Pep Talk

“Self.   SELF!”

My Right brain screams to the Left.

“I was going to beat around the bush and say that you’re stifling, but it’s time for a little tough love.   Left, you’re an idiot.   Listen, I know you’ve usually got a lot of control over this body and this invisible being that is the blog OriginalTitle.  Basically, you want to squash me at every moment with your stupid responsibility and your stupid analysis of this and that, not to mention your perpetual need to over-analyze, categorize and simplify.  I’m just not LIKE you.  That doesn’t mean we have to be best friends, but we need to coexist.  We are after all,  physically connected.

Right brain likes to speak through fortune cookies. Right and the Universe are best friends.

I’ve put up with your crap for long enough.  Remember when you were applying to college and you said, “Oh, you’re not good enough to be a writer, but you rock at this thing you detest called politics.  Why don’t you do that instead?  No, do that, it’s an order.”  Well,  I’ve stayed silent until the ‘opportune’ moment when you’ve finally run out of things to dissect before I start to ease myself in, open my eyes, feel,  and do without thinking.  Those moments are few and far between and I’m starting to itch a little, in fact, I may have a rash.

Right likes windows. Especially when they have a neat design. It’s the perfect medium in which to listlessly observe the world.

I know you think I’m pretty dumb.  Most of my talent lies in the realm of the subconscious and visual-spacial learning.  I understand you don’t think these skills are important, but they are critical…and part of critical thinking.  See, I create beauty where there is none.  In my eyes the mundane becomes amazing.  With my hands things are created.  Abstract problems are solved.

Right just really likes this picture. Luckily, Right unlike Left, doesn’t have to have a reason to show it. So, THERE!

But, you forget that we are a team.  We can do more if we work together, in fact we can’t survive without one another.  So, let me out every once and awhile.  Let me jump around your numbers and interrupt your work with a fabulous idea so that we can truly create something groundbreaking!  Remember that time at the Elephant House in Edinburgh?  You were so close to letting me free!  Remember that glorious rainy day at Oxford in the Provost’s garden?  I almost won that time.  Remember writing, like Jo, in the attic of your sorority house deep into the night?  Wasn’t that fun?  Can’t we go back to doing that?

Sometimes Right feel like the barnacle on the tennis ball that is Left brain. Clutching to Left’s tar-covered surface for dear life, desperately searching for subsistence in a wasteland. But Right is an EQUAL partner in this whole brain operation. It’s not fair.

Why are you still agonizing over the fact that you only got 4 views today on a blog where you don’t even post your best writing because it could possibly decrease the chance of it being published one day?

It doesn’t matter at all, zero.

Who care’s if any one reads OriginalTitle (don’t forget some people do! and comment!)?  Crunch that number and eat it.  It doesn’t matter.  How does that feel?  Freeing?  How does it feel to just write?  How does it feel to just do without thinking about the next steps?  It feels kind of like a drug, right?  Slightly euphoric perhaps?  Or do you not know the jargon of my right brain?

We’re in tight quarters here, Self, we have got to get along or we will kill each other and I’m pretty sure that that would mean OriginalTitle will self implode, or at least the body behind it will.

You’ve been ruining running OriginalTitle’s life since birth.  She’s done her duty, she’s been responsible, now let her finish a gosh darn novel so that she can go on her happy little writerly way.  Throw her a fricken bone, Left, I mean, REALLY!  Well actually,  I don’t mean to really throw her a bone.  I forget you’re actually quite literal.  Give her a break…no that won’t work either.  Ah, I’ve got it, shove off the planet for a week and let me create freely.  There we go.  Alright, Self.  Nice talk.”

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3 responses to “Pep Talk

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