Early-Morning-Blues
When you are legging it at the crack of dawn to a class, all alone, you cannot help thoughts from flitting around in your head, making a buzzing sound until you are forced to listen to their nagging. I had read a couple of my blog entries (Narcissism?) last night before turning in and so my early morning thoughts were a continuation of that.
I have realised over the years that my writing is heavily influenced by the author I am reading at that period. During my early teenage years, I was a raving Wodehouse fanatic and my writings, when I read them now, are but very poor imitations of his humour. In fact, on reading some of my notebook (note, not a journal but a notebook where I doodle around) entries during those times, are exceedingly amusing. No not because of my superior sense of humour. Simply because, I thought then that I was producing masterpieces.
During my late teens, I was addicted to the inevitable Ayn Rand. And my writings were matter-of-fact, humourless, highly opinionated and compact. In fact it was a standing bet between my uncle and I as to whether he could correctly identify the author I was reading by intercepting my email writing style. My blog entries seem dogmatic, factual pieces. Almost like a biography, don't ya think? Is Ronald Clark haunting me? Not a pleasant feeling at all!
Did the awareness of the influences help me? No, would be the honest answer. I just cannot help being influenced. I sometimes wonder whether I would ever find that unique style of writing. I feel fettered. It is wearisome to be conscious of one's faults and not being able to do something about it. I wonder if it is the same with everyone. Or maybe I am just weak.
I outgrow my creations very soon.
I am not sure if 'outgrow' is the word. That is a positive thing. My writing makes me feel ashamed (especially when perused after an interval). I derive an almost sadistic pleasure by re-reading some of my pieces and feeling uncomfortable. I recall the emotions I experienced while writing and feel extraordinarily amused. Ya know, to mask that sinking feeling that it just doesn't mean a thing anymore. I really admire musicians and those rock stars. They create and re play their pieces over and over again.
Hark! I am not saying that I am a great creator like them. But even these few casually strung words do not give me the joy of creativity. And yet, I need to write! What strange contradictions. I am full of them. Omnium-Gatherum Of Antipodes. Another one of my vocabulary gimmicks.
Should creativity, in the purest sense, be devoid of influences?
I have realised over the years that my writing is heavily influenced by the author I am reading at that period. During my early teenage years, I was a raving Wodehouse fanatic and my writings, when I read them now, are but very poor imitations of his humour. In fact, on reading some of my notebook (note, not a journal but a notebook where I doodle around) entries during those times, are exceedingly amusing. No not because of my superior sense of humour. Simply because, I thought then that I was producing masterpieces.
During my late teens, I was addicted to the inevitable Ayn Rand. And my writings were matter-of-fact, humourless, highly opinionated and compact. In fact it was a standing bet between my uncle and I as to whether he could correctly identify the author I was reading by intercepting my email writing style. My blog entries seem dogmatic, factual pieces. Almost like a biography, don't ya think? Is Ronald Clark haunting me? Not a pleasant feeling at all!
Did the awareness of the influences help me? No, would be the honest answer. I just cannot help being influenced. I sometimes wonder whether I would ever find that unique style of writing. I feel fettered. It is wearisome to be conscious of one's faults and not being able to do something about it. I wonder if it is the same with everyone. Or maybe I am just weak.
I outgrow my creations very soon.
I am not sure if 'outgrow' is the word. That is a positive thing. My writing makes me feel ashamed (especially when perused after an interval). I derive an almost sadistic pleasure by re-reading some of my pieces and feeling uncomfortable. I recall the emotions I experienced while writing and feel extraordinarily amused. Ya know, to mask that sinking feeling that it just doesn't mean a thing anymore. I really admire musicians and those rock stars. They create and re play their pieces over and over again.
Hark! I am not saying that I am a great creator like them. But even these few casually strung words do not give me the joy of creativity. And yet, I need to write! What strange contradictions. I am full of them. Omnium-Gatherum Of Antipodes. Another one of my vocabulary gimmicks.
Should creativity, in the purest sense, be devoid of influences?
Meera @ 5:18 PM| permalink
2 Comments:
Hmm...This is quite revealing. Thinking about it though, your writing style is an obvious function of your influences.
I am in half a mind to accept that my attempts at humour are influenced by Wodehouse. But I guess they are just influenced by the British style of humour writing and not by Wodehouse per-se.
Just because one uses long winding descriptive sentences and allegories, it cannot be concluded that the writing is Wodehousean.
I think there is more to writing than just language. In the case of Wodehouse, it was the plot; Ayn Rand had a profound philosophy...
My My - why attach weariness to life? :)
Does the Sun think twice before lighting up the same places all over again - over and over ?
The joy is in shining, pouring forth.. not in post-mortem. THe moment of joy is but the moment and creation when it happens has served its only purpose - happening..surely with mixed emotions to view it with.
Analysis and comparisons (sadistic or not) are but attempts at satisfying the desire to ruminate, think, break the code, unentangle the knot. They are not the tools for enjoyment and must be kept aside with due respect :) (since they save the day in this mortal world) when understanding the joy/sorrow in creation.
Along with them, in the adjacent shelf, place all your questions on what creativity is - these are but more of the same- forceps analysing what we only know to do in an imperfect scientific gaze. Just meta-level of the previous category.
Go ahead and pour yours out - it is not for us 'liver's to judge since we only know to live :)
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