I am a perpetual writer. I write, just because. I don’t think about writing, I just write. I even write when I walk. No, seriously. I occasionally take long, brisk walks for exercise. There have been many times when I’ve stopped mid-stride, pulled over into a corner, opened the note pad app on my phone, and proceeded to write my thoughts. No matter where I am in the world, I always want to be able to write. It lifts my spirit and calms my soul.
In grade school and in high school, I used a composition notebook as a journal. Later, I transferred my journaling to my personal computer, and then to the wide world of LiveJournal. All of these things allowed me to share my thoughts, even when I was just sharing them with myself.
iPhony and the Note Monster
My previous phone was a Google G1. It gave me my first experience using the notepad app. Now with my iPhone, I use the notepad app non-stop. It allows me to write constantly and in different locations. But my phone is slowly becoming the note monster. I was recently discussing, with my daughter the importance of writing your thoughts out, without pause. I told her that I write constantly. I showed her how many notes I had on my phone, and she was shocked. I scrolled and scrolled and there were so many little notes. Several years worth of thoughts, recipes, tips, ideas and ideals. There seemed to be no end to how many topics I had covered, or how many thoughts I shared with my digital assistant; iPhony. I call her that because she’s a phony version of an assistant, and sometimes her assistance is warped and annoying.
On occasion, I use the little microphone feature on the notepad app because I can’t type on those little keys as fast as my mind rattles off thoughts. I go on and on, speaking into the microphone, getting my thoughts out. But now, I have to remind myself that iPhony has issues. She likes to change the things I write or say, to coincide with her own twisted thoughts and ideas. This type of assistance is not appreciated at all.
I understand the fact that iPhony may not know what Jethro Tull is, so I accept the misspelling of the name, but what the, ‘also ways has’???
“His delivery also ways has a thing song type of vocal modulation. It intrigued me, so I embraced it.”
I can has literacy!!!! Lol!
There is no way on earth that I spoke those words. Now, thanks to the oversight, I don’t even know what my initial thought was. I know it was about Snoop Dogg… uh… Lion. I can’t even figure out how to correct the statement.
I guess that will teach me to always go back and check frequently, and not just ramble on, hoping that she has deciphered my thoughts, word-for-word. But I tolerate it because she gives me the opportunity to express myself whenever I need to. Now all I have to do is double check her insanity, and make sure my note monster stays securely protected in the cloud. (Some people do need clouds.)
Get Out of Here!
I just read an article called, “Why So Many People Write at Starbucks”. I had never really thought about the benefits of a location or scenery change until today. I didn’t realize that getting away from my normal routine and surroundings was actually fueling my writing fire. I suppose I just took it for granted that I could write, with ease, no matter where I paused to write and reflect. Not that my writing is perfection, in the realm of the art of writing, but it is perfect for me. It does for me, what reading does for me. It takes me out of my own head.
When I was writing for school (in online college, writing is paramount), I always sat at my computer desk to write my weekly assignments and final term papers. It was, at times, taxing. But after reading this article, I remembered that my best piece, in college, was written in Washington Square Park. Because it was a Philosophy class, I was concerned about being stressed out, therefore jeopardizing my ability to develop clear, concise thoughts. I figured I needed to get out of the house, so I took my laptop to the park. I was there for at least 2-3 hours, sitting on the ground near the fountain. I was so proud of the piece that came out of that experience.
When it was time for grading, my teacher instead sent an email accusing me of plagiarism.
I damn near lost my mind. I’m sure there was smoke coming out of my eyes and nostrils, as I paced around the apartment saying, in my best Gladys Hippo, from Rocko’s Modern Life, voice…
“How dare you!!!”
I considered contacting some of my relatives, in New Orleans, for tips on where I could score one of those cute little dolls… and some pins.
I stormed around the apartment for at least 10 minutes, thinking of how horrible it was for him to accuse me of plagiarism. Me, of all people??!! I have such a profound and deep respect for written works. I would never blatantly steal the words of another. (Get out of my head Prince!) But then I realized this man didn’t really know anything about me. This was an online class. He had never even seen me. He was probably sitting on a beach in Hawaii, with his laptop and Mai-tai in hand, while I was freezing to death on the ground, in New York, in a park full of hippies. He couldn’t possibly know how much I revered the spirit of writing. I called him and explained how deeply hurt I was at being accused of plagiarism, and how it was something that I would, in my opinion, rightfully see as blasphemous. I asked him to please look back at some of my other writings for reference. I always try my best to write with respect for the power of words. He promised me he would take a second look.
I was frustrated, and in a state of panic for two days, because that’s how long it took for him to call me back. When he did call, he was deeply apologetic for his accusation. He said, what sealed it for him, was not only not being able to find anything in our texts with the exact wording, but it was in reading my responses and comments to his daily class questions on the message board, that he found his mistake. He said that my writing, in normal conversation and comments, had the same tone and feel as what I had written in my report. I told him, he had no idea how much better that made me feel. Next to Behavioral Science, Philosophy was my favorite class at WIU. I immediately felt vindicated. What I hadn’t realized, was that vindication was only a fraction of the joy I should have felt.
Because it was a Philosophy class, being accused of plagiarism, in that scenario, sort of put me in the ranks of the writing styles of those I was charged with learning from. I hadn’t realized how much of a complement that was. It took me a while, because I was pisses off to the 10th ward of Jupiter, but the light finally came on, and I felt jubilant.
Free the Sparrows
Because I write all the time, you would think I would have so much more works to share. The same thing goes for my knitting. But the majority of my notes are related to answering questions I came across in my quest for spiritual oneness, the presence of God, and the weight of the Universe. Things I will be able to share once I am more comfortable with my acceptance of the ideas I have procured. One of my problems is; I have a hard time stopping, once I have started writing. But I’m going to just let that continue to be a problem. LOL!! But my main problem is, I know my English is not good enough, in my own opinion, to comfortably allow others to be subjected to my word abuse, and grammatical error laden rants. Sometimes I just give up and let it fly. That is when everyone gets to see all the sparrows flying around in my head.
Sometimes I feel that I shouldn’t concern myself so much with what others think about my writing style or delivery, but I’m a lover of art, so I’m in a constant battle with myself over it. Writing is Art, and it’s difficult for me to share a piece of my art, if I still have questions or reservations about its appearance. Then I have to realize that, in my own opinion, art is subjective. It is what it is, but it isn’t always seen the same way by every individual. I know there are rules, but occasionally breaking the rules doesn’t necessarily mean it’s not still art. In some art forms, rule-breaking actually intensifies the artistic harmony of a piece.
But not so much in writing. Lol!!
Well anyway, while I struggle with my creative maladies, I will continue to write and hopefully, one day, I will find a way to release more of the sparrows from my cage.