in December. The following year looked up. My partner, Chris, had a couple of surgeries over the course of the year which brought him much better health. Last year brought his best friend closer, but also brought about his sudden and untimely death at the beginning of September. I still write, occasionally send the few stories I have finished out in hopes of getting published again, and currently am working on a novel I outlined back during the first half of last year. As my grief settled into a new balance with my life and my “voices”, or creative juices, this idea I outlined was the only thing which spoke to me to write. I’m nearly done with the first draft, and hope to have at least a second draft done by the time Conquest and Soonercon arrive in May and June, respectively. I am planning on going to both conventions, with this year being the first time in a number of years for Conquest (It’s their 50th year). I’ll post the info on the anthologies where one of my stories appears in a future post. My plan is to make this my writer’s website. So, don’t get lost.

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Alive and Kicking

Here is it is June of 2016 and after some recent successes in the publishing world (more on that in a minute), I thought I should break my nearly three (3) year hiatus, come out of my cave, and let anyone that actually comes across this little musing of mine that I am, in fact, alive and kicking.

With that out of the way, lets get into the alive thing.  Here in Oklahoma, it’s looking more and more like our Legislature is NOT alive.  After passing tax cuts for the rich and powerful in the state, our illustrious (infamous?) governor announced that the state will be nearly $1.5 billion in the red.  I wrote that correctly.  Billion with a B.  As in Barrels, which most of us will be wearing once the poverty trickles down to everyone.  Don’t forget Butthurt, for the pounding every resident of this supposedly great state will suffer because of the Bad governing our elected officials have wrought.

So who and what suffers from this Black hole in our Budget?  Everyone and everything except the Legislature.  That’s right, our elected officials made sure that they had enough money to operate smoothly while taking money from EVERYTHING ELSE.  We already have Bridges collapsing or near collapsing (holes are constantly forming in several interstate bridges inside the Oklahoma City metro alone).  Considering this morass Oklahoma finds itself, I question the sanity and status of Oklahomans as living persons.  Another B word or two comes to mind, but lets keep this civil.

Continuing with the kicking, (and not the “in the pants” many in Oklahoma want to do to our Legislature and governor), the ground is kicking up its proverbial heels here, but things haven’t gotten above a 4.0 or so on the richter scale.  If I’m wrong, I’m sure someone will tell me.  Internet trolls so love to correct everyone even if they aren’t wrong or aren’t talking about the subject the trolls are passionate about.  Anyway, we’re rolling with the kicks the ground give us and everyone hopes and prays that California gets the ‘Big One’ before we do.  (It’s more than just me, right?).  More kicking is coming with the drop in crude oil prices, which is looking like it’s kicking off a recession here (part of the source for that budget hole).  With hundreds of millions of dollars getting sucked out of the local school systems (from Primary to Higher education), hundreds getting laid off in the energy and related industries, and hate-mongering legislation making Oklahoma look like another pariah state.

“Fucking wah,” you say?

“Stop complaining,” you whine?

Fine.  We’ll move on to the successes in the publishing world I mentioned earlier.  Around this time last year, I had a short story accepted for an anthology, which was then published in October of 2015 by WolfSinger Publications.  The anthology, Under A Dark Sign, is available via Amazon as well as Barnes and Noble.  If you’re going to be at Soonercon, I’ll be selling copies along with one of the two editors for that book as well as the other anthology I sold a short story to.  The second anthology, Lightships and Sabers, is also available via Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Both anthologies are chock full of great stories by very talented authors.  Check the links above and pick up either a print copy or an ebook version.  You won’t be sorry.  So now you can call me a published writer as well as whatever other adjectives you’ve been using.  Hopefully I’ll see some of you at Soonercon, or another convention in the near future.

Peace!

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Memories

It’s not an anniversary, birthday, or other special time in life that makes me write this. I haven’t seen a movie, or television series, read a book, or heard a piece if music that particularly makes me want to write this. Memories are funny that way. You see something that makes you think of something else and suddenly your thinking ‘He would have made that crack about me being off my meds’ or ‘she would have sighed with that ‘Why me?’ phrase she always muttered’. Then the rush of memories flood in and a smile creases your face as a lump forms in your throat and the fear of spontaneous tears falling while you sit at work or shop or whatever makes you shove the memories back into their box inside of you.

He died less than a year ago, and was a friend for a quarter of a century. She died a little over two years ago, if I recall correctly, and was a friend for over two decades. She died a good thirteen years, and was a beloved cousin. He died when I was a teenager, and was my maternal grandfather. She died the summer before our senior year in high school, and while a friend, was not a close friend. She died several years ago from leukemia, and was a beloved aunt.

They are all now just memories. Once they were living people surrounded by friends and family. However they died, all are remembered fondly by those that knew and loved them. They live on within us, and while we may not think of them everyday, they had an impact on us and our lives. Our time spent with other people changes us in small, little ways that over days, weeks, months, and eventually years becomes so much a part of us, it may take someone not seen in years to point out the changes.

Everyone wants to live forever. No one truly wants to die, to have this life end. We know that we will die someday, but that day is still far into the future.

Or so we expect and hope.

Sometime after college, but before I found my first job using my degree, I made a new friend. This person, now deceased, came across as arrogant at first glance. Having had heart trouble as a baby, he was always rail thin, gaunt really. If you’d seen him in a bathing suit, you’d think he’d just come from a Nazi concentration camp in WW2. He loved antique shopping and had an ideal love that he wanted. Maybe that was a way to shield both himself and the ones he cared for most from the potential that his lifelong heart problems posed to any relationship. It didn’t matter. He affected my life and all of those he knew. Doesn’t matter if you liked him, loved him, or hated him, he had an impact on you and your life.

However, I think I digress. Memories do that. They tend to cast either a dark or rosey light on your past. In time, the bad fades and the good becomes a feeling. Or you never really feel good about that time, place or person because you can’t remember any good times or feelings. We avoid those bad feelings. We search out the good and happy.

And happy is not necessarily what I think of when I think of Scooter. Not at the end, certainly. Brain cancer is a horrible way to die, and he went relatively quickly. And that last year, before the diagnosis, we can look back and see the signs. What we, and his surviving family, can not say is that he didn’t have an impact in this world.

He didn’t have children of his own. Didn’t leave a wife, girlfriend, boyfriend, or what have you, behind grieving. There was no great wealth to bestow so his name could be emblazoned upon a building or university.

There are, though, hundreds, if not thousands, of people spanning his more than fifty years of life that are not the same people because of his impact on them. His imagination, his intelligence, questionable choice of cinema (can anyone not be a better person after suffering through ‘The Giant Claw’?), and willingness to express himself in creative ways no matter how crazy others might think him.

It’s memories like that and ones we don’t remember that affect and change us. It’s not exactly immortality, but it is a form of living on in others. They say that god resides in our hearts. Really, the little mannerisms, speech patterns, and attitudes of our friends and family shape who we were, who we are, and who we will become. To stay the same forever would mean closing our minds and hearts to everything and everyone around us.

And that’s not living.

So open your heart to new people. Open your mind to new ideas. Let those both dear and barely tolerated live in and because if you. And whether you agree with me or not, your reading this will change you in some way. Hopefully for the better.

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