A powerful force arrested him
And pushed him down the alley
Where he heard a clown
I must have been so fooled by the sight
Like a vision made me see a whole other world, behind the wall
It blew my senses
Then, I was lost in my thoughts
Intrigue surrounded me
And I slowly felt my myself submitting to the sounds
Of my heart beating
To the rhythm of another unusual sight
Then, I saw this man standing there, this awkward looking guy
I kept going back to hear his ditty
It was kind of magnetizing me
I could not resist
He was so uncool
Then he showed me how cool he was, just for a moment
I was curious and wanted more.
I am his editor
In the throes of life, an artist happens to be picturing something in their mind, and wishes to translate that to paper. It may have arrived ‘through the ceiling’ as it was; or in the other words it just popped into their mind. It could come from observation of the real world; a landscape, a person; a thing. But like a camera the artist has a snap shot in their mind of something they want to put onto canvas or in a novel.
Nebulous writing is without a plan, a shape, a design. Just write. With the thought in the back of the head: think about where this piece, this novel, this screenplay is going. Happens at some stage in a writing career. The fluid recording of thoughts, typed, or on paper, translated into something of a story, a piece, an article, a personal experience related, into a script of some important story. In the end, nebulous writing isn’t nebulous at all, for all writing must go somewhere. I used to be file away everything I wrote, but it became clutter and I discarded quite a bit of it, however I realize that if one is organized or systematic in their recording of thoughts, then any jotting, note, point, image, line, etc. can be furthered creatively into a work of art. Precious notes. Until one’s Magnum Opus Idea is revealed to one’s mind–the primitive, basic plot, the one idea that motivates every story one writes.
Dead end antennae all around, putting their feelers out. Need the influx of the genuine and real instead of the pound of the invertebrate.
Creativity thinks, aloud and in the quiet.