who is john galt?

friends, romans, countrymen...lend me thine...eyes?

just finished reading the fountainhead. thumbs up to objectivism. although she only used her philosophy to write books & indoctrinate a few people, she still stands near the top of the "kick ass thinkers of the century" list (yes, i would be the type to have one of those). it's nice feeling like striving to be successful, at all costs, is not something to be ashamed of.

yes, i enjoy words. i enjoy reading them, memorizing them, painting them, eating them with frosted mini-wheats for breakfast...i love words. always have. if there is a blank scrap of paper in my life, it only exists because i haven't found it yet & scribbled on it.

but i couldn't write books as she writes books...i am too distracted, i guess-as i am so very much attached to the stream of consciousness style (meaning one random thought always leads to another) to stay that focused on one thing. describing a scene between two people, rand writes:
she reached over & took the cablegram off the mirror. she crumpled it, her fingers twisting slowly in a grinding motion against her palm. he stood listening to the crackle of the paper. she leaned forward, opened her hand over the wastebasket, and let the paper drop. her hand remained still for a moment, the fingers extended, slanting down, as they had opened.

now, if i, molly-as-writer, was describing this scene, i would have written the following:
she took the cablegram from the mirror & destroyed it in the palm of her hand. the sound was deafening, in that this-paper-stands-for-something-really-important metaphorical way. he stood listening. for added effect, and perhaps because she was so caught up in the moment she didn't realize the telenovela/OC weekly sitcom quality she was giving to the entire scene, she dropped the crumpled paper into the bin & let her hand freeze-frame over the wastebasket for much longer than was necessary. drama queen.

so there you go. mine was actually longer. but does anyone see what i am talking about? i could have written 3 pages about that little nothing scene-by rewording it in my own way-and by the end of the 3rd page, the reader would have been lost entirely inside the aimless wandering of my mind-the original scene thrown along the wayside as i recount some story of how the english call waste receptacles "bins" & how we americans call them trash cans.

who is john galt? that is the only question. until next time, keep it interesting.