For the introverts amongst us. Picture.

[Gyppo]

There are days when this is disturbingly true.

Left click to enlarge.

[Laura H]

I want to find that under the Christmas tree this year. 

[Jo Bannister]

Is it not very strange that so many writers - who make a living by exposing their innermost thoughts - are introverts on a personal level? 

[Gyppo]

Yes, it's a fascinating trait.  Maybe we're like some actors who are intensely shy except when playing a part.  Perhaps the book or story is our part.

I've often described myself as a 'Method Writer', an actor who doesn't - generally - act.  Family and close friends will say differently, but they're my safe audience.

Writing lets us reach a larger audience, but we're in charge of just how much we let them see.  (Sometimes the more perceptive see more than we intended, but if they're also of the clan introvertus they just smile to themselves and don't spill our secrets to the general public.)

We need the quiet times, when we can smell the flowers, or study a pretty stone, or the play of light across a dew be-glittered meadow at our own pace. Until we reach a kind of bursting point where we have to let some of it out.

The full-on extrovert is an entirely different beast, a conspicuous consumer of life's offering and beauties.  He or she needs to be seen - and heard - enjoying life.  They are the extreme end of show not tell.

We introverts are more like the Milk Tray Man from the old adverts. [1] We create our gift, sneak it in quietly, and are happy to know the recipient will enjoy it later.  We don't have to be there to see it happen.

We learn to cope with public life, sometimes even enjoy it, but in small doses and on our own terms.

[1]  http://www.dailymail.co.uk/video/news/video-1206551/All-lady-loves-Classic-Milk-Tray-advert.html

(You may have to endure a few seconds of pop-up advert before the real thing.  Sorry about that.)

Gyppo

[Spell Chick]

I am going to change "mug" to "shirt" and make this for myself. It is perfect.

[Gyppo]

Please post a picture when it's done.

[Spell Chick]

White on black, worn with  black/white/gray pants

[Jo Bannister]

Good grief, Chick!  Talk about "No sooner the word than the deed"...  I take longer than that finding a clean t-shirt.

[Gyppo]

Impressed!

[Spell Chick]

Wore my new shirt to the store. More and more and more people asked me how my day was going, forcing me into social interaction. It may have backfired.

[Gyppo]

That's the extroverts, feeling the need to 'help' you.  They mean well, poor souls.  But then so did Hitler ;-)

=====

When my then wife came home from hospital after having our second girl she really didn't want to see anyone for a while, even friends.  So we put a polite little notice on the door to this effect.  It started with apologies, with a please, and ended with a thank you.

I answered a knock from a 'friend' of hers who cheerfully announced "That obviously doesn't apply to me.  I've come to see the new baby."

Knowing she was one on the 'definitely unwanted list', a definite 'psychic vampire' who could suck the life out of even a full-blooded extrovert, yet alone a poor bewildered lass with post-natal depression, I left the chain on and went upstairs to check.

"I heard.  Please get rid of her."

Magic!  Carte Blanche.  None of the usual 'I don't want to upset anyone' crap.

"Okay, Love.  I'll deal with it."

I tried not to look too gleeful about confirming the refusal, which was nothing compared to my desire to shoot the irritating bitch and her house-wrecking ultra-destructive little monster of a son who gleefully destroyed my eldest girl's toys given half a chance.  (He smashed all his own stuff as well, so it was nothing personal.)

She grumbled that she'd walked all the way across town on a stinking hot day, (true), and wouldn't say no to 'a sit down and a drink'.  If I'd let her in she'd have been upstairs like a rocket for 'just a quick visit while you make the drinks'.

I took quiet delight in politely offering her a cup of water and cup of juice for her lad, on the doorstep.  There were worse places to sit, they were shaded by the porch.

She hated me ever afterwards which suited me just fine. Telling people I was 'a beast of a man'.  A description best suited to her husband, but he's not part of this tale.  (I knew she was a leech from the moment I first met her.)

Over the next week more than a few people asked if the story, as told by her to all and sundry on her angry stomp back home, was true, and wished they had the nerve to do the same.  Including the next visitor, who was welcome and didn't stay too long.  Despite having walked just as far she would have been willing to leave her baby gift and go away again.  But she was a loner too so understood.

Gyppo (Guardian of the Castle Gates.)

 

[fire-fly]

 

You lot are evil when you get your heads together. Gyp you should know better then encourage her like that 

Friends visiting in hoards is overwhelming after bringing a newborn home for sure.

[Spell Chick]

It is amazing to me how many people truly believe they are not included in the "No pests allowed" notices around the world. It seems that the pests are oblivious to the fact that they are pests.

I can come in, can't I?

[Gyppo]

You're okay ;-)

[Jo Bannister]

A neighbour of mine had a very old horse who was quietly pottering around his field when his heart stopped and he went down where he stood.  Ten minutes later someone knocked at the door to say, "Do you know Nelson's down?"  Yes, said my friend, he'd checked and the horse was dead, the wagon would pick him up later.

Ten minutes later someone else called.  "Do you know...?"

Yes, said my friend, everything's OK, the wagon will be round later.

Twenty minutes after that...

I was passing a couple of hours later, and there was a note on the front door, bold in black marker pen.  It said:

                                                                         YES
                                                  We know the damned horse is dead