A sample text widget
Etiam pulvinar consectetur dolor sed malesuada. Ut convallis
euismod dolor nec pretium. Nunc ut tristique massa.
Nam sodales mi vitae dolor ullamcorper et vulputate enim accumsan.
Morbi orci magna, tincidunt vitae molestie nec, molestie at mi. Nulla nulla lorem,
suscipit in posuere in, interdum non magna.
|
I first met Mr. Imagination in front of a now-defunct punk club called 513 which, I murkily recall, was having some kind of all-day event on a pleasant Saturday afternoon. I don’t remember much about the event, but I do remember Mr. I. He wore a vest that was completely covered with bottlecaps that we all tried on at some point–it was a magical thing, clothing as percussion instrument that made a shooka-shooka noise as one danced. He was a friend of my friend Lake–they went back quite a ways, apparently–and Lake’s living room had a number of his pieces on the wall. When I saw the installation of his at the House of Blues in Las Vegas, I recall my thoughts being along the lines of “Wow, I feel like I’m at Lake’s.”
The party where my art career started was actually a joint celebration by Lake and Mr. Imagination. Mr. I had recently bought a house not far from Lake’s place and partway through the festivities some of us walked over there in the chill December night to have a look at what he’d done to the place. The walls were already covered with art and this was only a week after Lake’s husband had hung up the drapes for him.
That night, Mr. I paid me two tremendous compliments. One was that he’d never seen anything like what I’d done. The other was that he wanted to trade art with me. My first official commission. I set to it not long after.
I picked up a frame from the same Goodwill run that I picked up the frame for Guide Dog. It was actually a bit of mass-produced framed art, a twee arty rendition of an elephant, but I took to the back of it with a flathead screwdriver and got rid of that nonsense. (I made my living as a picture framer in my younger bohemian days, so I know my way around a frame and mat in a pinch.) I cut the paper, drew the lines and one fine afternoon got out the pens and did the piece in roughly one sitting. The words were thus:
The first rule is to start with what you have.
Start with your imagination.
You do not have to wait for permission for anyone other than yourself.
You do not need just the right moment.
The only moment you need is the moment of inspiration, the moment the muse breathes into your mouth as if to revive a near-drowned swimmer.
The muse doesn’t care where you live.
The muse doesn’t care how much money you have.
She didn’t show up to make you rich or famous.
Nice work if you can get it, but that’s not her job.
She gives you the work to do and it’s up to you to bring it into being.
But as the breath of life is shaped by lips and tongue when we speak, so the breath of the muse is shaped by our hands, our lives, our circumstances.
Take what you have right now and make use of it.
Don’t wait until you can afford the shiny toy.
Don’t wait until the school has handed you the slip of paper that declares you qualified and competent.
It is no shame to be a beginner.
It is only a shame to never even try in the first place.
Each and every little attempt is an education, even if the only lesson learned is what not to do and why.
The only really right way to do things is the way that works. And only you can really decide what works.
Never be afraid to admit when you’re wrong, but never be afraid to insist that you’re right, either.
The only way to lose is to fake it, to pretend in the worst possible way, not in the way one does to invoke the imagination and consider the possibilities, but to pretend in such a way as to say what you think will impress somebody else.
If you really want to impress? Try being completely honest about who you are and what wants to come out of you.
You may find that people will be more than a little upset (some of them, at least) but few will fail to be impressed.
Anybody who lives authentically will be seen as something of a weirdo.
This does not mean that there is something wrong with being so, it just means that the standards for what is normal do not include being completely who you are.
Being shocking for the sake of being shocking is not true creativity. It is merely being normal from the opposite direction.
Just speak the truth, even if it seems banal or obvious to you.
If it is indeed the truth as you know it, spoken from the center of the self and it hasn’t been checked over to see if it will appeal to the ‘right’ people, then you will not lack for people willing to be shocked by it.
Any sound that deviates from the constant drone of expectations will seem like a blast of noise, even if it is no more than a whisper.
Start with what comes to you in dreams, the things you see that no one else really can, in the same way, see.
Any work of art that truly comes from the center of your true self will inevitably bear fingerprints that can only be traced to you.
