I feel that the last few weeks I’ve really been solely concentrating on posting about the sticks and stones that spell typical writing troubles and triumphs, but I don’t just write. That’s not all I do. I usually read a book, or truth be told, veg out on the couch watching TV when in need of a break. However, it seems in the last couple of months, I haven’t really been doing as much writing as I’d like compared to the breaks I’ve been taking. Nowadays, however, I’ve taken up the brush more so than the pen. And today, I’ve tried to be more productive with my breaks than normal.
I did a bit of reading on my phone. An eBook called ‘Faking it’ by Cora Carmack. This is the first book I’m reading by her, and have to say, it’s ok. But sometimes, even reading is a bit tiring, so I decided to literally get my hands dirty. I still have some paint under my nails.
I managed to work on this little beauty (pictured above)…though calling it little and beautiful at this stage is a bit of an exaggeration….okay, maybe a lot. It’s not very pretty, and it definitely doesn’t look like the image I have in my head, but the reason this unfinished painting is featuring in my blog post is simply for this reason: it is the visual representation of what writing is like for someone of words.
Lets face it, the image of a writer is somewhat glamorized and tarnished to be one of a tortured, lonely, eccentric odd fellow, who at most times can barely remember where they are, or who they are. You’d probably even imagine them wearing smocks and thick rimmed glasses, sitting in some sunshiny corner of a house, or a garden or a library scribbling away. All you see in front of them is a blank piece of paper that must be filled with terribly hurried handwriting (on my part anyway). Have I hit the spot yet?
NOW, let me show you what the eyes of a writer really sees.
Take a moment to look at the picture. You get an idea what it’s supposed to look like as the final product, right? Well, to a writer, the words they are writing is almost as visible, as colourful and as vibrant as that of pigments in a painting/picture. When I write, I don’t see that the page is simply filled with words upon words. What I see is a picture when I’m writing. I have a movie playing out in my head, filled with colours, characters, sounds, smell, warmth, touch. In fact, it’s the best way to watch a story, live in your head. As a reader, the story that plays out in your head as you read the books/stories/snippets we write were already recorded, edited and polished by us. Just as an artist starts out with the basic forms and takes their brush and paint to canvas, so do writers take their pen to the paper. Every time I’m writing, I am in fact painting a world where characters come alive and stumble and get back up. Where from time to time they need a little more body and a little more colour and vibrancy.
When we write, we don’t see the words, we see the image. What’s even better is that we can in fact see the entire big picture and the anticipation of how we can race towards the end is intoxicating. So by that premise, I’m not really a writer but a painter. Some days I take paint to canvas, but most days, my preferred medium is the pen and words. Either way, it’s all about the story, and we are simply the channel or the vessel through which some art and beauty find a place in the world, even if it is just our own little world.
I see: I paint: I write.