Mistaken Identity

October 22, 2015October 22, 2015 / Lisa / 5 Comments

‘Mistaken Identity’ is the writing prompt of the day.

A friend posted a photo of us from back in the 1970s. In looking at it, I realized I have lived a life of mistaken identity. And not only lived it, but worked at making it a reality.

Once there was a writer in a cabin.

Have you ever done that? Had such a strong inner vision of something that the reality ceased to exist? Or that you never knew there was an alternate reality, maybe a reality you wouldn’t have believed in, or still don’t believe in?

Once there was a writer who hiked.

Do you look into your past and wonder at the things you knew were true, only to now realize that truth was something you created?

Or do you look back into your past and realize that truth can be pulled forth and carefully molded, fine-tuned into exactly the reality you want to carry along on the road of life?

No writer ever did this. Nope. Nosiree bub…

Maybe what we envision as self now, will some day prove to be yet another case of mistaken identity. Is that what personal growth is? Or is just that we continue to fool ourselves in new ways?

It’s possible I’ve been mistaken about my identity for all these years. But what is more likely is that there’s never been mistakes, just changes.

And now I challenge you to the writing prompt. What does ‘mistaken identity’ mean to you?

Rock Art

Memories

October 6, 2015 / Lisa / Leave a comment

Have you ever thought about how different each person’s memory of a certain event can be? A cousin of mine has been asking about all our uncles and it got me thinking.

I would see that often in my EMT/firefighter days when responding to calls. There, shock obviously played a huge part in how a person remembered events.

Then there are those moments when I’m telling a hilarious story and everyone is laughing while my husband sits there thinking ‘I don’t remember it happening that way…’. An author once talked about listening in on family conversations and thinking how more dramatic they would be if this person said that, and this person responded with this – and before long he’s telling that story as fact. Am I guilty of the same thing?

I think not.

No matter what the husband says.

Then there’s simply our interpretations. I have four siblings. We can be together talking about the same event (such as who put pennies in the fishbowl and killed all the fish) and each one of us will have a different memory, or a different interpretation. Even though we were all there and even though I was not the guilty party.

Obviously, what was important to me at the time is not necessarily what made an impression on the other people connected to the event and what they choose to remember.

My cousin remembers his father as having a bit of a temper. I remember him as one of the gentlest uncles.

My brother remembers being tortured listening to one song by the Bay City Rollers on a cross-country trip – the song being a scratchy cassette recording from a radio station. My sister and I remember that as a glorious, exciting road trip listening to the new release by the love of our lives and anticipating the upcoming concert.

My adult memories of our mother differ drastically from memories my siblings have. And their memories allow me to bring back the wonderful, caring memories of my mother when I was a child.

I remember snow six feet deep in the 1960s. My father remembered snow two feet deep at the same house during the same time period. I blame an alternate reality thing.

I’m curious why something sticks in one brain and not in another. I love the stories that come from those memories. I love seeing the person resurrected by memories – the other side, new insights, contrasting opinions. Enrichment of all.

And of course this can be used in writing, too, where you allow characters to have these different memories and opinions.

I remember…oh so many things. So many stories.

Writer’s Groups

September 29, 2015September 29, 2015 / Lisa / 1 Comment

I am feeling nostalgic for a former writer’s group I facilitated for over ten years. Missing that camaraderie and inspiration.

A friend who inspires for more than just writing.

Unfortunately, over the years the group became stagnant. A few writers marked progress, as defined by simply writing for some, publishing for others, and for a few, just showing up. But others talked about the same things after ten years that they did at the beginning. And some, I believe, were there simply for social interaction as they never talked about anything remotely connected to writing.

Social interaction with friends or forced labor?

In the end, worn down by the struggle to not allow a select few to ruin it for others, and having spectacularly failed in getting anyone to share facilitating, I ended the group.

I meet with one writer now and we accomplish a lot. Accomplishments include coffee and chocolate, lots of laughing, lots of talking about writing, kicking around ideas, critiquing each other’s work, and all the things that allow us to leave inspired. Everything a group should be.

At our last caffeine and sugar enhanced get together, we reminisced about the former group. I said how much I missed feeling excited to work afterwards.

I feel the urge to start another small group in a location closer to home for the selfish reason of missing that support, interaction, inspiration, and challenge from multiple writers. Then the roadblocks arise.

I already have work meetings four days a month.

I can’t make the monthly Sisters in Crime meeting now because of the long drive and dogs being cooped up too many hours.

Skywalker von Stowe (aka Luke)

To avoid past issues I’ll have to have rules of conduct and be prepared to enforce them.

Do I want all that again, for those moments of writing joy, not only for me, but for others? There are no writer’s groups in the area where I am. If I want to attend one, I have to create one.

Then of course there’s this – another evening taking up with a meeting equates to another evening not writing.

So where else can that much-needed interaction with writers come from? Online?

Where do you get your social interaction, your support and encouragement for art, the push to improve, the prod to stretch? If you attend a group, why? If you interact online, why? What makes the interaction work for you?

How do you balance providing all that for others and at the same time, not forgetting to provide for your own artistic health?

I would love to know.