My brain is (not) like a sieve. Yet the story somehow makes its way out a little bit at a time. At this rate I can't make a living as a writer. Unless I become JD Salinger 2.0... Did he make a living by it? As things look it's either break the levee or win the lottery. Either way, what fun!
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Thursday, August 7, 2014
I'm no Mozart
I don't have one and only one draft. My story is redefining itself one agonizing page at a time. And then there's my book - the same thing is happening, on a much smaller scale.
An interesting recent comment from Bryan Cranston got me thinking... the gist of it was that there are people who can transcend their pain and anger, but their art is no good - you need some degree of suffering to be creative in a way compelling to others. I take from it that you may be able to communicate higher ideas, but they are often too dry for the common masses (which are often the very people one intends to reach/educate). I placed this notion over many individuals I know or am familiar with, and found it rings true.
In the past decade, while trying to redefine my life and connection to the universe - to transcend the human "failings" as I saw them - I took charge of my emotions to the best of my degree. I sought that higher plane. During that same time, I found my creative output more and more difficult to sustain. Now, as I attempt to reinvigorate that part of myself, I find it difficult to place myself in the shoes of my characters - I find my "higher self" attempting to direct them, rather than their own natures. I've forgotten how to 'feel' anything else.
While I certainly would not trade my higher awareness away, I need also connect to my artistic side... so the conundrum then becomes how do I reconnect to those runaway, knee-jerk sensations that define much of common human interaction and reaction? How do you revisit that lower level of being without doing so in a condescending/frivolous manner? I don't seek to educate directly, as I have never learned things in this manner. I would be in a false position if I attempted it. So, if I am compelled to communicate an idea, I am compelled to do so through art.
It's said that enlightenment is a door that opens inward, and it's one-way. There's no losing track of certain higher ideas once they've taken root in you. I don't feel pain like I used to; I have replaced it with knowing. But certainly for the sake of sharing my message - whatever that might be - I can at least connect to something I used to be. Or can I? The universe is infinite, so yes, of course.
An interesting recent comment from Bryan Cranston got me thinking... the gist of it was that there are people who can transcend their pain and anger, but their art is no good - you need some degree of suffering to be creative in a way compelling to others. I take from it that you may be able to communicate higher ideas, but they are often too dry for the common masses (which are often the very people one intends to reach/educate). I placed this notion over many individuals I know or am familiar with, and found it rings true.
In the past decade, while trying to redefine my life and connection to the universe - to transcend the human "failings" as I saw them - I took charge of my emotions to the best of my degree. I sought that higher plane. During that same time, I found my creative output more and more difficult to sustain. Now, as I attempt to reinvigorate that part of myself, I find it difficult to place myself in the shoes of my characters - I find my "higher self" attempting to direct them, rather than their own natures. I've forgotten how to 'feel' anything else.
While I certainly would not trade my higher awareness away, I need also connect to my artistic side... so the conundrum then becomes how do I reconnect to those runaway, knee-jerk sensations that define much of common human interaction and reaction? How do you revisit that lower level of being without doing so in a condescending/frivolous manner? I don't seek to educate directly, as I have never learned things in this manner. I would be in a false position if I attempted it. So, if I am compelled to communicate an idea, I am compelled to do so through art.
It's said that enlightenment is a door that opens inward, and it's one-way. There's no losing track of certain higher ideas once they've taken root in you. I don't feel pain like I used to; I have replaced it with knowing. But certainly for the sake of sharing my message - whatever that might be - I can at least connect to something I used to be. Or can I? The universe is infinite, so yes, of course.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
I sieve the best for last
The brain sieve that activates when I sit in front of the terminal relaxed a bit last week and I can count a thousand or so extra words to my literary spill. They'll need to be retouched and rearranged, of course, but like babies they had to come out, ugly or not.
This isn't to imply that the process of writing (creation in its purest sense, perhaps) is tedious for me. I do find the story idea interesting, and have the absurd delusion that others will as well. I just find it curious sometimes that it trickles out, sporadically, rather than the deluge that once flowed from my fingertips in my more brash days. Experience would indeed seem to have placed a muzzle upon me.
But that's silly. I'm just choosing better battles. And when the bigger themes become obvious to me, the story won't be held back by any of this banal justification.
This isn't to imply that the process of writing (creation in its purest sense, perhaps) is tedious for me. I do find the story idea interesting, and have the absurd delusion that others will as well. I just find it curious sometimes that it trickles out, sporadically, rather than the deluge that once flowed from my fingertips in my more brash days. Experience would indeed seem to have placed a muzzle upon me.
But that's silly. I'm just choosing better battles. And when the bigger themes become obvious to me, the story won't be held back by any of this banal justification.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
The flow
So I sat down to save the damsel. The scene had been sitting in my mind for a while, refusing to budge from neuron to fingertips to keyboard. I finally forced it out.
Of course, on initial reading, the scene will appear to be a cliche. But I already know that is a misdirect.
All of this vague talk here about story and character for a work no one knows anything about - what is my purpose? I don't know, perhaps this is just to remind myself that I'm still working at it.
On occasion I make the mistake of thinking about what I'll write next, should this ever become complete - and I haven't the foggiest idea. It's foolish to think about Thursday's game when you're still playing Tuesday. (Sports references don't suit me! But you get the gist.)
Every time I approach the keyboard with the intention of being unique.... my brain rightfully stops me in my tracks. It reminds me to listen to the heart, and the heart says nothing more than just "write what you have to... don't grab a motive and drag it along, let inspiration pull you." Grand difference between the two. Given an opportunity to work for money (a brain concern), I find myself more and more dismissive of this. The world is replete with uninspired works. I find myself disheartened in the idea I had to force the words out these last two days, but in saying that I did so, I really just mean that I forced the usual hindrances out of the way and let the words flow. It may be a creek now, but if I keep out of my own way, there'll be a river once more.
Of course, on initial reading, the scene will appear to be a cliche. But I already know that is a misdirect.
All of this vague talk here about story and character for a work no one knows anything about - what is my purpose? I don't know, perhaps this is just to remind myself that I'm still working at it.
On occasion I make the mistake of thinking about what I'll write next, should this ever become complete - and I haven't the foggiest idea. It's foolish to think about Thursday's game when you're still playing Tuesday. (Sports references don't suit me! But you get the gist.)
Every time I approach the keyboard with the intention of being unique.... my brain rightfully stops me in my tracks. It reminds me to listen to the heart, and the heart says nothing more than just "write what you have to... don't grab a motive and drag it along, let inspiration pull you." Grand difference between the two. Given an opportunity to work for money (a brain concern), I find myself more and more dismissive of this. The world is replete with uninspired works. I find myself disheartened in the idea I had to force the words out these last two days, but in saying that I did so, I really just mean that I forced the usual hindrances out of the way and let the words flow. It may be a creek now, but if I keep out of my own way, there'll be a river once more.
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