One

I found a journal I wrote in a creative writing class when I was sixteen. The first thing that caught me was the odd, loopy drawn-out handwriting I had. Black ink, though, always black ink. The second thing that struck me was what a weird, angst-ridden, observant and funny little creature I was. While everyone else was gathered at lunch, discussing which matching outfits they could wear the next day or which party they could become the most outrageously drunk at, I sat in a corner by a window with the sun streaming in, writing. I imagine I was glowering, too. I was a rather serious kid aside from the scathing humor. Of course, I thought everyone else was ridiculous. I was sixteen. All but a small handful, my parents definitely not included, were
ridiculous. Tension ran high in me as I eavesdropped --- "When I get married, I'm going to wake up at least an hour before my husband everyday, so he'll never see me without make-up." Or "Dude, I have so got the car for homecoming. Where can we get a keger?" This last question was not a problem for me, because my brother worked in a bar. Therefore, this person was ridiculous. I don't need to comment on eavesdrop number one. After a while, my journal became so sacred, I wrote it in code to keep my teacher (a ridiculous man I referred to as Mr. Asswipe) from being able to read it. I would then lovingly transcribe it into typed form and put it in a sacred binder, far away from the people who had earned my scorn. It was with my poetry and, therefore, safe from prying eyes. I had it all figured out.

I am very pleased to write that I no longer think that everyone is ridiculous. I worry about that kooky girl getting up so early every
morning, but I am not plagued by it. I am, usually, no longer angst-ridden. I'm still fairly observant and have a keen sense of the
hilarity that is life. I have very little figured out. And, I'm sure; I'd find myself ridiculous.

Two

Books. So many books, beckoning to be read. So many types of books to chose from. There are many books that are perfect for those seeking mere entertainment. There are many books available for those that desire to learn. There are a plethora of books with lots of pretty pictures for those not inclined to intellectual labor. I have a deep and abiding fondness for books that go beyond passing time or keeping my synapses firing. There are books out there that can play the delicate strings of the heart more sweetly than Isaac Stern plays his violin. There are books that make your fingers white; you hold them so tightly in fear. And, there are books that transcend time and space and speak to your soul. I have literally (pun intended) been left in awe by books and bemoaned the fact that if I read them again, I wouldn't experience that flush of discovery.

We all have our favorites that we try to read at least once a year. We all have classics we've always meant to read. But what can make you get in your car, drive to the bookstore, walk past thousands of other books, to put in your hands at the checkout a book by an author you've never read before? Did a friend badger you into it? Is it your girlfriends favorite book and if you don't read it, she'll be ticked? Did you read a savvy online review? Please, be honest, was it at the checkout and it looked interesting? Cool cover? Snazzy title? From the first perusal, what differentiates a book put back on the shelf from the purchased treasure? One of the best books I've ever read fell onto my head. Really. "The Flounder" by Gunter Grass, bounced off my head and into my hands as my eyes were glazing over in the fiction section. I would have never picked this book up. Well, a gun, large sums of cash or pure glibness can sway me, but, otherwise, highly unlikely. I was thirteen at the time and I still own this book, wrote an awful play based on it and have put it in the hands of many friends. I love this book. But I think, somehow, gravity rarely plays a part in most peoples book choices. Another of my favorites, Child of the Morning by Pauline George, I found on an airplane. Thank you, anonymous book donor. I read and reread that book until it fell apart. Books with a taboo can be very appealing. I remember sneaking "The Godfather" and "Helter Skelter" from my mom when I was eleven. Sorry, mom. I kept them, too. She procured for me my all time favorite for Christmas when I was ten. "King Arthur and His Knights of the Roundtable". She could become a rampaging, ax-wielding, rainbow wig-wearing guest on the Jerry Springer show and I would forgive her because she got me that book. Thanks, mom. And, thank you for reading to me every night when I was young. And, now that I'm slightly more mature, for sharing with me your favorites from a lifetime of reading. When I'm done with those, it's back to gravity, airplanes and eyes glazed in the fiction section. Sigh.

Three

Why do all my best ideas seem to happen when I'm in the shower? 'Tis a cruel twist of fate that by the time I've exited, toweled and troddled off to the keyboard, these ideas have become vague notions. By the time the computer is fired up it's a travesty. Creativity is a beast. When it's got a firm grip on me, I'm a beast. Mid-project, if anyone dares enter my domain, they will be met with a monosyllabic "Fine" and "Yep" at best, to the dangerous to behold unblinking stare. This look has been known to reduce grown men to tears, or, at the very least, deep sighs and head shaking. The beast is a fickle creature, prone to quick departures and late hours. If I'm painting or writing something BIG, I will forget to eat, get only the smallest of inclination of time passing from hearing the same cd play for the billionth time and move from the center of my cyclone of activity only to crash into instant sleep. Usually, the writing or painting invades my dreams and demands attention upon awakening to keep the illusive image alive. To answers the questions of those around on my mad dash to whatever project I'm heading towards, I am fine. I am sane. This will end. Please, please, don't take anything I do or say to heart until the project is over. The beast is an exacting taskmaster, and will take no quarter. And he likes to visit me in the shower.

Jennifer
9/29/02