What Inspires You?
I was looking through the posts on Amazon.com and I came across an individual who wanted to write a book. Except that this person really did not like to write. The reason this person did not like to write was because he/she was forced to as a kid. So my question was, “Why do you want to write a book?”. A reasonable question, I thought. I still don’t have an answer.
So I started thinking about why people write. What inspires a person to create a story? And more specifically, why do people write fantasy?
I can tell you why I write. It is a way for me to create. There is no finer thing in life than creation whether it is creating a life, building something, writing, or developing an organization, all of these things require an act of creation.
Of course the second best thing is destroying that we created. That can be quite satisfying, as well.
When I was a child, there was very little I had control over. I think the Fantasy genre provided a way for me to create a world that I could control. I was the master of what was or was not acceptable. I could mold the world in my own image. The real world was harsh, flawed, and made little sense to me.
As I have gotten older, the stories were not of an idealized world as I think it should be, but a reflection of the real world in a fantastical setting. The characters are very real and would be true no matter what setting they would find themselves in. But in the fantasy genre, you are able to bend the rules of the physical world and use that as a tool to tell the tale.
So what inspires you? Why do you read what you read? If you are a writer, why do you write? What is your act of creation?
Small Talk
I always joke that I have a one track multifaceted mind. I find almost everything interesting from one aspect or another. People are facinating. I never realized just how facinating until I moved to the Chicago Metro area.
I grew up in a rural community in Central Illinois. There isn’t much diversity there. Most people are of German descent. They are either farmers or factory workers for the most part. Everyone is very similar. If someone is different it stands out and not in a good way.
But in more urbanized settings, everyone is different. Different cultures, different backgrounds, different interests. There are worlds within worlds. I found myself imagining what their lives were like and what they saw.
My profession allowed me to have contact with a variety of people and in order to build rapport I would ask them about their lives. Ask the right question and most everyone is eager to tell their story. Sometimes I would get too much information. For example, one gentleman described in excrutiating detail his colonoscopy.
However, there were many times when I was riveted by the individual stories. Like the woman who worked at the Elgin Watch Factory, or the gentleman who owned a sailboat and described his trips out on Lake Michigan. Or how about the woman who lives on the North shore describing her latest cosmetic surgery procedure as I valiently tried not to stare. All the while I’m wondering what motivates a person to do such a thing and when did growing old graciously become such a horrible thing.
People are layered. They show what they want the world to see, but it is what I see underneath that interests me more. That is the person I want to know. But my quest to know the real person beneath the mask is sometimes met with rejection and even hostility.
I’ve never been able to master the art of small talk. I don’t have much patience with it, which is probably why I get the reactions I do. There is something tedious about discussing the weather. It usually ends up becoming a lesson in meteorology, an interest of mine. Because heaven forefend if I can have an ordinary conversation about on oncoming storm. I end up talking about CAPE, helicity, and the formation of supercells. So what should have been a simple conversation ends up with the other person wondering what I’m talking about, eyes glazed, stiffling a yawn, and resigned to the fact that there is no way they can contribute to the conversation.
Isn’t that what small talk is: The common ground, the lowest common denominator, a place where everyone can participate and no one has to reveal what lies behind the mask.
Occasionally, I find my conversational match. It is a rare treat to have a lively discussion about everything under the sun, and still have more to say.
Interesting.
I’m not an extrovert. I don’t talk just to hear myself talk. I like being productive with what I say. Perhaps that is why I don’t see that much value in small talk. Why waste words on the weather when there are so many more interesting things to say.
