I make stuff up (am I Creative?)

Yes, it’s true. I really do make stuff up. I string words together to enhance my story; hyperbole. The stuff I make up is often quite believable by the general public, so much so that I can sometimes build upon the intitial stuff I made up by adding more made up stuff.

Isn’t that what creatives are supposed to do? I’m pretty sure it is, what I’m a little unclear about is whether or not I’m a creative. Creative: adjective, relating to or involving the imagination or original ideas, especially in the production of an artistic work. I consider my hyperbole to be artistic work. Some might disagree, my wife for example, “You’re full of it,” she’ll say upon hearing some of my made up stuff.

I don’t see myself as a creative type, but I suppose I could be one. I wrote an original song that my band plays at gigs, and I’m working on a couple more. I wrote a bunch of original gardening articles for a newspaper and put them in a book, it’s full of original ideas for gardeners.

I’m doing something relating to or involving my imagination just about all the time. But the sparks seem to really fly whenever I’m playing or listening to music, or outdoors with camera in hand. Music and photography; I use them both to produce my artistic works, with a little hyperbole tossed in for good measure. I guess you could say I’m full of it, so perhaps I am a Creative. I’d wager that all Creatives are full of it.

It’s actually not all that bad to be full of it, but you should also know how to make stuff up so that folks can see that you are a true Creative. And don’t forget the creative use of hyperbole, it plays well with your imagination.

I didn’t create the subject, but I did create the composition

Nothing to say

Well, maybe I have a little something to say. After all, spring has sprung here in our neck of the woods and although it might not feel like it just yet, I know warmer weather is just around the corner!

These northeast winters didn’t used to bother me as much when I was in my 30s and 40s. But when I hit 50 the cold and snow began a vicious attack on my well being, physically and mentally. I’ve mentioned selling the farm (i.e. six acres) and moving to a warmer clime, but it hasn’t went over very well, yet.

I used to think moving back home to Kentucky would be nice. But Old Man Winter visits that state too, and I’m beginning to think that in order to get out of his reach I’ll have to relocate further south, much further south.

I still call Kentucky home, but I’ve actually lived here in Pennsylvania longer. I guess it must have something to do with the state you were born in rather than the length of time you lived there. Pennsylvania has never felt like home to me because it’s not where I was rooted.

Folks will often combine the two states and it becomes Pennsyltucky. I cringe when I hear it. The only thing the two states have in common is they’re both commonwealths. Maybe one other thing – pretty countryside, in places. I think Kentucky’s hills have more of a pronounced “roll” to them, whereas Pennsylvania’s are higher and steeper.

I haven’t read Thomas Wolfe’s novel You Can’t Go Home Again but I probably won’t let what that title means convince me that it’s true. I’ll return to my past in Kentucky one of these days and we’ll have a long talk about the rest of my future.

Here’s an old Kentucky photo of my father and his band. That’s him on the left, standing with his guitar.