Toss Me a Fish?
What I write often begins as a mental burst that I must immediately jot down or lose.
If paper is available, I scribble the thought. If not, I put it on my phone. Yet, even if the note is recorded on the phone, it is essentially a scrawl or doodle.
Typically, the initial idea is a kernel. If I know I am going to have to wait to sit at my laptop, I usually write something title-like, as a mnemonic device. The thing that got me wanting to write can then be recalled at the appropriate time. Maybe the core is a phrase or simply a topic or a sensation. Like most things summoned by a mnemonic key, there is frequently also some older memory evoked.
Whether given the opportunity in the moment, or later, I record my thoughts quickly. The words tend to come to me in a stream. In a manner of speaking, it is the reverse of bailing out a leaky boat. I scoop up the thoughts by the bucket load and pour them into my dinghy. I dump them as scribbles using the keyboard of my laptop. In a real sense they are stream of consciousness. As a result, the thoughts may be garbled, misspelled or a complete mess, so long as the heart of the idea is captured.
Often time may pass before I look again at the scribbles. That is when I assess, compose them, accept fragments, rearrange the words, and begin the decision-making process. My words are simple and often repetitive. At this point they probably only make sense to me. I try to refine them before I show them to someone else, but that doesn’t always happen. I am sloppy. I do my best to adjust wording, to be articulate, to correct spelling and punctuation. Please forgive me and help me correct errors.
My skin is not so thin when it comes to the written word.
In my paintings my intent is to paint until my own internal bell is rung. In the writing, the bell I wish to ring is the reader’s. Writing is different from visual art. The goal of the writing is to communicate using words. Written language is already a form of abstraction, language itself the form a group uses as a communication tool. I make sounds to tell you I love you. Those sounds differ from the sounds I make to ask you to hand me a fish. I love the image in my head of you handing me a fish. The abstraction lets the fish be whatever sort of fish pops into your mind. If I want the fish to be a goldfish, I need to tell you that.
Words, written or spoken are an abstraction, an idea, a sensation, a feeling, a recognition. Humor is also an abstract concept. When appropriate, I hope you smile.
Smiling is one of the nice ways to escape the humdrum world.
Here let me toss you a fish.
What kind of fish was it?
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