Pretend you’re in a different world. Writers do that, don’t they? A world that doesn’t exist outside of their minds, which they document for others to see. If the reader is lucky and the writer has done his/her job, the reader can spend an afternoon walking around in the writer’s head.
One of the reasons I have given up on writing fiction is that I could never get the world I create out of my head and onto the page. Maybe because I am so familiar with the world in my head I feel the need to explain and overdescribe what’s there. And maybe, just maybe, I like the idea of having my own world, and would prefer not to share it.
I’ve noticed since my stroke that my dreams are more vivid and make less sense, and it’s a lot of fun. It’s been kind of quiet lately, but I’ve had a few interesting rides on the “L” (the Chicago Transit Authority’s Rapid Transit lines) that have taken me to hotels that are stores that are malls that are office buildings that are Lewis Towers and St. Ignatius High School, and sometimes I walk into a room and I find myself in a hall at New Trier West High School, or maybe a boiler room or a cafeteria line or the kitchen at a restaurant, and I’ll walk into a restroom and be in someone’s office…
You get the idea: I’m nuts. Cracked. Psycho.
The theme for Stream of Consciousness Saturday and today’s Just Jot It January was the letter P. I get extra points, even though the letter “p” is silent in “psycho,” because the first word and last word both started with P.
from The Sound of One Hand Typing