No, no you can’t. There were times I should have seen the Edge but didn’t. Times, that if it was any more apparent, it would’ve jumped up like a rabbid racoon and bitten me in the face! So the obvious question: has the time come to define the Edge? Naah. I know what it is, I’m just not so sure I’ve got the writing chops to describe it adequately. Sorry. Don’t have a “wiki” definition handy. At least not today.
I can say this – the Edge is different for each of us. “…what?… I disagree“. Everyone’s been there. It’s just that you may not have been cognizant of it. Didn’t see the Edge for what it was. “…..yes, yes you do….it’s facing situations, times when a single decision or series of decisions has the potential to alter your life…” The Edge isn’t always a cliffhanging place, it isn’t necessarily an adrenaline-rush do or die place. It’s a place, a state of being that can appear as innocuous as banana pudding. Hey! Click this link: Pictimilitude and then ask Cyndi. I’ll bet american currency against round bakery products she can identify, then concur and finally, give you an example of her own Edge like experience(s).
Listen, I’m a bit out of sorts today. Not really feeling it, so let’s talk about the challenge of creative writing. Show of hands – who thinks single, unattached people have an easier time producing creative content? Do you think they/you have an advantage over their married/might as well be married counterparts? I’m thinking yes and no.
Um…you guys mind if I bitch-out a minute? For me, a clarklike female, I enjoy morning solitude. The pre-dawn kind especially. Only I don’t get much of it. By the time I’m telling my rogerian man that morning is my creative time of day and that his talking distracts me, it’s already too late. Some days I feel a tad guilty ‘cuz he has this endearing quality of waking up pleasant every day. And he wants to start sharing his day immediately. Who could ask for anything better, right?
Except on those rare days when my fingers start to itch, what creative streak I may have started brushing onto my screen is suddenly whisped away to nothing. An almost nothing blend of blahness. Where did those pleasing word formations go?! Then the stupid part of my brain (the one willing to compromise) suggests to my own damn self that maybe I should just get up in the middle of the night, say 3 am, and write then. It’ll be quiet then, right? Fuck that! It wouldn’t be the same. Wouldn’t be the same as my favorite time to write.
You get it don’t you? The thing about dawn. There’s something special about the time right after that first armstretch of light in the east. A brief moment that is neither night or morning. It’s a between time. If you’re like me, you occasionally spot an envelope of opportunity right before the sun breaches the horizon that is…. unique. You think “if I can just slip my finger under the lip of that envelope, pry it open ever so softly, carefully, there might be words inside that could find their way to my fingers so that each keystroke I took was imbued with the potential to release…. all sorts… of magic…”
….This morning was not one of those. At least I have the comfort of knowing creativity lurks on a horizon somewhere. Gonna go pack a bag. Later…..