Samhain Publishing Ltd. Weblog

A Medical Anomaly

A recent trip to the doctor reminded me why I don’t like doctor’s visits. While it’s nothing personal against the medical profession I have found myself the subject of a medical anomaly on many an occasion.

All The World's A Book

Occasionally I like to take stock of myself. I like to reflect inwardly, list things I still want to work on, set goals, resolve conflicts that sort of thing. Upon one such reflection I noticed something rather odd about myself. I see the world as a book, a menagerie of books to be honest. Now upon further contemplation this really shouldn’t have come as a shock. After all I can’t count the number of times my sister would say to me “You speak as if you’re writing a book.” I hate to admit this but she had something. As a writer I have now noticed that I see the world as a collection of stories and characters. I see the character in people’s faces, the quirks that make them unique, the situations that brings turmoil.

Many endings to these live novellas aren’t happy. Some are funny and surprisingly some have been romantic. I am constantly looking at my surroundings taking
mental notes. When I am asked to recall a particular event, people are often amazed at the details I remember. This has led me to often be nominated to
tell stories of events that have happened. Inevitably it ends in me being corralled into telling the same story over and over again to fresh ears. My
nominators want to share the experience. I have just began to realize that by me looking at the world the way I do, I have become in essence, a narrator. I can’t help it. I see stories, characters, scenes conflicts all around me and I can’t help but try to take it all in so I can remember them later when I’m writing. I often wonder how odd this makes me. Do other writers suffer from this affliction? How can a writer turn off their creative brain? Does it turn off?

My inner reflections often end in me coming to terms with at least one conflict or goal. I have decided that if this quirk of mine makes me odd then so be it. I love
stories, in all its forms. So I have surmised that if all of the world is a book, I’ve still a lot of delightful catching up to do.