It is the way of it.
Glove your hands in a layer of pretense if you wish to avoid this.
(Perhaps this is why we have such art in the first place? To avoid being linked to the scene of the crime?)
When they knock on your door and ask you “Is this yours?” you should never feel the need to ever deny that it is.
If you do, ask yourself why that is so.
There should be no shame in speaking the truth that comes from the heart.
(Unfortunately, most speak the truth of the ego instead of the heart and that, perhaps, is something to be ashamed of.)
To create is to be human.
Anybody can. Perhaps not everybody does, but anybody can.
I wish more people would.
The more you create, the less you need.
Somewhere in the middle of writing these words, the electricity went out in my home.
I didn’t even really notice for a while.
The power is still out as I’m writing this sentence.
As long as I have sunlight to see by and working pens to write with, I’m fine with this.
Here, then, is Exhibit A for my case–that art needs only the drive to create it and all else falls into place.
And, yes, the power did go out while I was working and I didn’t figure it out until I got up to refill my water glass or something and noticed all the digital clocks were blank.
I neglected to take a picture of it in its frame, but I did snap a quick picture of it out of the frame so I’d have a record to do the transcript from. It came out a touch hazy, but was legible enough for me to work with.
I completed the piece before Guide Dog, but Neil Gaiman got his first since he was only in the area for a single day and my chance to present it was brief. Mr. Imagination received his piece a few days later and was bowled over by it. I read him the words and he hugged me and thanked me. I still have yet to collect my payment but I know where Mr I. lives now, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble. When I do, I may amend this post to display what was exchanged.
Prints of this work are not available.
The original has been given to Mr. Imagination (aka Gregory Warmack)
I’ve decided that this shall be the blog of record for my word art creations. Each piece will get its own blog entry, where I detail the story (however short or long) of the piece’s creation, post the transcript of the words themselves and post a picture of the result.
Rather than do it chronologically, I’m starting with the two pieces that are no longer in my possession, since I no longer have the physical objects to help jog my memory. Of those two, I’m starting with the one I presented to Mr. Neil Gaiman, since I don’t have the option of tapping on his door and asking for another look-see at the work, as I do with the other one.
Five days before the night I mark as the start of my art career, I’d picked up a bright orange ticket from Little Shop of Stories, a little bookshop in Decatur which had won the privilege of having Mr. Gaiman appear for a signing by throwing one of the best Halloween parties to celebrate The Graveyard Book. The ticket granted admission to the talk and reading he would be giving at Agnes Scott College.
Somewhere between the 5th (when I discovered that people who are not me also find my artwork worth looking at) and the 14th (when the event was scheduled) I got it in my head that I would make some art for Mr. Gaiman and present it to him as a gift. I picked out a suitable frame at the same trip to Goodwill that I picked up the frame for the piece for Mr. I and cut a sheet of paper to fit in it.
I swiped a photograph from Mr. Gaiman’s blog (seen here–it’s the second of the two) and sized it down to a suitable proportion. The glass door to the patio served as an improvised light table as I traced (and re-traced, and re-re-traced) the outline of Cabal the dog to my satisfaction.
Thursday morning, after much dithering, I finally sat down and wrote the words. Unlike all the other works so far, I used a Cross fountain pen and black ink instead of the gel pens I’ve been normally using. It seemed appropriate. The words ended up as follows:
The story as we know it starts the way most good stories end.
The poor, neglected, unwanted creature escapes, goes on strange journey, finds love and acceptance in a magical new place.
Or, perhaps, this is the middle of the story, the time spent with the adoptive family before the heroic journey begins.
The woods nearby are perilous, after all, and must not be entered in certain seasons without a protective cape.
We all know what happens next. Or, at least, what is supposed to happen next.
There will be the time, the one little time, when our hero slips into the woods unprotected and discovers why that protection is needed.
But with wit and luck and courage, he defeats the menace and returns home triumphant.
One might suspect that was the real reason he shed his cape when he did–he wanted to move the story along.
(Far too many people, it seems, get themselves in trouble because they want their lives to be more interesting stories.)
