I was about to begin
with, “remember when we were kids and loved to swing at the playground?” Then I remembered that some haven’t grown up
yet and the swing has as much attraction now as it did when we were six.
Anyway, remember when we loved to swing? That thick black plastic strip could
heat up to nuclear temperatures in summer, but that didn’t stop us, did it? Ok,
the heat made us think twice about the slide, but not the swing. The swing seat
could be flipped over and it would not burn our bottoms so bad. We could
tolerate hot swing seats on our butts, but not that summer sun-baked slide. Young
Elementary School teachers would run and scream for us to avoid the slide—but we
were too small to question the wisdom of the slide in the first place. How many
years of sliding did it take until slides became shorter and made of plastic
that gets no cooler in the summer sun? And then they put those bumps and ridges
in to slow the descent, causing our little ones to burn their buns on the way
down?
Anyway,
remember when we loved to swing? We would grab the chain, one in either hand,
give a little kick down in the rut carved out by other swingers and start
pumping our legs, leaning backward and forward, up and down, higher and higher.
Sure was fun then, or now, depending on whatever keeps a
kiddie state of mind in some . . . kids.
When it comes
to writing, I feel as if I am on a swing and the ride is not as pleasant as the
one in the playground when we were six. When I free write, the creative side of
my brain kicks in and the words flow; but, if there is a mistake, the other
side of my brain kicks in and makes the correction. This causes the technical side
to swing over, even override the creative side. I swing back and forth between
creative flow and the technical.
The fact that I
write this on a computer makes the ride worse. As much as I enjoy writing on
the computer, I also enjoy writing in notebooks but the reason I don’t write in
notebooks is that I like a final product. And my handwriting is atrocious. I
don’t like drafts. I should like them, but I don’t. Drafts are maps, showing “you
are here and this is where you need to go.” A final draft means “arrival” but
the journey has only begun. Computers tempt the transporter effect.
Writing on the
computer wreaks havoc on the creative side because of the auto editor, for one.
Sure I drop a typing error and backspace or misspell a word and have to correct
it but I try not to correct to keep the flow going (I am free writing this
now), keeping the creative tap open. I try to kill my inner editor, but by
inner editor like a zombie awakened by the auto editor eats at my brain, a
zombie that wants to swing. Words are underlined with red squiggles because the
programs dictionary does not recognize the word, not because the word is
misspelled. These optical clues send a distress call to my inner zombie
editor, causing it to moan and reach out for correction. Green squiggle lines
under phrases show me the sentences the computer program does not like. “Fix
this”. Too bad.
When I am finished,
I might go back and edit what I’ve written and will probably make a few changes.
Perhaps by the time you read this, I will have edited and you will never know
what was corrected or changed. That is what happens when the creative flow is shut
off and the other side of the brain kicks in. I can no longer be creative when
thinking technically. The ride is over.
Starting with a
warm up of free writing gets the flow going and is not to be shut off until
creativity is exhausted. Unlike the swing we can’t jump on the seat and just
sit there. Who were friends with kids who just sat on the swing? “Get off and
let me ride!” we screamed. Nor can we can’t say we are swinging when we kick
out and remain suspended in mid air. Sure, it would be downright weird if that
were to happen and might draw a crowd, but physics will not allow it.
I concede: the
fun of swinging is the ride back and forth. Perhaps when my writing get
stronger, I will enjoy the ride a little more between creativity and the technical
but right now, switching back and forth is too much like work to have much fun.
That zombie kid needs to go away. He’s creepy.
