Thoughts on writing, creative thinking and solitude.

Today is my 31st wedding anniversary.  I spend it in my house in the hills surrounded by still sleeping trees, alone, with cats but alone never the less.  I have decided today to practice piano and avoid outside interest.  I awoke dreaming about my former companion and so pleasant was the dream I did not want to awaken to the reality I presently know.  I am half way through my life.  I keep asking myself, "how did I get here and what is to follow upon the wake of all that has happened thus far?"  Will I live in regret someday that I did not take more actions to make changes or will I allow random chance, chaos or just pure luck guided by intuition to take me to my next destination.  I have the ability to know when things are not right, to predict wrecks, accidents and other calamities.  Sometimes I see them clearly and describe them to a word.  Sometimes I dream of them and find out later the dream was one of prophecy.  I share this ability with my mother who knew before it happened that I would be run down by a car on the road out in front of our house one spring day.  She could not get to me in time.  I was hospitalized for over a week and learned what it was like not to have the use of my legs.  That moment is perhaps what brought me to this point in time.  I became an introvert with acute tendency to be myopic and re read again and again all that is before me (that has allowed me to score 100% reading comprehension on test).  I also have the tendency to fill in a page to its limit, a malady known as Hypergraphia according to one book on the topic by Alice W. Flahherty titled "The Midnight Disease" (The drive to write, writers block, and the creative brain).  And since the accident I have been driven on and off again to create in miniature detail sometimes art work, sometimes models of ships which I call 3-dimensional puzzles, sometimes just writing in journals (typed on manual typewriters or hand written) and of course here as well.  I often write letters to people whether I know them or not, friend or stranger, I just write.  Since the advent of the Internet and e-mail I lament the lack of snail mail.  I dream of a day when people will once again pick up their pens, their typewriter or pencil and put thought to paper without the use of a computer.  I wonder how they will collect future letters such as the collected letters of H.P. Lovecraft who wrote prodigiously more to his friends than creating his own imaginative tales.  The collected e-mails and tweets of Sam Cybergod.  Can't wait for that one. 

    By being idled one is able to focus.  When I was small, a child who was always into mischief, I did not read well, did not write and was always getting into trouble.  The accident brought me to a stand still.  I learned to read within one year, proficiently and writing eventually followed.  I have never attended college but wanted to.  I read instead, all manner of books that would grab my attention, whether it was Native American studies, biographies of writers, the invention of the air plane, the rocket, the atomic bomb, the printing press, the typewriter, space travel, planets and the solar system, astrology, noir fiction, music, and of course the imaginative fictions of countless authors in science fiction, horror, and fantasy.   I have since then branched out due to recommendations from my friend Lorie who introduced me to many new authors and topics.  I also read a remark by Christa Faust who just said read something different, defy the norm or the trend or the rut your in and branch out.  I have followed that advice and never fail to leave the library with a stack of books under my arm.  I know I will only read a fraction of them but I have them and will dig into as much as possible until they are due back.   I know one of them will take me somewhere.   And of course there is the book review on NPR that will throw new light on a topic.  I found Cormac McCarthy that way.  Just listening and learning.  Even though I have been, on occasion, accused of failing to listen those who  I interact with never fail to leave an impression on me and as the seed planted takes root, my sub conscious kicks in and I find my hand reaching for yet another volume of a topic previously I would have ignored.  So in closing, I am home, with my friends, my cats and my house of memories. I intend someday to move on but for now will continue writing and reading, drawing and playing piano and working on my next future objective whether it is guided by dreams or imaginative literature. 

Note;  I did not spell check but did edit this entry so I apologize for any spelling error.  I sacrifice accuracy for narrative flow.