Gems Among the Ruins

Fiorella has been going through pages she wrote many, many years ago and these are a few of the gems she unearthed:

Sometimes nonsense is the only thing that makes sense.
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Children are not production models.
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Creativity is a turn of mind that cannot be taught or tested, and, by its very nature, is inimical to the classroom.
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I see what I see and say what I say
If you don't like it, go away
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Her teaching manifesto: Yes, I want my students to master  the subject matter, to write well, and to develop a love of literature, but I also want them to be better human beings for having been in my classes. They are the means by which I hope to change the world.

Here and There

Fiorella taught creative writing for two glorious semesters, but she got in trouble with the powers-that-be by not using a textbook because she believed--and still does--that textbook exercises and instructions are counter-productive when it comes to creativity. She wanted her students to draw inspiration from within themselves, not from textbooks.
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Has Fio ever told you that Husband is a second-generation birder, that his parents traveled all over the world to so his mother could add exotic birds to her list? That she was actually world-ranked at one time?
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As Fiorella has told you, she is now engaged in making her office livable, which means she's plowing through at least a ton of pages, books, and whatnots. Her old teaching stuff can go (although she's keeping the student evaluation accolades), but the books are mostly destined for donation to the Georgetown library, and the whatnots will be tossed or pawned off on friends and family. However, every precious page on which Fio has written an essay, poem, or story will be treasured forever.
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Fio was in a blue funk earlier in the day, frustrated by not being able to do anything about the school shootings, by the nonsense in DC, and by not being able to walk without pain because she'd been to the podiatrist the day before. Then, when she was at her lowest, Husband proposed driving over to Dairy Queen for dipped cones. Sonia Dog accompanied us (although she, of course, requested a Puppy Cup) and we all had a great time. Thanks, you, honey. Thank you, DQ.
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Fio has a hair appointment tomorrow with friend Deborah. Nothing like a stylist you've been going to for at least twenty-five years.

Revelations

Fiorella is the most creative creature on the face of the earth, and she's usually pretty self-secure about it too, but sometimes she needs someone to pat her on the head and say "good dog." Like about now, when she's desperate for someone to come over to the house, ignore the messes, and admire her Christmas decorations. AND SHE'S NOT GOING TO PACK AWAY SO MUCH AS A  STRING OF TINSEL UNTIL SHE GETS HER FILL OF OOHS AND AAHS!
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When it comes to keeping fires going, Fio is a great believer in rotten wood.
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An extensive analysis of the personalities of the hero and heroine are the basis of every romance your Fiorella writes. From then on, the characters make their own story.
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Strangely enough, Fio felt quite comfortable walking up the driveway to the mailbox yesterday when everyone else was complaining about the weather. Sure, the temperature was hovering at freezing, but the cold was still--no wind--and the sun was bright. Of course, Fio was clutching her mother's mink jacket around her, which also may have helped.
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Fio is gathering all the evidence on the dining room table in preparation for working on the taxes, one of her least popular chores, but it must be done. Luckily, she has a very nice CPA couple who tolerate her ignorance and stupidity. Thank you, Lisa and Blake.

Woman in Action

As those of you who follow Fio's alter ego on Facebook know, she doesn't hold back. Emotions boil up within her, and she spews out the words like a vocano blowing its top. But please note--those words are original. So is everything else Fio posts on Facebook and on this blog. It's always been that way. She writes her own accolades, poems, diatribes, and snide remarks. She writes her own books. She's even written a children's opera and composed songs. and in addtions, she paints and draws her own pictures, decorates her own house, and used to sew her own clothes (well, some of them). Yes, Fio is a driven woman, and sometimes it's hard for her to live with herself. But being who she is, it's even harder for her to NOT be herself.

So just pat her head, say "Good Doggie," and throw that woman a bone.

Five Personal Truths of a Writer

I used to think I was crazy, but it turned out that I'm a writer.

I'm on fire when I write my first draft, but as cold as ice when I revise. Creativity vs. analysis, my friends.

I have a pink lozenge I cut out of a post-it stuck to my "delete" key so I'll hit it and not the"insert" key.

I like red lights. They give me a moment to write down whatever golden words are seething in my brain.

Men's bodies look more naked when they have hair on them, which, I think, is the reason why cover models are lasered, razored, and waxed.  (If I ever met one, I'd ask him if his mother knows what he's doing for a living.)

Husband and Mother

Yes, always-innovative Fiorella has done it again.  To celebrate Husband's birthday, she cut two copies of P-A-R-T-Y out of her remaining stash of gold foil from Russell Stover, taped them to the bottom of the mantel, then taped a BD card between them.

The girl can't help it.  Her mother was like that too, although not as daring as Fio.  Whatever needed to be done, Mother figured out a way to do it, and she had an artistic eye too.  She made most of Fiorella's clothes, and Fio fondly remembers the Christmas dress embroidered around the neck and arms with red and green yarn.

Fio has long suspected that her mother had the same creative gene in her that Fio does, but it got smushed along the way, which made Mother determined that Fio have the opportunities she'd missed. Thus Baylor Children's Theater, oil painting classes, piano lessons--whatever Fio took an interest in.

Bless the memory of Mother.

