Left Brain Right Brain Insane

I wish for a life where I can write and/or paint all day. This tree was a housewarming gift for a friend. It took me four hours and I'm pretty okay with how it turned out. 

I think all writers are artists and all artists are writers. Even if they don't know it, I believe it comes from the same side of the brain. The theory goes; left-brain people are more organized and systematic. Right-brain people are more creative and intuitive. I think art takes organization and is systematic so I don't understand this theory. To make a tree I have to stare at trees, absorb tree structure...then sketch it and outline it and on and on...

Writing is the same. Even if we start with random writing and just pushing forward without knowing where we're going to end up, writing -   good writing- has structure. It takes the systematic placement of elements in a story to create direction and plot for the story. Then we throw in all that creativity and we've got one best selling novel. (at least that's what I've heard. . . I haven't hit best seller yet.) 

So right brain, left brain doesn't make sense. I'm thinking those who invested the research into this theory might have missed something. But just to be sure...I'm going to go take the test. 

Below is the tree I painted Sunday for a friend. The right brain sketched it out, the left brain filled it in...wait, maybe that was left to sketch and right to fill...or ....

How to Write Degree

Writing is a learning process. As the world advances writing changes. With the Internet writing has changed a lot. How we write has changed, how we publish has changed, and how we publicize has change.

My college is now offering a degree in Creative Writing. Sounds like a dream. Could I really do something with that degree? Would all those ads for content writers and editors want that kind of writing degree or would they pass it over for an English or Journalism degree.

When I was young and they asked me what I wanted to be I said, "I want to be an artist." My mother, a depression baby, said, "No, artist make no money. You need a trade that makes money." Then I thought I'd go to college. My mom said, since I didn't know what I wanted to be I should figure that out first. (but I wanted to be an artist!) Friends were taking a dental assistant course. Since I couldn't become an artist, college was discouraged, I became a dental assistant. I hated it. I got married too young, had kids and life zipped by at the speed of light. Through the years I've been a dental assistant, waitress, bartender, retail manager, office manager, office clerk, admin assistant and the list goes on. I've sold my art and my writing on and off through the years between raising kids and random jobs. Now the kids are out of the house and I don't want to do another mind numbing job. So now I'm back in school taking English, Journalism, Creative Writing and not sure where I'm going with this stuff. Would a Creative Writing degree generate a good job?

This afternoon there's a seminar on what a Creative Writing degree can do for you. I'll let you know what they say. Should be interesting.

The picture is Hemingway's bathroom down in Key West. I don't know why I took that picture, but I took photos of everything in his house. Even his kitty graveyard.

Cubes, Writers, and Work

I fear the cube. I did it for a while, sat in the cube processing papers and managing nonsense for others.

And it ate my soul.

I know we need day jobs. I know the day job supports the real joy of our souls but I think it also works to stop the flow of creativity.

I think the brains of writers and artists are wired differently. These brains need space. They need room to breathe creativity in and out like most need oxygen.

Cubicles suck the creativity out of the brain. Its like the cube is a crushing box pushing and shoving the brain into a cramped square where no words can escape. No art can flow. It's where the voices in your head stop talking.

I have an interview tomorrow. I fear the outcome but not for the reasons most would think. Does this make me crazy?