If you want to know my secrets—those deep dark bits of information that I dare not share with family or friends, whisper to my ever faithful dog, or even scribble passionately in my padlocked dairy—if you really want to know any of those fascinating details, no monstrous torture device, psychological tricks, or tickle session is necessary. I will spill my guts to the world, with ease and explicitness, as long as you will promise to keep the dentist drill far, very far away from me.
I’m not sure what it is about the high-pitched squeal of the vicious tool’s ferocious bite that instantly pins me to the chair, making me break out into a sweat like a guilt-ridden man after fourteen uninterrupted hours of interrogation. Well, yes, I do know what it is: The crystal-shattering note activates my Pavlovian response to the knowledge that this device can eat away the bone in my mouth. I mean, what if I sneeze? What if the dentist sneezes? What if my tongue accidently wanders into the death grip of its path? The mere thought makes me shudder.
And why on earth hasn’t something been done about the horrid noise? Scientists and engineers and people with degrees from places with impressive acronyms have come up with robotic arms and ATMs and microwave popcorn. Surely there is some way to muffle the evil beast. Or perhaps it is a conspiracy comprised of all the dentists and dental hygienists and techs. Perhaps the entire dental community paid off the people with degrees from places with impressive acronyms to keep the noise… to further the torture... to make my visits to them a living hell.
Recently, it was during one such nightmarish visit that I found myself concentrating on ignoring my sweat and the squeal and pretending that my tongue was indeed nailed to the opposite side of my face. To distract myself, I needed to focus my attention on my Next Big Idea. I had decided to join the ranks of millions before me, to follow the virtual trail paved byte by byte by the brave conquistadors of the digital age. Yes, my friends, I now had a blog and I wasn’t afraid to use it. But, what good is a blog without a hip and clever name? Probably the same as one with a drab ordinary title, but much hipper and much cooler… I pick door number two.
So, between deep breaths and my “I’m in a happy place” mantra, and when I wasn’t distracted by the laughter in the room (And what is up with that anyway? A laughing dentist/tech/hygienist should be outlawed. That is almost as bad as hearing “Oops!” What is so damn funny anyway? Do I have some strange growth? Is it a sudden awareness they are drilling on the wrong tooth?), I tried out different names for my new venture, kind of like I might a new hat—to see which one sat on my head just right. Here are some of the ones I considered:
- Typewriter Melodies
- Creative Noodles Soup
- Alphabet Soup
- Marnie Says
- Imaginations
All of those candidates had merits, but during a brief respite from the drill, I searched TypePad, and found a few had been previously stolen… I mean, chosen by others. So, back in the chair, I prayed I wouldn’t flinch, thought “Please God, let this be over soon,” and pondered my earth-shattering dilemma some more. Around and around my brain I tossed many an idea, but I kept coming back to this core concept: Why am I doing this? What is the purpose of this endeavor? The answer was this: It is and always has been about my love for writing. As with many people, life has gotten in the way or I should say, I have allowed life to get in the way and not taken the time to write what I want, how I want, in a very long time. I miss that very much. Creating a blog is about setting up a space, or blocking off an area, specifically for me to write, purely for the joy of it, and sharing what I’ve written. It is reassessing my priorities and giving myself a certain amount of time each day for my beloved pursuit. All of which brought me to two key words: writing and block, or combined together, Writer’s Block.
Now there may be those of you who say it is near heresy…bad luck…a curse… to put a spin on that phrase and use it in a positive manner. To which, I say “Hogwash!” For one thing, I don’t believe in the traditional definition of “writer’s block.”Some days you are just more creative than others, and you can write something; it may be a bit off and you know it needs work, but it is a starting place. The simple truth is you cannot edit an empty page. And I’m just perverse enough that even if I did believe in the dreaded evil writer’s block, I’d use it regardless—karma be damned!
After the dust had settled, the numbness had worn off, and my lip no longer felt like it was stretched down past my zipper, I tried the name on for a little while, imagining it up in lights (oh, okay, as the blog banner; but go with me on this one). And you know what? I think it’s a pretty good fit.
Your virtual pal (which is almost the same thing as an imaginary friend),
marnie
