I remember the first time I saw Boy George perform on Top of the Pops and the debate on gender identity and sexuality it generated in 1980s Britain.
I remember the first time I went to London in the 1990s and saw a face of colour on the Tube. I had never seen one in person before.
I remember the first time I saw a dead body. Millennium day. On the street. Grey. Glass eyes staring.
For as long as I can remember, other people’s lives have fascinated me.
As life has progressed, any unfettered assumption I once held that everyone is as curious as I am about you has been completely blown out of the water.
A closet introvert, my natural state at a party would be the wallflower, although those who know me would probably be surprised at this admission.
Despite appearances, I much prefer to watch, listen and write than to talk or follow a tribe.
I guess all those years spent being ashamed and angry at myself around my shyness and anxiety has made me a pretty good actress.
I’m usually distant from your here and now, although hopefully it isn’t too obvious. I would hate it if it were.
I have discussed small observations that I find interesting about others with friends over the years and on occasion these conversations have been misunderstood as “bitching,” “being two faced,” “over-sensitivity,” and having way too much time on my hands.
I’m no saint, but most of the time my fascination at how other people are; why they do what they do; and how brass necked they can be, has manifested in excessively animated and in-depth analysis on my part after a few (arguably too many) glasses of wine.
Fuelled by passion, later filled with regret and fear.
The kind of thing the phrase “intense” was made for.
Now that I know that not everybody is an amateur social anthropologist, I only confide in the most like minded of my fellow bitches. Or write it down.
Here or elsewhere.
I’m afraid of being thought of as being creepy. Perhaps, I’m a little too interested.
I guess that I don’t really judge how I feel about a character on face value. That’s called being human. The more outlandish and ill-considered you are the better. The down right evil – the best. Your bad behaviour brings out the best in the creative me.
And sometimes, just sometimes, the worst people turn out to be the best.
I tend to use my own short-comings and missed opportunities as a benchmark and see how others compare in approach.
Too often, I’m troubled.
Then I rest easy knowing it could be a whole lot worse.
I’d say I’m pretty middle of the road on all fronts.
Sometimes I get frustrated that I’m not as brave as I could be.
Comparatively, that is (of course).
I’m mostly bored. There’s always room for improvement.
In the first book group I ever joined, one of the members confided in me that she had to work hard at enjoying reading because she had no imagination whatsoever. I couldn’t believe this, and challenged her on what I hoped was just a throw-away comment.
She challenged me back.
So, it turns out that some very cultured and literate people can’t visualise a world written in black and white.
I often wonder how common this is. I find a this pretty bleak thought.
But could anybody write well if they wanted to?
If they had a thousand hours of drive to think, analyse, write, edit, repeat?
I love to watch. I love to write. I love to read. I love to challenge. To shout without making a sound. I always have.
But I don’t think this guarantees being any good at it. Or getting results.
I’m in awe of many of you and your blogs, books, imagination, confidence.
Careers.
I want what you have one day.
This is why I write.
Glasgowdragonfly's Blog 
You write very well and that’s not a throw away compliment. I’m also surprised when people say they can’t write when it seems sometimes easier to visualize than vocalize one’s thoughts. Would have never imagined you to be a wallflower but then there is a certain solitude to writing. I’m glad you do. 🙂
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Thank you Maverick. You’re too kind!
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I can certainly identify with your interest. Ice always had a vivid imagination, been a keen reader and been creative (with art and writing) so I suspect that’s why I idly wonder about the stories of strangers. It’s a mix of social anthropology, psychology and observational skills but it’s mostly that I’m very imaginative and it’s definitely that I have a brain that can’t cope with being inert. At any time when I’m stuck in a context I find intellectually boring – a theme park queue, on the beach, at a conference – my eyes start to flit around and I start to imagine people’s lives. It’s a creative writing or artistic exercise in my head. It doesn’t really involve judgement or assumptions because I am always aware I am just making it up. It’s in no way that person’s reality. If other people think that’s bitchy then so be it. I can’t and won’t apologize for having a vivid imagination and nor should you.
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Hi Laura, I do that too. Invent lives. I can distinctly remember that first trip to London from Aberdeen and being amazed at the sheer volume and variety of people I saw on the Tube from the airport into central London. It was a different world. The: who are they, where have they been, where are they going can keep me going forever! I wish it were as easy to write it down as to imagine. But am thankful imagination is second nature to me as opposed to the lady I mentioned in the post. Without a vivid imagination, writing would be simply impossible. It seems strange to me that not everyone imagines and questions stuff constantly. Thanks for your thoughts & support x
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It actually boggles my mind that someone could have no imagination at all. Life must be so dull.
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I’m with you on finding people fascinating. I am forever imagining their inner worlds – and very rarely find anyone I can discuss them with without coming across as a complete loony! I’m sure it must be a writer thing… x
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It must be! I don’t know where I would be without my inherent *nosiness* thanks for reading!
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I’m a people watcher too. Often when out and about I’ll get distracted mid-conversation by someone doing something interesting. On the (all too rare) occasions I go out for meals with my husband I find myself captivated by the goings on at nearby tables – my brain just starts making up what might be going on and my husband gets all “What are you looking at? Oh, you’re doing that thing again… ” Poor him, eh? I do give him my attention sometimes, honest! I day dream far too much too and analyse people all the time – it makes life so much more interesting though. I think we’re lucky. Thanks for linking to #WhatImWriting
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Haha. Poor husbands. Absolutely with you in this! Thanks for reading! 😉
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Gosh, not being able to visualise the world you’re reading about. I would be lost without that. I people watch too, it drives my husband nuts as he thinks I’m just being overly nosy, but other people fascinate me. Their thoughts, their motivations. Maybe it is a writer thing 🙂 Lovely to find you on #whatimwriting
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Likewise! Yes. Those who don’t understand; don’t understand! 😉 thanks for reading!
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It’s good to be an observer. I reckon a lot of writers are. I see my middle daughter expressing a lot of empathy and realise that she is very like me. We can both sense other people’s feelings way before anyone else seems to notice.
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How interesting. It’s lovely that you can see this trait in your daughter. Almost like a magic power you have passed on in the genes! Thanks for reading 😉
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This was a really enjoyable read and sums up so many reasons for the creativity that writing can bring. My other half writes screen plays and I am sure that he views the world like this 🙂
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Thank you Victoria. You are spot on there! I would also LOVE to do screen plays but wouldn’t know where to start. How did your other half get into it?
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