I don’t always explain my photographs here–they’re largely non-sequiturs, only faintly linked to the post at hand, even though if you think hard enough there’s always some sort of connection. I started posting photographs here only recently, to jazz things up, most simplistically…and as another venue for self-expression.
I guess you could say that the pictures themselves are a narrative, too.
And yes–you’re seeing correctly: I have two pictures of the red camellias, two posts in a row. I really like these camellias and their brilliance. Funny thing is, I didn’t really notice them before my stroke, and now I gravitate to them in my garden.
My photography has increased lately–I take pictures to help me remember events because my short term memory just sucks these days and I need all the memory help I can get. Additionally, my photography has become my primary artistic outlet these days as I wait for my fiction writing abilities to return.
Speaking of which, I tried writing fiction yesterday.
I had envisioned two short stories in my head–they were complete story arcs. Normally (aka “pre-stroke”), when I have a complete story arc in my head, I find the story just pours out of me onto the page, in one delicious fell swoop. This is what I had hoped would happen, given that the process was “feeling” the same.
In fact, this is the kind of feeling that is a precursor to some of my better written short stories.
In this case? Nope.
The stories that felt complete in my head appeared in halting sentences and a disjointed narrative. The words crept slowly onto the page as if they were coming out of a rusty old machine.
I was confused. Wasn’t there more to the story? Yes there was, and the words were stuck in my brain. I’d halt, and another part of the story would appear in my brain again, but not in the fluid “wholeness” that I used to work with. The story split in fragments inside my head.
Apparently, I’m confronting a new creative process, or at least waiting for my old creative process to return.
But–I still believe in the stories.
I haven’t even touched my novel-in-progress.