Golden Greeting

Fiorella is the most creative person on the face of the earth.  Only she would take gold chocolate bar wrappers (which she had hoarded), cut alphabet letters out of them to spell  "HAPPY FATHER'S DAY," then tape the greeting, letter by letter, beneath the fireplace mantel.

Ta-da!

Creative Explosion

Fiorella is the most creative person in the world and her mother is to blame for encouraging her.  Of course, Mom tried to rein Fio in at a certain point, but it was too late.

The above is a prelude to the main story: Fiorella finished off her Christmas sonnet and the card design today, and, in five minutes, will be busting down the road to FedEx Kinko's, which, under one name or another, has been printing out her cards for too many years to count.  The poem is always the hardest part, with Fio revising it even when she's in her design phase, like today.  "Christmas Fire" is the title, and you can guess the topic.  But how to illustrate it?  Fio made a quick sketch of the family fireplace, but it looked stupid.  Then the lightning struck--that bolt of creativity that borders on insanity--use the fire, but cut it out of red paper and use it to border the poem!

Okay, the euphoria is fading and the insecurity is setting in.  Will people like Fio's cards, realize the treasure they have received?  Or will they toss the card in the waste basket and wonder why Fio doesn't go out and buy cards like everyone else.

Artistic Appreciation

Fiorella was born with The Eye.  She absorbs shapes and colors and designs and arrangements as naturally as she breathes, then spews out drawings and paintings and house plans and decorations. Fio, is delighted with each one of her creations, but long ago, she discovered that most people will glance at what she has done, pat her on the head, and go on about their business.

So it was a thrill to her when Husband looked at the cardboard bats Fiorella has taped to the windows and front door, then said, "I remember sitting on the couch next to you last year and watching you cut them out so quickly that I couldn't even follow the scissors. I don't know how you do it."

Fio is in love all over again.

Fiorella Arises

After decades of leaping out of bed at the first screech of an alarm clock, grabbing for the clothes she set out the night before, gobbling down her Shredded Wheat, and rushing out to her car, Fiorella enjoys the long, s-l-o-w awakenings.

Dawn peeks in the window.  Fiorella's dreams fade and her pop-up toaster brain flits freely from topic to topic, solving problems, playing with ideas,  composing clever sentences, like the first paragraph above, which she repeats to herself again and again so she won't forget. After a while and as it will, her body begins to move.  Eventually her arms stretch out, and finally her eyes open, and her body--not her brain--impels her to rise, arise, shine. 

Fiorellla wanders into the bathroom, picks up the pen that always awaits her, and scribbles down the fruit of her sub-conscious.  Her day has begun.

Born Outside the Box

It's official: Fiorella is insane. According to the latest in scientific research, people with an intense creative drive are on the schizophrenia spectrum.

But then, Fio always knew she was crazy, and Husband is inclined to remind her of the fact from time to time. Who else would insist on painting a house pale blue in the center of an ochre and brown neighborhood? Who else would eschew the usual straight line of bushes across the front for a boxwood curve down to the sidewalk? Who else, with no architectural training, would decide to design a house?

Home and family are the least of her sins. She also had no qualms about trying her hand at musical composition, writing playlets, and publishing a neighborhood newspaper. In her time, she also did portraits (all you have to do is paint what you see) and wrote a boatload of sonnets (if Shakespeare could do it, she could do it).

Her teaching was so creative it got her bounced out of her last job. She color-coded characters from Mid-Summer Night's Dream and sang Bottom's donkey song to her class in a way they'd never forget.

And you, dear reader, have been the beneficiaries of her many off-the-wall forays into philosophy, physics, anthropology, psychology, etc.

Sure, creativity means Fio's been depressed and down several times--but never out. Like Emily D., she lives in possibility, a fairer house than prose.

Fantasy

When Fiorella's mother made her clean up her room, Fio would pretend she was a French maid wearing a frilly apron and a cute little cap. Now, when she gathers kindling in the woods, she is an ancient Indian woman whose tribe has set up camp down by the creek. And every time she drives the freeway, she decides how she will allocate the lottery money she will surely win someday.

Fio lives in fantasy, a fairer house than prose.

Essence of Fiorella

Some people have muses. Fiorella has monsoons. Inspiration hits her like an unrelenting sledgehammer and she writes and writes and writes. One day the laptop is going to sling out strange new connections and attach itself to her navel, a new umbilical.

Nothing there is that is safe from me,
Nothing I hear or read or see--
I am a person of constant ideas,
Usually in overflow,
A veritable Vesuvius of the brain--
Beware, take care--watch out below!

Of course, once I've written everything down, I'll start the housework--whoops, too late, new idea coming down the chute.

Embracing Who She Is

Fiorella wasn't planning on a New Year's resolution this year, but one came rushing down on her of its own accord, like Vesuvius exploding. Yes, low bridge, everybody down--Fiorella is going to stop pretending to be normal and will just be herself.

The whole concept is frightening since Fio has spent most of her life trying to act like everyone else, although little pieces of her real self kept squeezing through her fingers like Silly Putty. It's hard to be different, but even harder to be different and pretend to be the same.

Ignoring what other people think and say and do
She'll spread her wings and to her own strange self be true.
Up up, and away!
It's a new day!