Author's Note: Okay, this is probably one of the most random things I've ever written, but I will kindly ask you all cut me some slack. As some of my readers may or may not have noticed, I haven't been all that active lately. Now during finals was one thing, but during summer break . . . I guess one can say I've been trying to get my life in order. Now I don't mean my life is a big mess, but after weeks spent with very limited free time, I've found that I have trouble functioning under too much free time. So much of me feels the need to be active in the real world, yet most of that time is spent trying to find something to do when there's nothing. I've been neglectful, but I want to change that.
For two weeks now all I have thought was "Ray, write something. You're ignoring your readers, you horrible person." Yet for some reason, that motivation wasn't there. Until today. Story behind it aside, a seven-year-old told me something along the lines of "I outgrew my imagination." I don't know about you guys, but I think that's pretty darn depressing. Now think about how I felt when I realized I was treating my imagination like something I outgrew. Yeah, I spent most of today feeling like trash.
So that's where this random one-shot comes in. Imagination and creativity are two very important things in my life, but only in appropriate doses. Too little and you're (or at least I was) pretty miserable with life, and too much . . . Well, you will find out if you read the actual story. Rin-Chan may be speaking, but it's all based on my own experiences with the creative need consuming me. :)
And in case you're not one of my regular readers and just decided to take a look at this, sorry if I intimidated you. My fanfics don't generally have back stories and motivational statements attached to them. This was a one time thing. Hope I didn't scare you away. ^^
-Ray
You probably won't be believe me, but being imaginative and creative isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Sure, most people are blown away by what I can do with a pen and a blank sheet of copy paper. To them, I'm a talented, beautiful young lady. However, the truth is my "talent" is more of a curse.
Don't get me wrong. I love being the possessor of a vivid imagination and the ability to bring something that once resided in my head to life. There's no greater sense of accomplishment than covering a blank sheet with strokes and jots of graphite - because it's wrong to call it pencil lead when it isn't even lead at all - to form an image that previously was only visible to me. Writing out my emotions in the form of verse awes me every time I read over what I wrote in times of great distress or joy. Not to mention turning my imaginary friends into well rounded characters with complex lives to live never ceases to make my days as I picture them living in my made up world and consider the choices they make and what strives them to make said choices.
Yet at the same time, I hate all of the above.
To create something out of nothing is the soul's deepest longing. More than peace, more than belonging, and even more than love does the desire to create exist. Even worse is when you are born somebody who has it in himself to imagine people who don't exist and whole new worlds with only a moment's spent in solitude, like me.
I envy Len, my twin brother. He's creative too, but not on the same levels as I am. He can spend about an hour or two, half a day if it's one of those days, expressing his creativity in the form of scribbling song lyrics and fiddling with musical notes. He's an amazing song writer, and his singing voice surpasses even that talent. Regardless, he's not as swallowed up by his need to create as I am. Drawing a straight line is beyond him, and even after the mountains of books he's read, Len can't create his own story world and characters to live in it to save his life. I don't read much, but yet I can't stop writing novels inside my head!
The point I'm trying to make is, being creative is something that, if not well maintained, can and will consume you. Creativity is a monster that wants more and more, leaving frustration over the thought that, even if you live to be the ripe age of one-hundred-and-twenty, you will never be able to share all your imagination ideas to the world.
It's crazy, really. Inside of me is this burning need to create, but most of the time I don't know what it is I want to bring to life. Should I paint the beautiful scenery I saw in a dream a number of nights ago? Or should I pen a short story inspired by something I learned in class last week? Sometimes I'll get three ideas at once of what I want to do, but I'm incapable of doing all three at once. How the heck am I supposed to choose?! If I pick one, another will seem more interesting; but if I follow after the second one, the third suddenly seems more appealing. It's a never ending circle of wanting to do one but failing to stick with it until the end because I can't focus properly.
The only thing worse than that is wanting to create but not having an inkling of an idea what to do. With the above you will eventually pick something, but this problem leaves you wanting to exercise your creative juices yet having nowhere to exert it. You feel empty and dry, unsure what to do. Suddenly you feel like the biggest waste of space in the entire universe. "What am I even doing with my life?" you may ask yourself. I should know; I have asked myself that question more times than I care to admit. I have a theory claiming that being creative is related to depression. If you're unable to use your imagination, you feel sad for no reason other than not creating. It's almost as if your soul needs to expand itself, yet it's trapped inside a really tiny glass jar. When you don't fulfill your creative desires, you feel empty, dry, unaccomplished with life, sad, and trapped - I'm no doctor, but that sounds awfully similar to depression to me.
