Lil' Jon, My Novel, and the Creative Process

Back in kindergarten, I told my mom that, "There aren't enough sheets of manila paper in the whole world for all of my ideas!"  Two important thoughts arise from this: (1) my school was too cheap for construction paper and too far back in time for nice white copy paper, and (2) there are now more than enough pieces of manila paper in the world for my few-and-far-between ideas.

My parents gave me lots of artistic freedom as a kid, whether it was letting me draw on every paper surface, giving me "really good" crafting scissors in early elementary school (with which I cut the same pointer finger open in the same place and got the same stitches twice), and giving me the most advanced electronic publishing tools to be had on a 1987 home PC to create the Bear Facts newsletter (circulation: 2).  I ice skated, danced, tumbled, played piano, sang, made every possible genre of art, blew up multiple experiments, built things, studied things through my Fisher Price microscope, accessorized, theorized, and terrorized.  I was a free, creative, curious spirit, and my parents let nothing stand in my way.

I squished so many gross things into these slides, you guys...

Now, it's all I can do to choke out a blog post.  I used to have a whole creative process that made writing, art, studying, and - fine, still blowing things up - ritual.  Maybe I've skimped on the ritual?  Maybe I would stop staring idealess at the screen/notebook if I set the mood a little better?

I'd be willing to bet all successful creatives have a ritual for when they do their thing, and that's the root of the problem.  Like, can't you just imagine Lil' Jon sitting around in his fuzzy socks with a cuppa ginger tea twirling his gold chain absent-mindedly coming up with more lyrics like,

Shortie crunk - so fresh, so clean; 

'Can she f***?' - that question been harassing me.
In the mind, this bitch is fine -
I done came to the club about fifty-eleven times.

Or sitting cross-legged in one of the puffy chairs at Starbucks with a Pumpkin Spice Latte scrawling out lyrics in his moleskin notebook?

I've tried everything this month (and about three past Novembers) to produce a novel for National Novel Writing Month. I've got nothing.  Well, a title, but otherwise nothing.  Maybe I just need to get crunk.

The Matter of Who Matters

The Velveteen Rabbit completely f'ed up my worldview when I was 4.  Before having it read to me, I was pretty sure my each one of my stuffed animals was important and autonomous, but after hearing the story, I knew that those who were loved the most (all of them in my case, as not to discriminate) came alive at night and did important stuff.  I grew to have respect for them and treated them as creatures who mattered to me - and considering I sheltered, clothed, and snuggled them, I assume I mattered to them.

This is Teddy Vandersluis-Morgan.  He's my reminder from childhood that love should know no bounds, human or furry. You'll notice he's dressed to the nines because that's just the kind of teddy-bear-handler I am. Also, because he may come alive at night and need to be ready to party in the woods or catch salmon or whatever.  I don't judge him.  He's a grown bear.

Teddy Vandersluis-Morgan, Age 31

The love I invested in Teddy as a little girl comes back tenfold when I need a reminder of how simple love can be and how a hug can make you feel like you matter - that you're "real."  To quote the Skin Horse (gross name, right?) from The Velveteen Rabbit, 

"Real isn’t how you are made. . . .It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

I believe that you can love others into a state of mattering.  People suffer from loneliness and feelings of invisibility because they aren't noticed and loved into mattering.  Failure-to-thrive babies who get all of their physical needs met, but not love and hugs, are sad examples of this.  We all matter - person, animal, or teddy bear - and we all deserve to be loved into a great state of mattering.