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Title edit
Wild Mind
Description edit
Virginia Woolf says a woman needs a room of her own if she is to write. I say a woman needs money---the kind that is reliable and undeniably her own---and as little debt as she can manage without living like a pauper. I understand why J. California Cooper paid off all her bills, rented out her house and built an apartment over her own garage until her first novel was finished and sold. I also say that a woman needs to write whether there's a room to have or none at all.
I love my husband with a love I didn't think I could ever again eke out for a human being of male persuasion. Men are to me, at most times, odd creatures. Spouse is really my ACE, my number one cheerleader, bandleader and coach; the one who really goes to bat for me and keeps me writing when I honestly start considering careers in marine biology, archaeology, basket weaving -- anything besides writing. But for all of his support, the one thing he can't seem to muster is silence. That goes double for our children.
I realize they don't really understand my need for silence. And let's make a much needed distinction here: wanting silence and needing it are two different things. The former is what you just call "down time," "chill time," "time out," and "time to just veg." The latter, the "needing," is what occurs when you venture into anything remotely close to creativity. And let's take it a step further. Creativity, to my mind, means to create, to fashion "something" from "nothing." An idea weaved into a story; a fabric made into a dress; a string of beats made into a song; a mound of clay pressed into a sculpture. I don't know if it's because I'm getting older and crankier or if it's because I'm a creative person or if it's because there really is too much noise these days but I find that I crave---absolutely NEED---periods of silence. I'm a junkie for silence. I'll be the first to volunteer to "run to the store," just so I can drive along in silence. It seems that everywhere you go there's either music playing (not even MUZAC but the Hot 97 kind of music) or a t.v. tuned to CNN. Do people really want this much entertainment? (Let's face it, CNN is NOT the source for true investigative journalism. If you want to see me throw up and fall into a fit of convulsions, just tell me that "It's true! I saw it on CNN the other night.") Not to mention the noise from conversations on cell phones in the middle of the grocery store or the bank about results of pregnancy tests, recent vasectomies, rent that is due or overdue, lovers that left town, booties that were groped at the club, and the real kickers, the "Oh, did I tell you what Emily did? Oh she's soooo amazing and soooo awesome and sooooo brilliant because she, like, woke up today and like, opened her eyes and said Ga-ga! Can you believe it??? I think we better sign her up for gifted and talented advanced placement preschool or like, something."
