Creativity or Mental Illness?

For a few weeks now, I've been kicking around the idea of a short story based on the Beatles song, "Eleanor Rigby". Loosely based. It's been pinging around deep in my subconscious, spurred on, no doubt, by my continuous playing (since the day after Christmas) of The Beatles Love cd.

Yesterday afternoon, Eleanor, Father McKenzie and a few other people who decided they needed to be included, rose up from the depths to tell me in detail what their stories were.

Those are the days that find me sitting on the couch, staring blankly out the window, Jason constantly asking if I'm all right.

No, there are people talking to me in my head. They are shouting over each other and elbowing each other aside to get my attention. Some are lying to me, some are just trying to be listened to for once.

So, I listen. With a pad of paper on my lap and a pen in hand, I scribble down bits of what they tell me.

And when I think I can see the whole of all their parts, I will sit at the desk, stare at a blank Word Document screen for a moment, then begin to tell you the story they told me.

I only hope I can do it justice.


Thor sez: Does this mean you're going to forget to feed us again?

Photo by JAZ