Then again, that operates under the assumption that he is the protagonist.
The story as we have seen it written places him instead as one of many side characters–first as mystery, then as miracle, now and again as comic relief.
The role he plays now appears to be that of spirit guide or mentor, the serene master who reminds you that all of life is in the present moment, to pay no mind to what was and what might be, to watch the fireflies as they dance, to breathe in the scents bestowed by nature, to know that it is enough to just be.
However, even as essential as these sacred moments are, and while, admittedly, they make for excellent poems, they do not do well as stories.
And one of the things that marks us as human is our insatiable craving for stories.
Even when our own lives are not lacking for adventure, excitement, or drama we still seek out the conflicts of others that we may look at them from a safe distance and perhaps learn lessons that we could apply to the antagonisms in our own lives.
At the very least, we see the endings we wish we could have (or the dark fates we are glad to have avoided) and we are consoled by them.
We tell stories of the things we wish were true.
We tell stories of the things we are glad are not true.
Once in a while, we tell the stories of things in the hope of making them reality.
(It only seems to work, in my experience, when one isn’t necessarily trying to write something into being. Though it can be more than a bit unnerving when an echo of something you wrote shows up in your reality. Trust me on this one.)
So one may wonder if this guardian spirit will appear in future tales or if he already did at one point and thus he arrived just as summoned by written word by the spell of the mage who can weave a world into being with one word after the other, not even fully grasping the power he has?
Either way, he lives in stories now, the stories of day-to-day living that may not be (and do not need to be) as grand and epic as the stories told between bound covers.
Does he realize he is a character in the story of another? I doubt it matters to him.
I took a photograph each time I hit a point of “Argh! I don’t know what to do next!” and managed to turn the results into an animated GIF (with apologies in advance to those on dial-up or hazy wi-fi signals:
I should perhaps state for the record that I never really plan the words in advance. I don’t do full-on free writing, the way I do elsewhere, but I sort it out in my head about one or two sentences at a time and only look back at the last sentence or so when I move on to the next, which leads to things veering in odd directions I hadn’t even really counted on when I first set pen to page. Sentences will find themselves slightly rephrased between conception and execution if the room for the exact wording is insufficient.
Once framed, the result was something like this:
Neil Gaiman arrived in Decatur in a bank of fog and rumbles of thunder. He read from his work, voices and everything, answered questions and signed for many, many hours. (If you care to read it, I have a more detailed account of that night on my LiveJournal here.) I presented my work to him and I’m reasonably sure he liked it.
Prints of this work are not available.
The original has been given to Neil Gaiman.
This cartoon by Hugh MacLeod sums up my state of mind nicely. (So, for that matter, does this one.)
In the five days since my art career officially started on that fateful Saturday night, I’ve created five more word art pieces. Three of them were created in one day. I decided that I wanted to make some stuff to fill in these picture frames I’ve had kicking around the place for years and once I filled those frames, I decided it would be great to go out, listen to some jazz and make even more art. Today I just finished a particularly intimidating work that I hope will go over well with the intended recipient. (It’s a surprise, so I won’t mention who just yet.)
I. Can’t. Stop. I’m ready to go to Goodwill and find some more frames to fill in, while batting around ideas in my head of things to try. I am insane with possibilities, and slightly disturbed by this.
 Star Light Star Bright  Fire Meets Water
On December 5, 2009, my dear friend Lake, along with her friend Mr. Imagination, were throwing an art party. Lake told me to feel free to bring any art that I happened to have.
I brought these:
 That Which We Call the Heart (left) and Spiral (right)  That Which We Call the Heart  Spiral For many years, I’d been doing free writing in eyestrain-o-vision on scraps of paper to kill time at work or at places where I didn’t have a catbook handy but at least had a receipt I could write on the back of. Some I kept; most were disposed of. I was intrigued by the textural quality of the words themselves when I got a page filled up and wondered if they could be made into some kind of visual art.
My first attempt was a catastrophe, but I learned a great deal from it in terms of technique and possibility. So on Saturday afternoon, I finished up “Spiral”, started and finished “That Which We Call the Heart” and placed them in two frames I’d been storing in a desk drawer for the past several years. I took them to Lake’s party just to see what other people would think.
