Ray-Bans
Want to read a funny story, one that is only about me? Probs not. If so, buckle up. A shooting star - creative space, hit me tonight. A block of writing found within my crazy ass day. The evening is a few degrees colder than sunset. Stars sprinkled over the night sky; mountain breezes brought old man winter into our valley struggling to find words for a current project that feels it will take a lifetime to finish at the pace I am writing; feels like racing the Indy 500. A memory pops up from many moon phases ago, staring into the darkness of my living room from a mentor who shared a vital nugget once stepping off on this writing expedition. It does not matter how the dirt gets moved. No matter the intensity or volume, the dirt is being moved, and that counts. Leaving the dirt to stagnate is a failure. Now, maybe his words were a bit less than explained, but that is what my ears swallowed, mind digested, and tied to life.
The writing world is like the hunger games; everyone must like you. Period. For the words to get consumed, you have to be a good human, but the idea of a good human seems far and fake. Made up. Much like creative fiction. A world of truths with twists and turns of the human psyche suppressed, but those who dare, courageous enough, to repeal into those depths are honorable. No left and right lateral limits, no rules of engagement in writing, war is not art. Art is not war. Art is love, much like the watercolor painting on my desk created from my heart with no judgment.
This writing phase has been demanding and very different from any free flow session that a story like this came from, blowing the brains out of my writer’s block finding the creativity to develop my character. The character roams inside my creative world wants to wear ray-bans, but I don’t know which ones to give him, like suiting up a character on grand theft auto. The man was rough and rugged, skin tone brown lacking protection from the sun with a black mustache. The ray-bans need to be golden framing, with black lens to help contrast the white tan cowboy hat he wears on top of his mix of salt and pepper hair slicked back tucked behind his ears.
The funny part of the story is about to come; bear with me, the pan is frying, and let’s keep cooking. His mustache with hairs of grey throughout covered the outline of his upper lip as if he had tiny spider legs crawling out of his pores. His skin hung like an old man pair of balls off his chin, a tan with brown border button-up shirt with two front pockets at chest level and his badge placed to the top of his left pocket, and a few mustard stained ribbons stacked above the right. Okay, that is enough; this has been fun. And thank you to my writing gods for the energy to build my character out, even more, for my future creative writing sessions.
Back to the funny story, think about it; this whole story was to get me to break my writers' block. The start of this entire story is to share my efforts of looking up ray-ban glasses on the internet, not for me but for my character to wear, having no clue what his facial features were. It made me chuckle, with two dozen chapters written and my protagonist was faceless this entire time, that is fucked up, my imagination at that moment of the rough draft had not explored such beautiful landscape of the creative field of writing, never exposed, never felt, till this phase, as it feels like the rough draft all over again. The number of words can equal a cross-country trip from the east coast to the west coast times infinity. But the expedition more than worth it and to laugh, love, a place like no other, a break in my writers' block fixed by a state of wonder; a new way to write; handing me a gift, a surge of life.
