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April 05, 2004Huzzah for Horton the Hampster...
I zipped down to the local Starbucks late last night for a cup of liquid Muse. I have a ten-page playwriting assignment due tomorrow, and as of yesterday evening, I hadn't done jack. I had eight pages done by this afternoon, and then randomly ran into my playwriting professor when I was out this afternoon. He told me I needed between five and ten pages, so even though I've met my page requirement, I haven't followed the story arc of my mini-play to its conclusion. I've gone from having zero pages out of a required ten, to having eight pages out of a required ten, to having eight pages out of a required five. Next, I'll probably discover that it's not due until Thursday.
Anyhow, when I was at Starbucks last night, I took a moment to peruse the walls while they were making my drink. Somebody had posted work from one of the local elementary schools. One of the kindergartners had written the following in large, shaky letters underneath a scribbled blob of green, brown, and purple crayon:
I like my hampster.
It is a baby. It
is gray with a
black stripe. His
name is Horton.
Maybe it was the hour, or my own writer's block, or a moment of sappy childhood nostalgia, but I couldn't get over the simplicity--the beauty--of it. This kindergartner had written without fear of censure, and without editing her thoughts. The hamster didn't look much like a hamster. The drawing didn't even correspond to the colors listed in the description, for that matter. Still, this kindergarten assignment reminded me of the time in my life before I had come to second-guess my own words so severely.
Then again, the kindergartner’s words looked like they'd been written only with much concentration and labor--whereas I can touch-type about 90 words per minute. Maybe that's the trade-off. The older you get, the harder it is to come up with anything to say, but the easier it is to say it. By that logic, maybe the ideas will come easier when I'm old and arthritic. Or maybe that'll just be the senility talking...
Apropos of nothing, I came across the following two quotes yesterday:
There’s no thief like a bad book. – Italian proverb
I have never seen a greater monster or miracle than myself. - Montaigne (1533-1592)
Montaigne never saw the multicolored Horton, obviously...
Posted by patrick at April 5, 2004 04:19 PM
CommentsWhen I first read this it struck me in a way which took a couple weeks for me to understand.
A year from now that kindergardener might look up to see her poem and be proud of the fact someone liked it enough to put it on display. As for me, any writing I review after a year immediately illicits the thought that it is awful and needs immediate revision.
Thankfully your spark moves you forward despite your professed harsh second-guessmanship. My spark was so deadened that I changed the plugs and adjusted my course away from writing. I still do from write time-to-time, but my reders have always been and are likely to remain few, miscellaneous and silent.
Posted by: MadMonarchVoards at April 15, 2004 01:01 PM
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