Flexibility

I've been exhausting myself via metaphor. This must be some writing developmental stage somewhere between the Homeric catalog and the conceit. It's also a thinking stage, I think, that is a bit sexy, somewhat useful, usually deficient. Best left to the pros.

My current Blind Men and the Elephant moment has happened as I try to feel around for a way to describe how flexible I am and what I want to be. Not that my family, friends or employers are hot about this debate. There are thankfully natural limits to the curiosity of those who know you. People who don't have that limit are often called "psychopath," or "novelist."

I decided I'm flexible like a swinging gate. Great in that particular swing path - those are some greasy hinges!- but limited. But I don't want a gate or door, do I? That would reflect openness and acceptance. There are some things I do want to keep out so a door is probably good. Even better: a membrane that allows the right stuff to enter and can keep the wrong stuff out -flex- no matter how hard it's rammed into. So I want something plastic.

So my casita will have a white picket fence with an endoplasmic reticulum door.

See, this is why metaphors need to be worked by the pros. Almost every time I use a metaphor, this is where I end up: logical silliness. I bet that most writers conquered this slippery impulse in their teens. But, don't think I'm being too hard on myself. I do give myself some credit for trying to swing out of my thought path.