A Willingness to be Whimsical

Last night, I went out to dinner with some very creative and inspiring friends. One of them said, “I’m not an artist, I just love to be creative.” She described how she jumps from creative interest to creative interest depending on whatever catches her fancy from graffiti art to Popsicle sticks. This willingness to be whimsical is a key characteristic in expanding our creative capacity. It puts us in a mindset where we can learn to be less self-conscious and more willing to experiment with different genres, materials, mediums, and subjects. It’s a playful, childlike mindset that allows our creativity to flourish…and, well, it’s just plain fun. 

A recent whim of mine has been an unexpected fascination with gates, doors, wells, and caves (for some reason they’re all related in my mind). I’m not sure where this interest came  from or where it’s going, but I try not to question it and just go with it. 

Will following this latest whimsy lead to a polished work of art? Maybe. Will it lead to a story or novel idea? Maybe. I don’t really care. All it has lead to so far is a bizarre little fairy tale that I included below. For now, I’m just enjoying the ride. 

The Well

Once upon a time, there was a very busy man who worked hard every day, and every day he was paid three silver coins for his work. One day, as he hurried home from work, he saw an ancient stone wishing well and he said to himself, “Maybe if I drop one of my coins into the well, my wish will come true.” He took one of the silver coins from his pocket, held it out over the edge of the well, and let it go. He watched as it descended into the darkness, slowly turning end over end, until it disappeared. A moment later, he heard a distant ‘plop’ as the coin plunged into the water far below. Only then did he close his eyes and whisper his wish.

The man’s wish did not come true and so the next day, he again stopped at the well, dropped in his coin, and made a wish. He did this for three years without missing a single day. At the end of the third year he said to himself, “I will try one last time, and then I will never wish again.” He took one of the three silver coins out of his pocket, held it over the edge of the well, and dropped it. It tumbled end over end into the darkness and disappeared. He waited for the familiar plop so that he could make his wish. He waited and waited and waited. There was no plop. “That’s strange,” he said. He took out a second coin. This time he leaned over the edge, so he could hold the coin as close to the center of the well as he could and then dropped it in. He cocked his head to the side and waited and waited and waited, but there was still no sound, just the empty, silent darkness of the well. “I don’t understand,” he said. He took the last silver coin out of his pocket, leaned even further over the edge, held the coin out over the very center, and dropped it. This time he watched closely as it fell away into the shadows. He stared hard into the blackness and waited and waited and waited. No plop. Just when he decided to give up, his hand slipped from the edge of the well and he tumbled down, down, down.