I figured I’d get a pat on the head and a “that’s kind of cool” from people and maybe get a few tips on how to refine the work. Instead, I got an invitation to show my work at a gallery show that was coming together as soon as the space is ready. Two different people suggested those pieces alone could go for $150-$250 each. Mr. Imagination wants to trade art with me.
I am already pondering the next attempts in this medium and how to improve the results. I have no idea where this will lead, but I’m looking forward to finding out.
Chapter Six: Clicktappity
Use this technique for: when you’re in front of a computer and your brain is feeling fuzzy.
Starting point: when you pull up whatever file you want to type in.
Ending point: whenever you feel like stopping.
Why the resistance? Why the revulsion? What am I beating myself against that is making things so difficult? Could just be the caffeine, admittedly. (I am taught how to spell things correctly by the absence of little red lines.)
Free writing techniques do not always have to be confined to paper and pen. The main point of free writing is to get thoughts out of your head and into words and if typing works, use it. Clicktappity is simply my weird little term for typed free writing.
You can put all your Clicktappity into a single designated file for that purpose, using whatever word processing type program you find yourself comfortable with. Alternately, you can open a new file for each session and either delete or save the results. Whatever works for you.
If you have a workplace that permits short breaks on the Internet as long as work gets done, you can make use of online services and thus avoid having a file on your work computer for someone to come across. At one point, I was using one of my gmail accounts to email my home email account and poured my random thoughts into the email. These days, I’ve gotten quite fond of Google Docs for this purpose as well. (If you do end up saving a file to your work computer, title it something dull, place it somewhere you can remember, password protect it if possible and delete it the moment you depart from that job permanently.)
It’s perfectly okay to hit the backspace key now and then to correct a word, but don’t cut out entire lines as if you’re editing something for publication. That’s not the point of this. Clicktappity is pouring your thoughts out via the keyboard for your eyes only.
You may find that this will help improve your typing. This is not a bad thing.
Clicktappity can be short bursts or long rambles, depending on how much is on your mind. I find it can be a useful way to take a break when I’m confined to a computer for long stretches and have a large and complicated project to work on. Giving myself five minutes of Clicktappity for, say, every twenty minutes of adding stuff to spreadsheets makes the whole thing much more bearable.
Techniques like the Shit Book and the Sub-C Session can also be done by typing. These are best done in separate files than from regular Clicktappity (especially the Shit Book—in fact, the best thing to do with a Shit Book file is to close it without saving it once you’re done.) Three Daily Pages could conceivably be done by typing, but I’ve never done it that way because it’s a little hard to gauge how much a ‘page’ is and when to stop. (Plus, one power outage can screw up everything—at least with a paper notebook you can keep writing by candlelight if it comes to that.)
Use this technique for: when you’re in front of a computer and your brain is feeling fuzzy.
Starting point: when you pull up whatever file you want to type in.
Ending point: whenever you feel like stopping.
Why the resistance? Why the revulsion? What am I beating myself against that is making things so difficult? Could just be the caffeine, admittedly. (I am taught how to spell things correctly by the absence of little red lines.)
Free writing techniques do not always have to be confined to paper and pen. The main point of free writing is to get thoughts out of your head and into words and if typing works, use it. Clicktappity is simply my weird little term for typed free writing.
You can put all your Clicktappity into a single designated file for that purpose, using whatever word processing program you find yourself comfortable with. Alternately, you can open a new file for each session and either delete or save the results.
If you have a workplace that permits short breaks on the Internet as long as work gets done, you can make use of online services and thus avoid having a file on your work computer for someone to come across. At one point, I was using a webmail account to send an email to my home email account and poured my random thoughts into the email. These days, I’ve gotten quite fond of Google Docs for this purpose as well. (If you do end up saving a file to your work computer, title it something dull, place it somewhere you can remember, password protect it if possible and delete it the moment you depart from that job permanently.)
