Down to the River...
by Antonios Maltezos
I tried looking for inspiration in the most obvious places. I read the newspaper daily, paid special attention to those quirky little sidebar stories. They’ve been effective before in stirring the creative juices in me. I may have been inspired these last couple weeks, but I can’t be sure. The images were too fleeting, too speedy for my eyes to make a connection with my brain. Only time will tell, I suppose, if I’m to be blessed with any kind of delayed reaction. I did jot down a few titles that came to mind, though. Really cool titles like “Galapagos on the St. Lawrence”, but then I know nothing of the river beyond what flows beneath the Champlain Bridge, so I focused on the music I listen to when I write, everything from Rock to classical, hoping I’d get in the mood. I studied Johnny Cash’s tired old voice, pictured his vocal cords strung across my open hands, my splayed fingers, in a crisscross pattern until I was lost trying to follow the tremolo, neither here nor there. I listened to Van Morrison, Bach, Led Zeppelin, Taylor Hicks, even—none of them could move me. In the old days, before the weather turned, I would have gone outside. But the truth is—I haven’t even planted my tomatoes yet, though I was able to spread some topsoil and lay some sod before the rains came. Depending on who you speak to, it rained from eight to twelve days straight. I say ten, a good week and a half. However you look at it, I’ve been trapped within the confines of the same four walls since my last post, and I’m in a foul mood. Read my blog and you’ll see the progression from hopeful to damn it all to hell. I’m ashamed of my treatise on farting, but it’ll stay, for now, a constant reminder that I failed as a writer for two weeks in May of 2006. Blame it on the distractions… this blog, my blog, the weather, really cool titles that mean absolutely nothing. “Galapagos on the St. Lawrence” indeed! I probably should have spent the time reading up on Darwin.
I tried looking for inspiration in the most obvious places. I read the newspaper daily, paid special attention to those quirky little sidebar stories. They’ve been effective before in stirring the creative juices in me. I may have been inspired these last couple weeks, but I can’t be sure. The images were too fleeting, too speedy for my eyes to make a connection with my brain. Only time will tell, I suppose, if I’m to be blessed with any kind of delayed reaction. I did jot down a few titles that came to mind, though. Really cool titles like “Galapagos on the St. Lawrence”, but then I know nothing of the river beyond what flows beneath the Champlain Bridge, so I focused on the music I listen to when I write, everything from Rock to classical, hoping I’d get in the mood. I studied Johnny Cash’s tired old voice, pictured his vocal cords strung across my open hands, my splayed fingers, in a crisscross pattern until I was lost trying to follow the tremolo, neither here nor there. I listened to Van Morrison, Bach, Led Zeppelin, Taylor Hicks, even—none of them could move me. In the old days, before the weather turned, I would have gone outside. But the truth is—I haven’t even planted my tomatoes yet, though I was able to spread some topsoil and lay some sod before the rains came. Depending on who you speak to, it rained from eight to twelve days straight. I say ten, a good week and a half. However you look at it, I’ve been trapped within the confines of the same four walls since my last post, and I’m in a foul mood. Read my blog and you’ll see the progression from hopeful to damn it all to hell. I’m ashamed of my treatise on farting, but it’ll stay, for now, a constant reminder that I failed as a writer for two weeks in May of 2006. Blame it on the distractions… this blog, my blog, the weather, really cool titles that mean absolutely nothing. “Galapagos on the St. Lawrence” indeed! I probably should have spent the time reading up on Darwin.
posted by Antonios Maltezos | 9:59 am
5 Comments:
I hate that soggy, been raining for a long time feeling. And when I write when I feel like that, the sentences come out clammy. I crinkle my nose as I re-read. I think I would write better in a hot dry place. Phoenix?
Oh dear, we're in our second day of rain in Calgary today and it still feels refreshing. I hope it doesn't continue longer than necessary.
i go for the delay mechanism. so much happens in the underneath spaces of our brains. i write much better from a distance, when pieces seem to fall into some sort of recognizable pattern.
but 10 days of rain. that's just uncalled for!
Ten days of rain is awful, but try nearly two months of it, like in Vancouver this past winter. I couldn't so much as look at a drama for reading material. And as for writing? Forget it, all that came out was misery, and oh how that's been done to death.
Love what you did to Johnny's vocal chords in this piece, antonios.
Oh god..I sort of sunk into seasonal depression reading about the rain...it's horrific isn' it?? We had twenty-eight days of rain in I think, end of Jan/Feb..I thought I was going to die. Can you image how it would be to live up north?? I couldn't bare it either, entire days of sun and then darkness....I can totallly understand how this traps you....however...your post is amazing!!
Post a Comment
<< Home