When was I young, a wee little Irish lass running wild in the fields (although let's be honest--I rarely ran wild. There were bugs and stuff out in the grass), my mother took me in hand and forced culture on me. Forced it on me so strongly that I have carried the burning passion for it strongly for my 23 years, it's flame only growing (probably since I can't stop feeding it). Have you guessed yet? Yep. Star Trek.
You all know of my deep and abiding love for Star Trek. I've seen it all (except for the last two seasons of Enterprise, but really? That one sucked) more than once. I love it. Now, I've recently discovered that some of my friends think that Star Trek is the exception and that I mostly shun Sci-Fi. To these friends, I say just because you have a post-it-thin imagination doesn't mean the rest of us do. Who can resist imagining the future? Or, I should say, The Future.
The future! Awesome! I love it. I love it all. I love the robot-ruled futures, the alien-invaded futures, the once-upon-a-time futures, the clone-riddled futures, the genetically enhanced futures, the Dystopian depression futures, the Utopian Star Trek futures and any other future you can imagine in the mix. I cannot get enough of it all.
Correction: I can't get enough of it all in theory. The Dystopian futures get a little depressing. Sometimes I feel like standing up in the theater and yelling, "Give me a future without human enslavement just this once!" But I can't get enough of the cynicism, so my rants quickly melt to fascination and I watch, read, and find more. (As I write this, I'm eying my phone down. It's a little TOO smart, if you know what I mean.)
But again, that is why I love Star Trek so much because Star Trek hopes. It hopes that we can overcome the petty aspects of our natures and love unequivocally. It hopes that our technological developments expand and make our lives better. It hopes that we can find in ourselves the thirst for excellence. It hopes that we can perfect democracy and be an example to whatever cultures we encounter, be they hostile or benign. It hopes it can make us hope--and they have succeeded with me.
And don't bother posting that I'm a nerd, geek, or awesome. I already know.
To infinity . . . and beyond!
Showing posts with label imagination. Show all posts
Showing posts with label imagination. Show all posts
8.27.2010
5.02.2009
Imagine Your Imagination . . .
"Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine, and at last you create what you will." -George Bernard Shaw
Since I was a little girl, I have loved stories. I think my fascination derives from my mother's bedtime readings of such classics as The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, and Winnie the Witch. Our family bonded over the impossible worlds of star destroyers, warp power, and fantastical magic. Rather than telling us to grow up, my mom encouraged us to believe in things outside of ourselves.
And none of us have turned into violent serial killers or whatever.
The cynicism that arrives with each birthday has forced me to consider this world more. It's easy to start from scratch and make everything the way you want it to be in a magical land with clouds for pillows and skittles raining from the sky, but to find the good in what surrounds you and use that to imagine this world as something else . . . that takes some real imagination.
While in high school, I fell in love with literature. Not just with reading, but with the tortured artist and the wide-eyed idealist and the incurable cynic. Stories are found everywhere. Stories are found with no real effort. Pick up a newspaper or magaxine, turn on the tv, look out your window, walk past a conversation, enjoy a piece of art: these stories are found anywhere you look.
To take a story and develop it . . . to have an entire generation identify with your telling . . . to unveil meanings beyond the mere facts . . .. These skills are how literature sweeps me away by.
Before I was told that I probably wouldn't cut it, I wanted to be a writer. In fact, just the other day I found a letter I had written when iw as 14 to my 19-year-old self. I had sloppily inquired if I had yet published a series of fairy tale parodies I had been working on. While it is still a buried desire of mine to be a published author, I am not tempted by the prospect of publishing a much loved and much read popular book that holds no value beyond a mildly diverting story. (You know I'm talking about Twilight.) I don't want to be well-known or highly paid. I have my editing career ahead of me for that. As a writer, I want to change someone's life.
I want to help someone like me. I found my answers through literature. It helped me ground my beliefs to the reality around me, and it helped me to sympathize with others and consider individuality. My heroes are long dead writers, most of which as still not acknowledged as giants in their own time. However, their impact was on the small scale that keeps the world from imploding in on itself. I mean, if individuals aren't strong, what holds up those lofty ideals? Nothing.
And we individuals do what we can to keep the world on our shoulders.
The Poet: A Fragment
WHERE'S the Poet? show him! show him,
Muses nine! that I may know him!
'Tis the man who with a man
Is an equal, be he King,
Or poorest of the beggar-clan,
Or any other wondrous thing
A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato;
'Tis the man who with a bird,
Wren or Eagle, finds his way to
All its instincts; he hath heard
The Lion's roaring, and can tell
What his horny throat expresseth,
And to him the Tiger's yell
Comes articulate and presseth
On his ear like mother-tongue.
-John Keats
Maybe I'll post something original next time.
Since I was a little girl, I have loved stories. I think my fascination derives from my mother's bedtime readings of such classics as The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, and Winnie the Witch. Our family bonded over the impossible worlds of star destroyers, warp power, and fantastical magic. Rather than telling us to grow up, my mom encouraged us to believe in things outside of ourselves.
And none of us have turned into violent serial killers or whatever.
The cynicism that arrives with each birthday has forced me to consider this world more. It's easy to start from scratch and make everything the way you want it to be in a magical land with clouds for pillows and skittles raining from the sky, but to find the good in what surrounds you and use that to imagine this world as something else . . . that takes some real imagination.
While in high school, I fell in love with literature. Not just with reading, but with the tortured artist and the wide-eyed idealist and the incurable cynic. Stories are found everywhere. Stories are found with no real effort. Pick up a newspaper or magaxine, turn on the tv, look out your window, walk past a conversation, enjoy a piece of art: these stories are found anywhere you look.
To take a story and develop it . . . to have an entire generation identify with your telling . . . to unveil meanings beyond the mere facts . . .. These skills are how literature sweeps me away by.
Before I was told that I probably wouldn't cut it, I wanted to be a writer. In fact, just the other day I found a letter I had written when iw as 14 to my 19-year-old self. I had sloppily inquired if I had yet published a series of fairy tale parodies I had been working on. While it is still a buried desire of mine to be a published author, I am not tempted by the prospect of publishing a much loved and much read popular book that holds no value beyond a mildly diverting story. (You know I'm talking about Twilight.) I don't want to be well-known or highly paid. I have my editing career ahead of me for that. As a writer, I want to change someone's life.
I want to help someone like me. I found my answers through literature. It helped me ground my beliefs to the reality around me, and it helped me to sympathize with others and consider individuality. My heroes are long dead writers, most of which as still not acknowledged as giants in their own time. However, their impact was on the small scale that keeps the world from imploding in on itself. I mean, if individuals aren't strong, what holds up those lofty ideals? Nothing.
And we individuals do what we can to keep the world on our shoulders.
The Poet: A Fragment
WHERE'S the Poet? show him! show him,
Muses nine! that I may know him!
'Tis the man who with a man
Is an equal, be he King,
Or poorest of the beggar-clan,
Or any other wondrous thing
A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato;
'Tis the man who with a bird,
Wren or Eagle, finds his way to
All its instincts; he hath heard
The Lion's roaring, and can tell
What his horny throat expresseth,
And to him the Tiger's yell
Comes articulate and presseth
On his ear like mother-tongue.
-John Keats
Maybe I'll post something original next time.
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