The Oddity of Normalcy
In the past week or so I have heard or read the following in response to things I've said and done:
"You are not normal."
"You need help."
"There is something very wrong with you."
"How in the hell does your mind work?"
"Nice tie." (Ok I just threw that last one in there, I was wearing a really nice tie that day.)
I can't deny any of the accusations. Thankfully they are usually followed by laughter or an "lol" but I think there is just a hint of fear behind the sentiments expressed. No, I am not normal. And I'm damn proud of that fact.
Let me give you a little context - I've begun an annual tradition whereby I write an ode to my friends on Facebook by altering the prose of the timelessly classic poem 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. While I do try to keep the generally Christmasy (it's a word, shut it) feel of the story, the lyrics are altered so that I can include as many names of my friends as I can, together with as many references as I can muster related to events, inside jokes, etc. This year I topped out at thirty-nine names. In my own head I like to think I was exceptionally witty this year. I would post the poem here, but for those not familiar with the people mentioned I fear it would simply appear to be a nonsensical mess.
I'm creative. I don't think that's being arrogant or self promoting. I am. Always have been. Add to the mix an hour commute each way to and from my day job and a splash of caffeine? Whoa nelly. (What is a nelly, anyway, and why are we always whoa-ing her/it? See? See what happens in this head of mine?)
Maybe there is something wrong with me, but as the saying goes if I'm wrong I don't want to be right. Most of the time this stuff just comes to me. Really. The whole 'Twas the Night ode to my friends took me all of an hour to write. My altering of the lyrics to Mistletoe and Holly to include bacon (long story, don't ask) took about ten minutes. When synapses in my brain fire, it's like a tiny little inferno of wtf in my skull. I don't even know where half of this stuff comes from sometimes, it just comes. Personally, I think it's frickin cool.
No, I am not normal. I have ideas. Even my ideas have ideas. The Energizer Bunny's got nothing on this mind of mine. I am just thankful that I have an outlet. If I couldn't write I'd probably be on the floor in the corner of my basement drooling on myself,writing on walls with crayons and eating chapstick. God forbid if I ever break any of my fingers. Then I'd have to turn to a dictation program or something, which wouldn't be good. (I tried that once, in the car, while writing the sequel to The Diligent. The line I spoke was "She fired her lasers." It came back with "She's mired in razors." I don't even know what that means.)
As long as I can create, I will. It's just a bonus that what I do makes you scratch your head and say "whah?" That means you're thinking about what I've written. And that's pretty darn cool.
Am I abnormal? Proudly. Do I need help? Define "help...." Is there something very wrong with me? Probably. How does my mind work? I haven't the foggiest idea. Do I have nice ties? Most assuredly I do. I really do.
"You are not normal."
"You need help."
"There is something very wrong with you."
"How in the hell does your mind work?"
"Nice tie." (Ok I just threw that last one in there, I was wearing a really nice tie that day.)
I can't deny any of the accusations. Thankfully they are usually followed by laughter or an "lol" but I think there is just a hint of fear behind the sentiments expressed. No, I am not normal. And I'm damn proud of that fact.
Let me give you a little context - I've begun an annual tradition whereby I write an ode to my friends on Facebook by altering the prose of the timelessly classic poem 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. While I do try to keep the generally Christmasy (it's a word, shut it) feel of the story, the lyrics are altered so that I can include as many names of my friends as I can, together with as many references as I can muster related to events, inside jokes, etc. This year I topped out at thirty-nine names. In my own head I like to think I was exceptionally witty this year. I would post the poem here, but for those not familiar with the people mentioned I fear it would simply appear to be a nonsensical mess.
I'm creative. I don't think that's being arrogant or self promoting. I am. Always have been. Add to the mix an hour commute each way to and from my day job and a splash of caffeine? Whoa nelly. (What is a nelly, anyway, and why are we always whoa-ing her/it? See? See what happens in this head of mine?)
Maybe there is something wrong with me, but as the saying goes if I'm wrong I don't want to be right. Most of the time this stuff just comes to me. Really. The whole 'Twas the Night ode to my friends took me all of an hour to write. My altering of the lyrics to Mistletoe and Holly to include bacon (long story, don't ask) took about ten minutes. When synapses in my brain fire, it's like a tiny little inferno of wtf in my skull. I don't even know where half of this stuff comes from sometimes, it just comes. Personally, I think it's frickin cool.
No, I am not normal. I have ideas. Even my ideas have ideas. The Energizer Bunny's got nothing on this mind of mine. I am just thankful that I have an outlet. If I couldn't write I'd probably be on the floor in the corner of my basement drooling on myself,writing on walls with crayons and eating chapstick. God forbid if I ever break any of my fingers. Then I'd have to turn to a dictation program or something, which wouldn't be good. (I tried that once, in the car, while writing the sequel to The Diligent. The line I spoke was "She fired her lasers." It came back with "She's mired in razors." I don't even know what that means.)
As long as I can create, I will. It's just a bonus that what I do makes you scratch your head and say "whah?" That means you're thinking about what I've written. And that's pretty darn cool.
Am I abnormal? Proudly. Do I need help? Define "help...." Is there something very wrong with me? Probably. How does my mind work? I haven't the foggiest idea. Do I have nice ties? Most assuredly I do. I really do.
Comments
Post a Comment