Creativity by CJ Mathews

I was always a creative child. I remember I used to run around my back garden, exhuming a charming air of vigor and vitality. I would look up at the blazing blue sky as it poured down torrents of light on my face. I would close my eyes and try to take a mental picture of the ceaselessly fleeting moment.

Even then, I was running about with stories in mind. I used to play with imaginary friends – all with their own flaws, quirks and histories. I would act out dramatic, comedic or sometimes scary plots – be it the death of a friend, an awkward situation or the search for a monster. And as I grew, my friends grew with me – each of them going through their own individual character arcs that affected the stories I told with them.

I was an only child, as I’m sure you may have assumed by now. And if I wasn’t reading a book to beguile the tedious hours of Monday, I was crafting my own tales, building my own worlds, writing my own literature. Leaving a legacy. A legacy I may end up showing my kids one day, inspiring them to undertake their own creative journey.

It is my theory that everyone is born creative. Everyone is capable of using life to create art. Some may use a constant stream of rhythmic memories to compose complex music, Some may use the great pangs that previously gripped their hearts as a way to act out emotion to an audience and tell a story with their bodies, And others – like myself – prefer to write about the most profound mundanities of life as a way to escape from the eloquent prophecies and imminent deadlines that normally flood our thoughts.

When I write, it’s because I have something to say. A message for the world that I would not be able to send any other way. So I think about my message, I articulate it until it’s clear and concise, And then I write. I don’t think about the punctuation, or the structure, or even the grammar. I just write what I want to write, what feels natural to me. Whether it’s a soft intonation of obscure sorrow or a steady babble of talk and laughter. It doesn’t matter. As long as the message is clear, the content is irrelevant.

Human beings have told stories since the inception of human beings. At first, they were merely explanations and justifications for the world they were born into. Later, they became tools of knowledge and wisdom – a way to teach the younger generation valuable life lessons among other things. Now, stories are an instrument on which writers are able to play a limitless tune that they can share with the world, that they can gift to their family, that can speak for them.

I write because I have thoughts in my mind that want to get out, that I need the world to hear. I write as a way of expressing who I am in a way free of miscommunication. I write because every moment is gone as quickly as it arrives, so I try to capture those moments and frame them on the wall in my head. Because these little pieces of time that hang so triumphantly but melancholically on the wall are what make me who I am, they are all I have. And they are my only tools for telling stories and being creative. And creativity can change the world.