The "C" Word

Yeah, that word—CREATIVITY. (What were you thinking?)

When I was a kid, I used to paint—little canvases or big ones, it didn't matter. Water color or acrylic. I had a sketchbook where I would go outside, sit somewhere interesting and let my graphite skip across the vellum; I did that into college, too. My grandmother used to get my sister and me small needlework kits or rugs to hook. I even crocheted for a time and did macramé. In camp, I did lanyards (gimp), among other artistic crafts. I also put together models, from Star Wars figures to cars. I later got into writing, late junior high and beyond.

Back then, I was creative in so many ways. I also had unlimited time and no responsibilities. With so many outlets for my ideas, I would just feel so good about myself that I was a multi-talented artist.

And now? I only write. And there's nothing wrong with that at all. I just wish I had time to do more creative things. Or, maybe my writing just takes the place of all those other media. Perhaps now, in lieu of painting with acrylics, I paint pictures in the mind of readers, using my language and syntax to do the same thing. The same could be said of sketching; now, my words skip through the mind of others where my graphite did that before. All that yarn and needlework? Yeah, the whole weaving metaphor comes to mind. Models, too.

Maybe, just maybe, all the other outlets for my creativity evolved into my use of words.

Do I miss all the others? Hell yes. But, I was a different person then. I was finding my way through a labyrinth with no string to guide me out. I'd have to fight against my own minotaur all by myself, and that creature symbolizes my inner demons and monsters: being the child of divorce, battling with my sexuality, having few friends, fighting with my stepfather, and the list could go on.

Creativity was, and maybe still is, my coping mechanism. All of the ways I communicated before took the place of my ability to tell people my thoughts and feelings—now, writing tells people pretty directly.

Am I good? Well, I certainly like what I write, but my readers will have to be the judge of that. I just know that, no matter what, I will continue to mold and shape and weave and sketch my words into something that makes me feel happy.

Word of advice? Be as creative as possible in whatever way you feel you can. And don't look back.