It’s perfectly okay to hit the backspace key now and then to correct a word, but don’t cut out entire lines as if you’re editing something for publication. That’s not the point of this. Clicktappity is pouring your thoughts out via the keyboard for your eyes only.
You may find that this will help improve your typing. This is not a bad thing.
Clicktappity can be short bursts or long rambles, depending on how much is on your mind. I find it can be a useful way to take a break when I’m confined to a computer for long stretches and have a large and complicated project to work on. Giving myself five minutes of Clicktappity for, say, every twenty minutes of adding stuff to spreadsheets makes the whole thing much more bearable.
Techniques like the Shit Book and the Sub-C Session can also be done by typing. These are best done in separate files than from regular Clicktappity (especially the Shit Book—in fact, the best thing to do with a Shit Book file is to close it without saving it once you’re done.) Three Daily Pages could conceivably be done by typing, but I’ve never done it that way because it’s a little hard to gauge how much a ‘page’ is and when to stop. (Plus, one power outage can screw up everything—at least with a paper notebook you can keep writing by candlelight if it comes to that.)
A revised version of this entry can be found in the ebook Catbooks and Other Methods.
Chapter Five: The Sub-C Session
Use this technique for: when you’re feeling stuck about something.
Starting point: when you sit down to do it.
Ending point: when you feel ready to take action.
So I’ve got a Maker’s Mark and cola and I’m trying to figure out what to do next. With any of it. With all of it.
Most free writing involves starting with absolutely nothing in mind other than the determination to kill time, fill pages or clear your head. The Sub-C Session is slightly different because it is writing that is about something in particular and intended to come up with some kind of solution.
Sub-C is an abbreviation for subconscious. How the subconscious is precisely defined (and indeed whether or not it even exists) is still being debated. For the purposes of this exercise, we’ll define it something like this—the part of your mind that rarely articulates its intentions in conscious thoughts but primarily communicates through emotional states.
(If you think this definition is a load of hooey, well, just pretend that it’s true while you try this out. You’re not the center of the universe, either, and you were okay with acting as if you were during the Shit Book exercise, right?)
A Sub-C Session should be done in a relatively non-distracting environment. You can set aside a specific notebook or just grab whatever’s handy. I recommend that at the very least you have a reliable pen on hand, or use a computer, since it may take a lot of ramble to get to the conclusion.
Sub-C Sessions generally spring from a question. It can almost be like consulting an oracle. Why am I spending so much time on the Internet? Why am I still upset about what was said at dinner last week? Why have I still not returned that phone call? What’s stopping me from doing this thing I really want to do? Any kind of mental block that you have on something can be examined with a Sub-C Session.
You don’t necessarily have to write down the question, just sit down with the question in your mind and begin writing. Brainstorm possible answers and write down your reactions to these answers. You may find out that really stupid reasons will come up. This is completely okay. It’s by dragging these absurd notions into the light that we can deal with them properly.
A Sub-C Session can end whenever you feel like it. Usually the signal that you’ve finished a Sub-C Session is that you’ve come up with some workable answers to your question. If you do a Sub-C Session about something that you don’t want to do, you may find that once you’ve dug up and dissected the reasons for your reluctance you’ll be ready to get off your duff and do something about it. At which point, put down the pen and get on with it.
Use this technique for: when you’re feeling stuck about something.
Starting point: when you sit down to do it.
Ending point: when you feel ready to take action.
So I’ve got a Maker’s Mark and cola and I’m trying to figure out what to do next. With any of it. With all of it.
Most free writing involves starting with absolutely nothing in mind other than the determination to kill time, fill pages or clear your head. The Sub-C Session is slightly different because it is writing that is about something in particular and intended to come up with some kind of solution.
Sub-C is my odd little abbreviation for subconscious. How the subconscious is precisely defined (and indeed whether or not it even exists) is still being debated. For the purposes of this exercise, we’ll define it something like this—the part of your mind that rarely articulates its intentions in conscious thoughts but primarily communicates through emotional states.
(If you think this definition is a load of hooey, well, just pretend that it’s true while you try this out. You’re not the center of the universe, either, and you were okay with acting as if you were during the Shit Book exercise, right?)