Being creative is also its own form of bipolar. When I get an idea, I will swear to you it's the best idea ever. Seriously, all I want to do is tell everyone I pass this idea, be it an idea for a picture, story, or song. Heck, I even talk about these same ideas with the biggest smile you've ever seen on my face, even if the idea itself is anything but happy. Creating it is better, and that'd mainly because I'm creatingsomething. I feel so alive and in control during this process. This is the best part.
Next is the initial finish of the rough draft. Again, I will swear to you it's the best thing ever. Nonetheless, I usually put the work aside for the night to give myself a break. Not because I'm out of creation steam, but because if I continue on with my weary state, I will be blind to my flaws.
When I return a day or two later, I'm a bit more critical. I take a step back and examine my work with a new eye, and it's not hard for me to straighten out all the rough places. I'm still happy that I point at my work and honestly say "I made this", but suddenly the thought of showing others leaves me somewhat embarrassed. I mean, letting someone see what you draw or write is like showing them your butt, and I'm not the biggest fan of butt showing.
After I finish the work, pleased as can be, I put it away and forget about it for some time. Then I rediscover it months later and am suddenly the most suicidal person on Earth. All I can think is "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GARBAGE?! DID I SERIOUSLY THINK THIS WAS GOOD?!" and then once I calm down my attitude shifts to "If anyone needs me, I'm going to be hanging myself." Personally I think that's the biggest problem with being creative: Our constant work sharpens our skills so much that we don't realize it until we see what we were like only weeks before and discover just how much we've improved. The things we created are indeed good, but our skills at the time fail to live up to what we had imagined. This actually wouldn't be a bad thing if we noted how much better we are now than agonize over how bad we were then.
Now that I think about it, maybe this is the mortal's punishment for our desire to create. Only God can make something out of nothing, but humans like myself are trying to do the same thing. Either we fail or eventually are no longer satisfied but what it is we created. We try to become God, and I think you can imagine how playing God always ends. We are setting ourselves up for all this negatively, yet we can't fight what it is that eventually puts us in this bad state!
That, my friend, is why creativity is a curse. I love being creative, but at the same time I hate it. I hate it because I love it so much! Next time you compliment someone for their "talent" and their "ability to create something with nothing", keep in mind that these people are cursed and should not be treated as wonders. Really, you don't want to get on our bad side. We are unstable!
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The turquoise blue eyes blinked once, the owner's lips gaping at the blonde girl before her. Rin, the name the same blonde girl introduced herself as, was staring intently at Miku as if the other girl was preparing to question her in any shape or form. Her cerulean eyes narrowed, as if asking Miku, "Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong. You're probably in better control of your life than I am, but you probably don't possess half as much imagination and creativity as I do."
Swallowing and slowly backing away from the park bench in which Rin sat, Miku held up her hands and said cautiously, as if speaking to a dangerous animal, "I'm sorry. I only noticed that sketch under your pencil as I was jogging by and thought I'd comment on the imagination and creative skill it takes to bring something like that to life. I didn't mean to offend you."
"Don't listen to her," Len, the boy sitting next to Rin, suddenly said. Miku didn't even know he was listening; he spent his sister's whole outburst with headphones on and one of his books in front of his face. "She found one of her old poems this morning and has been in her I-hate-the-whole-freaking-world episode all day. I dragged her out of the house because I thought fresh air would do her good, but I failed to think of the poor civilians she would explode on if they so much as looked at her. I'm sorry about that."
Miku shifted uneasily where she stood. "That's . . . okay?" she said, unsure of her own words. "I'll . . . just be going now. . . . Have a nice day!" With that the turquoise haired girl ran off, moving faster than she did when she first jogged past the twins.
After a moment Rin finally said, "She's nice."
"And cute, too," Len added, looking up from his book in order to stare at Miku's retreating figure. "Do you think if I caught up with her I could get her number?"
"Nah," Rin snorted. "A sporty girl like that wouldn't go for a bookworm like you. One look at her sculpted arms and you know she does push-ups, unlike someone I known"
Len snorted back but said nothing. Finally, "Rin, if you keep acting crazy, you will eventually scare everybody away."
"Didn't you hear me a minute ago?" Rin playfully rolled her eyes. "Imagination, creativity, and all that follow give birth to insanity. Trust me, I'm not acting."