Creativity And the “Illiteraries”

Before I launch into a new topic, I would like to spend a minute or two on an introduction.

Happy October!

I personally love October because it potentially means the temporary death of the oppressive heat. It also means that skeleton decorations become socially acceptable and that holiday season is in session. Anyway, I hope that all of you have a lovely October filled with all of the corresponding stereotypes.

Now the time has come to address the title. You may be thinking, “Why creativity, and what is that weird word after it?” Well, to have all of your questions answered, you must continue on this bizarre journey of words. Also, do not be afraid to skim because I will get to the “illiteraries” section shortly.

Creativity, yes. Many, many weeks ago, I struggled with this concept. Now, I know I have repeated this a ton of times, but I wanted to zero in on my growth as a writer and as an overall artist. Anyway, the way I worded that statement suggests that I had no association with creativity, which is false. I only neglected that crucial piece of myself.

Somewhere within one of my first blog posts, I suggested that artists needed to immerse themselves in an environment encouraging creative thinking. I typed that inspired by a tragic realization, but I had not yet witnessed its effect. But, wow, I eat and sleep and breathe creativity now. It has honestly consumed my entire existence. Yes, I used to squeeze as much figurative language as possible into my essays. And, yes, I used to let a hundred metaphors saturate my view of reality. But my creativity has recently escalated to dangerous levels, nearing the point of absurdity. Although this has not quite led to the emergence of an awe-inspiring poetic voice, I definitely notice the difference. To restate the point of this paragraph, my transition to this new environment acted as a catalyst; I did most of this to myself.

Oh, yes, the “illiteraries”, otherwise known as the dysfunctional family that has kind of enveloped me. After all, we have to become close anyway because of our discipline. We basically pour out our most inner selves to each other, presenting each vulnerable mess of thought and feeling in the form of paper and ink. We are also all addicted to coffee—some more than others, of course. But, anyway, they have encouraged my absurdity. Because of them I have named all of my plants, and my lamp now sports a birthday hat.

To conclude this post, I would like to restate my suggestion that artists should seek out environments that nurture creativity. Not only that, but I suggest that artists give in to their radical and ridiculous voice. All of you should name your plants and write poetry about lasagna.

Please.

Wednesday’s Fun Fact:

Spinning in a rolly chair at 0.55 mph shakes up inspiration. For more of an effect, I recommend consuming Cheez-It crackers while doing so.

Author: Callie Matthews

"I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right." - The Book Thief View all posts by Callie Matthews