A Sub-C Session should be done in a relatively non-distracting environment. You can set aside a specific notebook or just grab whatever’s handy. I recommend that at the very least you have a reliable pen on hand, or use a computer, since it may take a lot of ramble to get to the conclusion.
Sub-C Sessions generally spring from a question. It can almost be like consulting an oracle. Why am I spending so much time on the Internet? Why am I still upset about what was said at dinner last week? Why have I still not returned that phone call? What’s stopping me from doing this thing I really want to do? Any kind of mental block that you have on something can be examined with a Sub-C Session.
You don’t necessarily have to write down the question, just sit down with the question in your mind and begin writing. Brainstorm possible answers and write down your reactions to these answers. You may find out that really stupid reasons will come up. This is completely okay. It’s by dragging these absurd notions into the light that we can deal with them properly.
A Sub-C Session can end whenever you feel like it. Usually the signal that you’ve finished a Sub-C Session is that you’ve come up with some workable answers to your question. If you do a Sub-C Session about something that you don’t want to do, you may find that once you’ve dug up and dissected the reasons for your reluctance you’ll be ready to get off your duff and do something about it. At which point, put down the pen and get on with it.
A revised version of this entry can be found in the ebook Catbooks and Other Methods.
Use this technique for: a daily practice to clear your head.
Starting point: at the start of three pages.
Ending point: when three pages have been filled.
8:47 AM Vivaldi, and the usual breakfast. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Were I at the old job, I’d be getting coffee and settling in. But I’m not, so I’m not. But I still feel as though I’ve emerged through something. Or maybe it was just the ugly dreams I had, my brain purging out the sticky worst case scenarios.
Those who have read Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way (and even quite a few people who haven’t) are familiar with the concept of “Morning Pages.” Some might also be familiar with Natalie Goldman’s notebook technique in Writing Down The Bones.
This is my personal variation on that particular theme, which you are free to further adapt to your own needs. (Particularly considering that I came up with these rules by breaking a number of the “rules” for Morning Pages.)
To do Three Daily Pages you should use a lined notebook with standard notebook paper sized pages. (Roughly 8 ½ inches by 11 inches. 27.9 centimeters by 21.5 centimeters, for those of you dialing in from the metric system.) Using smaller journals is kind of cheating and using catbook-sized notebooks is really cheating. You can use cheap spiral bound notebooks or you can even find rather lovely bound books of that size as well. (I get mine at Borders in the bargain section. They are magnificent and not that expensive.)
The rules are pretty simple. Once per day, sit down and free write until you have filled three pages. Then stop.
How long it takes you depends on how fast you write and perhaps what sort of margins you set for yourself. (Spiral bound notebooks are often kinder as they provide those little red lines to keep you from taking up too much space.) I set aside an hour of time to be sure, though most days it runs about forty minutes, give or take.
For some odd reason, I’ve developed the habit of writing down what time it is and updating the time every sixty seconds. Part of this was to give me something to do when the urge to stare off into space was strong. Part of it was simply to make me aware of how much time I had before I had to get ready to go to work. Once I got enough of a stream of words going, I’d stop glancing at the clock and just write.
Traditionally, the pages are done first thing in the morning. This can be a good way to start the day, transcribe odd dreams while they still linger in the mind and ponder your agenda. However, if you find yourself running late and don’t have time, you can break the rules in one of two ways. One is to confine yourself to a single full page if you don’t have time for three. Another is to do what might be termed Evening Pages once you get home. I’ve even done odd variations where I’ve done one page in the morning and the other two pages in the evening. And I’ve done Afternoon Pages in the middle of the day.
However you do it, make sure that your stopping point is the end of a page and not somewhere in the middle. The name of the game is to force yourself to fill the pages completely, no matter how cranky you feel about it, even if it’s five lines of the words “keep writing” over and over again. Some days you will fill three pages with ease and want to keep going for a fourth. Other days it’ll feel like digging a hole with a teaspoon. The main point is to do it and do it consistently.
