Cara Perugia, Ti Manco

I found myself with a little reflection and creativity this morning on the train, and in light of my last post, I want to share it with you. I've been missing Italy a lot lately; hearing my coworkers speaking Italian over the phone with clients has made me especially nostalgic for my time in Perugia. Here is a little slice of my life from a city a love.

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Perugia, Italy--

Perugia sits on top of a hill, where it seems that a strong gust of wind could blow it off into the atmosphere. You might forget while you walk among its gray stone streets and structures, but Perugians soak the morning sun in before it touches the Umbrian countryside. There air revives you with every breath, and its mystery makes the city magical.

There was a distinct sound coming home to that place: the echoes of heeled boots clapping the stone walls, down roads that look like halls. Our street was quiet, except for the occasional piano playing from a couple who liked to waltz in their basement. We lived in an alley that most didn't even know existed--just wide enough for three girls to walk side-by-side--though our corner owned one of the best views in town.

Our alley’s cold darkness was desirable after a long night of dancing and downing vino. But on this one particular morning, rather than waking to the taunting sounds of a Samsung cell phone circa 1995 (like most days), I woke to cackles coming through the cracks of my window.

I was jolted to my feet. My roommates and I sluggishly rose out of our beds and battled our big wooden shutters, finally breaking down our barrier from the outside world. We crowded our window to see what waited among us, only to find a mottled line of children: a mosaic of small smiling faces, still too young to value sleep.

            Waves of laughter and sunlight instantly swept across our cold tile floors, and our giggles resounded upon the discovery: our apartment’s alleyway was not solely characterized by its chill and its secrecy; we shared our street with a school.

In that moment I was overwhelmed by simultaneous laughter and tears. From that moment, the air was lighter with the kind of exhilaration that only radiates from children; their spirits are the spirit of Perugia. I will always remember that afternoon as the day I officially fell in love with a city.

                                                                                                                                                                                              

No Room for Doodlers

I could spend an hour beautifying my writing--in more ways than one. I could fiddle with diction and syntax or I could play with writing visually... if you let me.

That's part of the fun in writing (for me, at least)--the relationship between your hands and the pen and paper. I went through all of high school and college handwriting all of my papers and writing assignments first... and I was an English major! For each assignment, I would write the draft by hand with a good, black ballpoint pen, then edit the draft with a different color pen (usually blue, maybe red if I was feeling particularly assertive that day), and once complete, then I would type. Imagine how many notebooks I've gone through in my lifetime! Even all of these blog posts were handwritten first. The computer has just never felt like a journal to me... I am just old fashioned in that way, I guess.

So as of late, being somewhat of a journalist in terms of deadlines and all, I have had to give up this precious pastime. It's the kind of cold-turkey withdrawal that is worse than giving up cigarettes, I think. But I actually have to say that I've found journalistic writing to be best when typed. It really helps me stay concise and factual--ideal for the assignment, which is something the notebook just cannot afford me.

So now the only writing left to write (by hand, that is) is creative and personal, which I realized is a good thing because it gives all that pent up emotion a canvas on which it can really go nuts. And my hand is just so happy to be reacquainted with the curves of the ballpoint--every slide, swirl and lick as it dances wildly about the page, that handwriting in my journal has become like yoga for my button-punching, keyboard-stricken fingertips.

I keep coming to one problem though: once I make it to the page and get my free-range flowing, I don't really have much to say. Due to lack of practice, the muscles need warming up (and believe me, that's the closest any muscles of mine have even come to warmth these days... unless you count the daily jogs, sprints, and speed-and-sidewalk weaves to and from the highly unreliable NJ Transit).

But then I thought maybe... oh, God... maybe, I've just run out of ideas. Those damn fluorescent lights and PC monitors have sucked the creativity right through my pupils and out of my brain like the final quarter-inch of strawberry milkshake at the bottom of the glass.

Maybe not; but whatever it is, my brain is not making many creative leaps these days.

Now it suddenly seems that the title of this blog can still fit just fine: "Flat Champagne: The post-college pursuit of creation preservation." Well, that kind of sounds like some Bible Belt, Jahovah's Witness slogan for voting pro-life. Maybe instead it'd be something like: "A girl's quest to make it in publishing and still maintain her creative skills."

Okay, these all SUCK. This is exactly what I am talking about.

But maybe I don't need a new byline because I am still looking for some form of fulfillment. Don't get me wrong, this job is incredible and I love how much writing I get to do, and to be published on top of it--I feel so truly accomplished and excited about my work and my future. But creative writing is a huge part of who I am and has been since I was a little kid. To just let that slip away would be losing a part of my identity. I cant let that happen; I must resuscitate my poetic flat line or Christina might not survive.

I have always believed that all things are best in balance. I need to balance my journalistic writing with my creative writing--like that physics saying: each and every action has an equal and opposite reaction (my Grandma would be proud that I even remember that haha). And while I must keep them segregated, I have found each one increasingly helpful in my execution of the other. Like a couple who has been together for many years, the two individuals must be able to grow on their own, while still growing together.

And, one of the great things about my job is what I get to write about. Upon graduating, I shied away from pursuing a career in editorial/publishing because I believed:
A.) I wouldn't get to write.
B.) If I did get to write, it would be about incredibly dry subject matter that would have an adverse effect on my love for writing.

But I am writing about so many great things, the art exhibitions in particular. I love researching the artists' work and history and who their influences were and finding where they overlap and collide. The gallery owners and collectors who consign some of these massive sales are just incredible. I have also found fine jewelry to be art as well, which is inexplicably inspirational. You will just have to read the articles.

So what's the problem with my creativity? I still have the inspiration and intrigue; I still have the interest in writing and, despite another old fear of mine, I still have the desire to write for pleasure even though I do it at work every day. Hell, I just worked overtime without breaks because I get so sucked in, and I still have been writing this blog post for this entire hour-and-20 minute train ride just to get back on the computer and type this final draft for you!

-CG