Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Barcelona: Day 105 : Outside .

I don't know where this is originally quoted from, but it stuck out to me today. The quote is that "the artist must stand alone to observe a crowd." I semi consider myself a bit of a writer, simply by the quantity that I write and the fact that I do it so often. It's a great thing for me, and I really enjoy it. Writers, are, in a way, an artist of words, using them to paint a true picture for us to view in our heads. I'd like to consider myself good with words, knowledgeable in vocabulary and strong in being able to get my point across not only concisely but also in an artistic way. I've always wanted to write a book. But what does that really entail?

A topic. In my mind I think I'd like to write fiction. That seems like what I'd want to do -- to have artistic license to really take my story anywhere. At the same time though, I love writing about myself; about personal experiences and about things that happen to me in daily life. I mean, I write a blog, right? Duh.. that was probably obvious.

I would assume that whatever I write in fiction will feed off some of the experiences that I've had in my life, and that many of the characters in it will feed off of the qualities of some of my closest friends -- and fiercest enemies. Should these people read the book upon its publication, would they be offended? Flattered? A little of both? I don't know.

Being out in life and just being able to observe everything is a great way to start, I think. I'm just wondering that maybe sometimes I'm so caught up in wanting to do things that I miss out on that part. The people watching, and the sitting and just looking around. I like that sort of thing, and want to incorporate it more. Interactions, thoughts, facial expressions, everything is so delicate and can go so easily unnoticed. The seemingly trivial is pure gold to a writer. You get bits and pieces of people's lives, bits and pieces of things that they are going through -- times of joy, sorrow, happiness, content, hatred and hurt. What do the bits and pieces suggest? How can that be developed?

When I was younger I used to look up at planes in the sky and wonder where all those people were going, where the plane was headed, what brought all those people onto that plane. There is the guy who is going to visit a long lost love across the country; the mother going to visit her son who moved out a decade ago; the family on vacation for the week. Everyone has a different story. Now whenever I fly, I think about that same thing, and wonder if there is a young boy somewhere looking up at the plane that I'm in, wondering those same things. It makes the world seem so large, and so easy to get lost in.

I don't expect this book to come any time soon. Such a thing takes lots of time, lots of thought, and oh yes, lots of time again. I don't even really have an idea for any sort of story. I just know that I want it to happen at some point, and I trust that eventually the inspiration will be there for me. For now, I'm just going to soak up as much things in life that I can, and maybe someday they'll magically find their way from a thought process to print. Only time will tell!

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