So why do we do this to ourselves anyway? In some ways, it’s something like a meditation practice. Instead of letting our repetitive thoughts rattle around in our head we can get them out and see if there’s anything we can do about them. You can do minor venting here (and keep the nuclear level venting for the Shit Book) or brainstorm ideas or just write about the sound of the rain on the roof and the smell of the morning coffee. You will find that you tend to go about the day with much more clarity if you spend at least some part of the day clearing three pages worth of stuff from your mind.
A revised version of this entry can be found in the ebook Catbooks and Other Methods.
Chapter Three: The Three Daily Pages
Use this technique for: a daily practice to clear your head.
Starting point: at the start of three pages.
Ending point: when three pages have been filled.
8:47 AM Vivaldi, and the usual breakfast. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Were I at the old job, I’d be getting coffee and settling in. But I’m not, so I’m not. But I still feel as though I’ve emerged through something. Or maybe it was just the ugly dreams I had, my brain purging out the sticky worst case scenarios.
Those who have read Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way (and even quite a few people who haven’t) are familiar with the concept of “Morning Pages.” Some might also be familiar with Natalie Goldman’s notebook technique in Writing Down The Bones.
This is my personal variation on that particular theme, which you are free to further adapt to your own needs. (Particularly considering that I came up with these rules by breaking a number of the “rules” for Morning Pages.)
To do Three Daily Pages you should use a lined notebook with standard notebook paper sized pages. (Roughly 8 ½ inches by 11 inches. 27.9 centimeters by 21.5 centimeters, for those of you dialing in from the metric system.) Using smaller journals is kind of cheating and using catbook-sized notebooks is really cheating. You can use cheap spiral bound notebooks or you can even find rather lovely bound books of that size as well. (I get mine at Borders in the bargain section. They are magnificent and not that expensive.)
The rules are pretty simple. Once per day, sit down and free write until you have filled three pages. Then stop.
How long it takes you depends on how fast you write and perhaps what sort of margins you set for yourself. (Spiral bound notebooks are often kinder as they provide those little red lines to keep you from taking up too much space.) I set aside an hour of time to be sure, though most days it runs about forty minutes, give or take.
For some odd reason, I’ve developed the habit of writing down what time it is and updating the time every sixty seconds. Part of this was to give me something to do when the urge to stare off into space was strong. Part of it was simply to make me aware of how much time I had before I had to get ready to go to work. Once I got enough of a stream of words going, I’d stop glancing at the clock and just write.
Traditionally, the pages are done first thing in the morning. This can be a good way to start the day, transcribe odd dreams while they still linger in the mind and ponder your agenda. However, if you find yourself running late and don’t have time, you can break the rules in one of two ways. One is to confine yourself to a single full page if you don’t have time for three. Another is to do what might be termed Evening Pages once you get home. I’ve even done odd variations where I’ve done one page in the morning and the other two pages in the evening. And I’ve done Afternoon Pages in the middle of the day.
However you do it, make sure that your stopping point is the end of a page and not somewhere in the middle. The name of the game is to force yourself to fill the pages completely, no matter how cranky you feel about it, even if it’s five lines of the words “keep writing” over and over again. Some days you will fill three pages with ease and want to keep going for a fourth. Other days it’ll feel like digging a hole with a teaspoon. The main point is to do it and do it consistently.
So why do we do this to ourselves anyway? In some ways, it’s something like a meditation practice. Instead of letting our repetitive thoughts rattle around in our head we can get them out and see if there’s anything we can do about them. You can do minor venting here (and keep the nuclear level venting for the Shit Book) or brainstorm ideas or just write about the sound of the rain on the roof and the smell of the morning coffee. You will find that you tend to go about the day with much more clarity if you spend at least some part of the day clearing three pages worth of stuff from your mind.
Use this technique for: when you are really, really, really pissed off about something.
Starting point: when you need to get something off your chest.
Stopping point: when it’s off your chest.
Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you and by the way FUCK YOU.
Free writing is a fine way to vent, to allow those thoughts racing through your head a place to park themselves so you can stop thinking them over and over again.
