The Critical Tipping Point: not quite there

When I go to write “my story” I always find a new place to start. It is as if the first sentences make a lasting impression and there is a need to reframe the parameters. As if that makes a difference. My writing a story is a selfish endeavour. I use it to clarify my thoughts using the skills of life and science that have taken a lifetime to learn. Seeing what is and interpreting signals, and then transmitting knowledge gained, is pretty much a futile enterprise. People learn what they need and want to know when they are ready.

Rote memorization of styles sometimes prepares the way, like a fire drill, but when on the front line, intentions are tested in subsequent action. At this stage in my life, the battlefield seems to be everywhere, and there is little time to think before acting. Expressing myself in creative ways,  reminds me of what it is that I am looking for: my own stamp of approval for a life well-lived.

Therein lies the problem. It is hard to be objective about oneself. Writing lets me expose my own perspectives to myself. I adjust them according to what I have read, experienced and imagined. I do the dance of the seven veils, and as I lift perceptions of imagination, fear and wishful thinking, new concerns appear.  

I can cast myself into a molded plastic character in a Noh drama wearing a mask that provides the associated emotions that inspire actions. Actions  define characters in a story. The tall, dark and handsome hero, the short, squat and steadfast sidekick, the lowly peasant server who has learned to translate the way of the regal dowager queen and other archetypes meld one into the other.

Sometimes I fear I am breaking the unwritten code of hermetism. I am revealing the magicians’ tricks. The enigmatic code demands information be withheld. Answers are to be elusive and discovered by the audience. A question is answered with another question that should create the mystery that hooks the audience and makes them eager to keep reading or watching.

I often use my archetypal characters, Golinda and Gallopatrot, to guide my writing. They represent what happens when instinct meets nature and nurture on neutral ground. The cold-blooded reptilian brain rules instinct and is integral to survival.  The reptile controls essential functions and is at the source of our brain, muscles and behaviour. Princess Golinda Asteroides is nurtured as a star seed within the coven of the sacred feminine within all genders. During times of friction, her response to uncertainty etches her character. She brings continuity and harmony through transformation when dealing with crippling crises. While riding on her great steed, her ebullient emotions find balance by trusting her instinct, even when blind. The base instinct of the reptilian brain usually thinks only of its own survival, however, the subconscious Gallopatrot would sacrifice his own life for superego Golinda.

If I get overwhelmed at the chapters upon chapters of drafts for my great opus I go to a bookstore. Upon seeing the thousands of books and the enormous list of books I want yet to read and reread in my lifetime, I feel my little fire, that burns bright, become dim in their light. I calm myself knowing I am only part of the nouvelle vague, the new wave of vague reality that is best seen in hindsight and described by various expressions of creativity.

I realize that I am striving to capture, in the unspoken words, what might resonate hope to others. They are not alone in seeking truth in the confusion of vast true and false information.

I think of authors whose style and insight have touched me, enlightened me and helped me see more objectively. They have gained notoriety. As I am writing my 247th story, with on average 7 readers per story, I wonder if my audience will grow. I often question if I should continue to pursue this fruitless amusement for my own pleasure, while the garden, my workouts, housekeeping, art, music and grandchildren, friends  and other interests could use these precious moments.

I admit to feeling that Vocal is a dangerous place to publish, with vultures ready to eat me alive- taking my ideas and rewriting my stories as their own- the predatory nature of some individuals who use AI and copy my work has held me back from letting loose..

Then, I remind myself that Vocal gives me a challenge, helps me do my stories up as best as I can, given my time and mental state, and provides me a space to present my work. In spite of all of the unresolved conflicts with the platform, and the evolution of my thoughts, I appreciate a number of Vocal authors, who encourage others to continue the regular practise of writing, saying that they  hit a critical point and then began to win. I will toss my hat into the ring. I might find the tipping point one day.