Every time I write a post on this blog I am in awe with how productive I can be with words, well sometimes at least. I can bang those words out like there is no tomorrow and what comes out at the end of it is marvelous (or not! Whatever.). And every time I think, no, I convince myself that if I really want to, I can write a novel. Right about now, you can totally call me a narcissist and that’s okay.
What, too much? Let me start over.
The human mind is a gorgeous thing. It lets us gather, categorize, analyze and act on information the most efficient way known to man. However, when left to its own accord, it will wander off to oblivion like it’s nobody’s business. Well, in a meta way, it isn’t, but, that’s not the point. The point is that this little luxury that the mind indulges in often results in sparks of creativity the results of which we tend to love/adore/appreciate/envy - choose your word. Now, all that is swell; what I wish to explore is how big a fire these sparks ignite. Is it massive enough to burn down the boundaries/inhibitions - again choose your word - in a manner of speaking that is? Are the ideas productive enough to actualize into any noteworthy outcome in our choice of endeavor?
That’s right. I am going super meta on this one.
Chapter 1: The ridiculous idea
Let me honor the starting of this post and take novel-writing as Exhibit A. So, as I was saying, every time I write a post, I feel confident that if I am to morph the idea into a story, draw up the characters and tell the same story through their voices, their interactions, and events, I could totally do that and not a thing can stop me in my pursuit. (There is a reason why I named this section - the ‘ridiculous’ idea). Then as the next email comes in and asks for my immediate attention, I make that grumpy face and blame the world for not letting me do what I suddenly feel oh so empowered to do.
On some other occasion, when I look at a beautiful landscape photo, I think to myself - this is achievable. I know the location, the nit-picky EXIF details, I have the gear (well, sort of) - how difficult can it be? Turns out - very. Even if I stand at the exact spot and set up my camera the best way I know, that amazing shot still eludes me. Left with no perceived way to improve everything else, I blame the gear. It must be the bloody camera that’s holding me back.
Chapter 2: It’s the “ridiculous idea”
‘The little gray cells’ start to sing their national anthem at the minutest hint of tickle. Okay, I made up the national anthem part. Fine, I made up the tickle part too. But I think they are on to something here.
The momentary surge of perceived power beyond one’s presumed capabilities is what defines the unbound potential of the human mind and human being themselves. It is this perceived power that drives us to do magnificent things (or not! Whatever!). To find some examples I did some in-the-box thinking and googled for stories of artists’ inspirations. My conclusion from the unquestionably ‘scientific’ study is that sparks of inspiration have given as many artistic masterpieces as it has examples of failure - not necessarily a bad thing but failure nonetheless. Just like the results of my extra-curricular efforts. So, now, I blame the idea. It must be a ridiculous idea. Why else am I not able to achieve the results I am convinced I can? Eh!
Or is it? Well, it kind of is and, it will continue to live up to that adjective till I try to shape it otherwise.
Chapter 3: Bye bye “ridiculous idea”
What choices am I left with now that I have run into what seems like an insurmountable hurdle? I think the best course of action is to hold the idea by its collar, call it names and after performing some ridiculous Bollywood action sequence push it over the cliff - forever - all in slow motion while tragic music by Taher Shah (look him up on YouTube if you are feeling adventurous) plays in the background.
Just as easily the elixir of empowerment seduced the gullible mind into dreaming the potentially impossible, the apathetic mind conceded defeat upon the first encounter with resistance, leaving an embittered mind to grudgingly radiate accusations outward when the only criticism worth party comfortably sat within itself. At a time when only gritty resolve stood between me and the ultimate realization, the email, the gear, even the idea itself manifested as resistance and aided the premature demise of what could have been a magnificent outcome (or not! Whatever!). The fire that started with a sense of purpose which was to burn the boundaries down burnt it’s creator instead.
My point of all this philosophical mumbo jumbo is that I can scream all I want about how I can do blah and, blah, but that will be only as effective as my efforts to make the blah and blah happen. The idea of writing a book, in other words, ‘blah’, is noble but I guess not enough for me to stick to it for more than the whole 17 seconds.
See, I did that again. It must be the whole stupid idea, but, it’s never me. How can it be?
As usual, you can read the other part of this Duolog(ue) here.