Whether it is based on actual data or has become personal folklore, my mind tells me that if I place too much hope on something coming true, it won’t. That a dream I’m dead sure will come to pass, shant.
The subconscious ones are no less in my control. Oh, I might know what inspired an appearance or a prop to appear. But my brain makes it’s own tracks and keeps the controls away from me.
my dreams are abstractions to me. I don’t follow the likely ones too close, well, perhaps better to say with no real seriousness.
The ones I live are the ones that will never happen. Whole conversations with people I will never meet. Ideas for dwellings in just the perfect place. The ones where the stars align just so.
Dreams are fickle things that I am still learning to dance with. They help the work day pass. They are snacks, not a full meal.
And I wonder if they should be more. Or that’s all I can manage.
A change to my outlook came because of the 7, through their music but not of their music.
A land of a city, a food, a moment in history.
The small box in my head that belonged to “South Korea”. All in black and white and flat.
Then I was shown color and movement.
Glimpses of history and culture, honored but brought into a present context.
The city of only a name, given a face.
Like any modern city, it’s a weekend dream.
And a weekday reality.
A place where three generations of a family (scheduled around vacations and late work days) react to the videos of their youngest member’s oppas, who sometimes visit her in her dreams.
Where a MV Director, Assistant Director, and Editor don’t let their knowledge of the biz get in the way of enjoying themselves.
I’ve liked music from groups outside the U.S. But they didn’t make me take baby steps with food from their countries, or neighboring ones. They didn’t make me want to learn their languages, their alphabets.
I could not have given you a reason how or why a change like this happened to me.
Cause it took 7 reasons. All wanting and happy to show you their homeland. To invite you to
There are worse things I could do, I know, but spending several hours each week plugged into my DVR definitely feels like a guilty pleasure.
My beau is my enabler. We’ve been watching together for a few years now, and have become self-educated aficionados on the art of the song choice, the correct way to do runs, and the fine balance that must be struck between a great vocal performance and mesmerizing stage presence. What keeps me watching the show is not, however, the display of technical vocal prowess or even the thrill of finding out who wins. What keeps me watching is the chance to witness the transformation of these young performers as they unfurl and stretch into being their own artists.
Writing is an alchemical process that transforms modest words into entire worlds. We begin with an amorphous idea and the ability to string words together in a way that taps into our senses and emotions. We weave a spell that evokes a sense of time and place and experience. Using only these humble tools, we build an alternate reality. We give life to the players on our stage and send them off into adventures of our own devising. If that is not magic, I don’t know what is.
Imagination and creativity are oft-cited ingredients in the story-crafting elixir, but there is another, less frequently cited ingredient that is at least (if not more) important: clarity.
Clarity is both your inspiration and your North Star.
Though you may not know it, it is often the spark that ignites your imagination. It is that bolt of lightning that…