ECHOES IN MY MIND

ECHOES IN MY MIND

He knew me … I think

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Even as a child, while my mother and grandmother encouraged me to write, I often wondered what made my brain work the way it did. There were many people my age that couldn’t put two words together and make them rhyme, and yet, I never had that problem.

Same with writing a story. The words always seemed to come to me easier than others in my age category. I know this because one of our high school teachers insisted on the class learn the art of writing prose and poetry. While I excelled, others did not and as a child, I couldn’t understand why they had so much trouble with that class.

As I grew into my teen years then early twenties, my writing never stopped but my focus did. Poetry became the subject I found more interesting. Challenging? Nope. I enjoyed every rhyme and rhythm of every line I wrote.

One day, in the late 1960’s, I received a letter from my mom along with a clipping from the newspaper she read each day. The article was written by Daily News Staff Write, Don Flynn and after reading it, finally understood what made me tick.

I laughed out loud which caused my sons to look at me as if I’d lost my mind, but I couldn’t help it. It was almost as if Mr. Flynn had found a way to read my mind, or maybe try to read it then quickly back out saying, “Oh hell no! No another one.”

Taking a chance there might be others around like me, I’ve written his article to share (yes, after all these years, I still have it pasted into one of my old journals).

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Here is Don Flynn wrote::

WACKOS HAVE WRITE STUFF

Many people long have suspected that writers, poets and other artists seem to live on the 13th floor of 10-story buildings, and now Psychology Today says poets do not just seem a little pixilated – they really are!

When Edgar Allen Poe write about The Raven, he likely had rea bats in his belfry, and when Dutch painter Vincent Van Gogh lopped off his ear in some artistic transport, he probably wasn’t wrapped too tightly, either.

According to the magazine, a 15-year study of 30 top writers who participated in the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop found that 43% had some degree of manic-depressive illness, compared with 10% of a control group. Almost all of the writers reported mood swings, including manic states.

And according to recent reports, said psychiatrist Nancy Andreasen of the University of Iowa College of Medicine, “The proportion of writers treated for mood disorders has increased to 80%, compared with 30% of the comparison group.”

It wasn’t necessarily because some vicious, wrong-headed critic savaged the writers, either. Apparently, just being a writer or poet means being dealt less than a full deck. Or maybe vice versa. People who don’t have boat oars in the water are more likely to see and hear things that others don’t and write them into visionary epics.

Just consider Dante writing his Inferno, with nine circles of basically disgusting vile torment. Is this the output of a Rotary Club booster?

Artists, particularly poets, are prone to madness, the report suggests. Manic-depressives are more creative than your well-balanced ciphers.

Hey, what do these sane people want, anyway – Dr. Seus ad the Edgar Guest?

(He ended with this thought: “This writer certainly understands the euphoria of a utopian or even a bestial vision, and if people think I sometimes inhabit the 14th planet of the solar system, so what? Stick it in your ear, you balanced neurotics!”)

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To dissect his article and try to make some sense from it, I would have to say that I have never considered myself to be manic depressed. Yes, I have my ups and downs, but don’t we all? How many of us anticipate some sort of euphoric outcome of a situation only to be disappointed? It can be depressing.

Am I prone to mood swings? Yes, for as long as I can remember. I can be a complete introvert or a crazy seventy-seven-year-old lady who find the desirable need to sing along with the music during my Zumba class. Yes, I know! Weird!

I can’t say I inherited Poe’s bats. I think they flew the coop a long time ago wondering where all those echoes are coming from. Must be all those crazy thoughts bouncing off each other. No wonder I have a slight ringing in my ears!

One day, my older son asked me a question, and as I began to answer, he interrupted me and said, “Mom, please don’t write me a story. I’m on my way to work and I really don’t have time to listen. Just quickly, Anthony (his son) fell and has a slight lump on his head. Should I take off work and get him to the hospital or do think he’s fine?”

I began to say, “Take off work, he might need an x-ray. Depending on ..” I never got to finish my sentence as he said, “Okay, Mom, thanks. I’m calling work right now and I’ll let you know how Anthony is once we’re back home.”

Hey, what can I say? My son knows how my thoughts work. Once they begin bouncing, they forget to stop.

Oh, yeah, Anthony was fine. No concussion, not even a slight one. What can I say? He’s a klutz, like his grandma (me)!