Junk Art

 

Have I mentioned I have too many hobbies? These are just a few of the weird and whimsical creations I've put together from scraps piling up around our farm. Wood destined for the bonfire, scrap metal from some ancient tractor project my husband regrets starting, and random pieces broken off of said tractor projects or found in the field and ditches. 

Sure, Pinterest ("the tool of the devil created by women" - as my husband refers to it) helps inspire me, but in the end, when the glue hits the metal, I am the one who makes the final call. Some are not great, others turn out better than I imagined. 

As with most of my artsy, fartsy creative outlets, it's a lot like writing. Regardless of the inspiration, the process, or the outcome, when it's all said and done, my stamp is on it. A little piece of me. One of a kind.

It calls to mind a very brutal yet crucial critique I received from a trusted beta reader. I had tried so hard to polish up the segment I was sending her. I used Grammarly to its fullest. No red lines. No gold lines. No squiggly lines whatsoever. A grammatically edited masterpiece! So the feedback I got was wholly unexpected. 

When my reader said, "It's good, Julie. It's fine," something didn't feel good or fine at all. After a little prodding on my part and a lot of humming and hawing on hers, she finally busted out and spilled what was bugging her. "It's written very well, Julie. But ... it just doesn't sound like you anymore. It's like someone else wrote it." 

Mind blown. Heart crushed. Thoughts whirling. Defenses at the ready.

It took me some time to figure it out. Like weeks. But I could not let it go. Finally, at some point, I got sick of looking all the auto-grammar lines and prompts to upgrade. It was just creating too much screen noise for my already buzzing brain. So I shut it off. I shut it all off. I quit letting it boss me around. 

And guess what. I found my voice again. Just sitting there like a patient friend who'd been sidelined. It never left. Just waited for me to come back. And come back I did, with open arms. Sometimes, it's not perfect. Just like me. Sometimes, it's clever and odd. Just like me. But just like my junk art, it's got MY stamp all over it. 

Oh, not to worry, Grammarly still has a place and a purpose, but it's not the driver. I'll shove it in the backseat and let it visit with me from there.