I live in a country renown for participating in the Age of Discovery in Western Europe, Portugal. Traces of influences are found in and about my home city of Porto. Delightful building details, centuries in the making abound in a morning bus ride. Flashes of influences, cultures, peoples, appear out a bus window.
Much like a creative person’s life. Any success I achieve is found in a myriad of family, friends, books, teachers, and random encounters that create the fabric of my memory. Memories and extrapolations appear as sculptures in my past creativity, now in my writing. Where do ideas come from? An easier question is probably, where ideas don’t come from.
Inspiration is literally a rift on any and anything around me. Current ideas or influences become caught in the knurled, aged cobwebs of memories in my mind. Some transforming principle, melds ideas into my current medium of writing.
I can be alone in my pursuits in that not all share my sense of discovery within the dusty attics of their minds. Perhaps it’s a bit of insanity. The repurposing of life into a new story is what creative people try to do. If we touch on our shared humanity, our story may have meaning to others.
Much of post medieval Europe was content establishing a living in their immediate vicinity. Some rulers sought conquest. Some sought exploration. I settled in a country where my mind finds a kindred soul. There is a need to explore. The results are not mine; I only wish to seek an audience in the journey. I hope I retain a sense of wonder and discovery in my writing, because that is why I write.
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