The Creative Impulse

I don’t really have an understanding of my own creative impulse, though I do try to. Why do some people talk slowly, and others quickly? I do know that I didn’t dance today, and now can’t sleep. I haven’t written any new stories in quite some time, and was just now revisiting some old ones… Here is a new edit of “He Was Happy Here”, which I first wrote in ’06. I’ve heard before that there are a lot of characters for such a short piece – that it’s hard to follow.

He Was Happy Here

“Yeah well, I still dont believe he moved! I mean didnt he say he was happy here?”

Julie was scared by the inconstancy of geographic allegiances.

The loneliness that followed her parents move to Tuscon when she was 16 had been motivational: running for school underclass president had given her a means to connect to those around her. Then teaching. School board. Night MBA. Business Council. City Council. Mayor of Tuscon. Some friends – mostly the new ones – talked about the senate.

“I mean, really, can you count on him for anything?”

James had been Julies finance committee chair in her first election, and had remained involved. He had always said he would never leave Tuscon.

Susan was a new friend:

“Well, ya know, right? Mark shot himself in James home while he was away at Sundance.”

The brilliance of Susans insight was matched by the sheen of her nails. No flamingos. No designs of any kind. Just CLASS. One and a half inches of sheeny class, buffed like a well-loved gun.

Julie had cooked for Mark. Many times. Distraction, she frequently thought, that is the answer. People dwell too much. Just dont think about it: oh look there is a new restaurant on Felton St., and a sale on potting soil at Smith and Hawken.

“hmm, what was that – why is he moving? Oh, right, yeah, I heard. Well I still say you shouldnt say you stand for one thing if you stand for another. If you cant trust someone to keep their word on one issue, how can we know hell keep it on another?”

She was already practicing.

“Im thinking of having my next brunch at the Edison house.”

The Edison House on Hollow Dr. received its name from the fact that Thomas Edison had slept there in 1879. His rest in the building had been before it was a hotel, and before anyone knew who Thomas Edison was, but it was good sales.

Julie thought of how Mark had been happy in her home. How he had slept there. Did people ever put up those signs in their own homes, or was it just hotels? Maybe James should have his home designated, registered. She could make it happen. “Mark was happy here.” Before he shot himself on the night of April 21st while finishing off the last of Jamess Glenlivet and Codeine. No, wrong kind of thing to remember. Distraction. Just: he was happy here, and then nothing.

copyright 2006 – R. Bettmann

It’s surprisingly tricky to find character names. This edit makes the fourth or fifth name for the leading lady. I know so many people, and this one isn’t based on any particular humans. And even if it was, there’s little chance I’d actually make an allusion of that sort with a character name. Just not my style. How do you pick a name when you have relationships with each common name?

Please offer your feedback: smoke em if you got em.

Is this dance?

deer-modern-dance

A friend e-mailed me recently with this picture, and asked: is this dance?

Here was my response:

People say that qualities of architecture are dance-like. That buildings, and trees, can dance. Fires can dance. And yes, deer can dance. But the perfomative qualities which we might in a moment recognize in a building, a tree, or a fire are expected throughout any dance presentation.

Dance occurs all over. Where it occurs consistently, people buy tickets. : )

Thanks for sending that, CM.

Over on Bourgeon, there is a simmering conversation on ‘What is Dance?” You can see that here.

There are some good books addressing that question. Copland, et al…

Bit of an academic question, but wrestling the framework of art to the ground can help one appreciate what one sees. And, if you are a practitioner, coming up with more than a knee-jerk definition of what one does can help one get through the writer’s block that occasionally troubles us all.

In case you were wondering – anyone can publish on Bourgeon. I got that question recently. I’m gonna update the ‘About’ page on Bourgeon to bring more clarity there. The submission process is: you wanna write about your work, or something about dance, I’d love to help you share it with the readers.

A Banquet of Consequences

I wrote last night about the evolving economy…. what with the stimulus et al.  I’m bummed that this is eating massively into President Obama’s first hundred days. This is not a problem that is going to be solved in 100 days, but doing something about it (and that something will never be very effective, comprehensive or pleasing to everyone) has become the focus of his first days in office. The economy would be any responsible president’s #1 legislative priority. But given that the problem won’t be solved soon… I hope they can find a way to move on.

Re-reading what I wrote last night I am reminded that a) I sometimes sound like a total nutter, and b) sooner or later we sit down to a banquet of consequences. (That phrase isn’t mine, but I can’t remember whose it is.)

We benefited from being on the forefront of globalization for some time. Now the whole globe is catching up to the reality that efficiency only does so much. Global trade has fueled investment/development, and U.S. manufacturing has suffered. There is no silver bullet for this. We’ve won, and lost, at the same time. And it’s not just us. I saw on the news last night that Nissan is cutting several thousand jobs. This is not just about us.

I suggested in the last post that when the internal combustion engine comes around, the people who make carriages are gonna go down. I think there is a parallel there. Just that we’re the ones who got people into the engines, and now they – not just ‘we‘- are making em. Sooner or later we all sit down to a banquet of consequences.

I just found the quote, by the way: it’s Robert Louis Stevenson. And it would seem I am not the only one to find it applies to people eventually being tagged for the stupid things they do.