By my fourth post, I feel I really should have touched on writing. Especially, considering I put in such effort to justify my motives for this lark.
I love description. This isn't any news. What I don't enjoy quite so much is dialogue. It doesn't help when you're as socially hushed as I tend to be. I am a Smiler; I sit to the side, smiling and nodding, letting others rattle off their stories. Only those who appreciate long-windedness get the privilege of my anecdotal goose chase. So when talking isn't a sport that comes naturally, it stands to reason that I should find creating fictional dialogue challenging.
However...
And, first, let me predict that I am not the only person to do this...
Earlier, I was stomping around, still bubbling over a fresh conflict, replaying the conversation in my head, analyzing tones and expressions. Then I realised that I was still arguing. Getting my word in edgewise was feeling good, and getting opinions off my chest felt even better. I won't go as far as to write exactly what I wanted to say for, probably, the same reason I could not bring myself to say it in the first place: too profound for words. Of course, this was all taking place in the asylum of my mind, which is mighty good as I'd be admitted to an actual asylum if they'd caught me acting it out in public.
But I seized the lines and practised them over, and over, until they were no more my insults, than an argument between characters. And then it escalated, and I was rebutting myself. Only, this wasn't me. It was the other character. And the exchange was no longer where my conflict had started from, but had become an explosion of imaginary dialogue.
I'll go back to stressing how thankful I am that this played out in only in thoughts. I just hope I didn't make the accompanying facial contortions. Now, that would have been a sight.
Tittles and Crosses [12271]
P.S. Mr Quinn would completely disagree with my acclamation to peace-keeping.
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