The Shit Book is all venting, all the time. The Shit Book is the toxic waste dump for the thoughts you really don’t want to be thinking. Use it when something is bothering you so much it is physically hurting you and you can feel that odd ache in your chest that won’t go away with distractions or deep breathing. Use it when you find yourself mentally rehashing past arguments, trying to get that one last word in. Use it to write the things you wish you could say to someone, but know you’d get in trouble for saying.
My personal Shit Book is a smallish blue spiral bound notebook with a Mr. Yuk-like face scrawled on the cover. It’s lasted me for many years, since I only haul it out for extreme situations and I have gone for long stretches without needing it at all.
The rules for the Shit Book are as follows:
1. Confine it to one book specifically for Shit Book purposes. Do not use your regular diary or journal for this.
2. Write in pencil. This isn’t anything you want to preserve for future generations and the last thing you need is your pen to run out when you’ve got a rant going.
3. Hold absolutely nothing back. Whoever or whatever you are angry at, this is no time to be polite or reasonable. They’re never going to read it. Be as petty, bitter, vicious and selfish as possible. Throw a tantrum. Dredge up every insult in the book and add in a few new ones. Write things you don’t even really mean, but that you want to say because you’re that pissed off. Write down all the ways you could take revenge if you were that kind of person. Get every ounce of it out of you.
4. Be egocentric. For heaven’s sake, do not use this technique to beat up on yourself! Place yourself at the center of the universe and everybody else beneath you for the length of this exercise. Even when you rationally know that you have your own part in whatever mess you’re in, this is not the time and place for acknowledging that. Blame everybody and everything but you and go to town with it.
5. Write until the ache dies down. It may take a paragraph, it may take pages, just keep going until all the venom has been properly purged.
6. ABSOLUTELY DO NOT REREAD IT. Put it this way—rereading what you wrote in your Shit Book is like drinking your own vomit. It came out of you for a reason, and taking it back in is just going to make you sick all over again. I speak from unfortunate experience on this one—trust me, it is really for the best to leave the words on the page and never return to them. Turn the book to a new page and put it away for when you need it again. I intend to destroy my current Shit Book when I’ve eventually filled it out, because there’s nothing in there that needs to be kept.
A variation on this is the Angry Letter. Abraham Lincoln reportedly used this technique—he would write angry letters and then toss them in the stove to be consumed by the flames. They’re traditionally directed at people, but you can also direct them at groups of people or even more abstract notions. (“Dear Educational System . . .”) The game is pretty much the same as the Shit Book—spew out all rage, hold nothing back, write until done—and then you can sign it, if you are so inclined, and then rip the letter to bits and dispose of it. Incineration optional.
The Internet would probably be a much calmer place if more people used Shit Books instead of doing the same thing with the “Reply” function.
A revised version of this entry can be found in the ebook Catbooks and Other Methods.
Use this technique for: making wait times a lot more bearable.
Starting point: when you have a spare moment and not much else to do.
Stopping point: when the spare moment ends.
Band’s over, but the rain’s still falling and looks like it will be for some time. So I guess I’ll pass the time here until the clouds pass over. Story of my life, really. I could have another drink, but I know I’d regret it in the morning, so I’ll get drunk on words instead.
Any time I venture from the house, I always carry four essential items with me—keys, wallet, phone and catbook.
A catbook is a small notebook that I use to free write in. I’ve used small blank journals with fancy covers and I’ve used cheap tiny notebooks from the drugstore. (Lately, I’ve taken to sticking them in my back jeans pocket, and thus I’ve rather lost interest in the hardbound ones.) The important thing is that it fits easily in a purse or pocket and is not burdensome to carry.
As I mentioned, I started to carry one in the event that A Brilliant Idea would strike me over the head and I would have a place to write it down before it got away. I still use it for that now and again, but I mostly use it while I’m waiting for things.
Many of my catbooks have been filled while I waited for public transportation to arrive. I’ve used them in waiting rooms, restaurants, bars, long lines and even in exceedingly bad traffic (though I’m quick to put the book down the moment things start to move.) I’ve also done some rather shaky writing on moving buses. (If you’re one of those fortunate souls who can read while in a moving vehicle without suffering motion sickness, you may not need this. If, like me, you need the movement of the pen to signal to your brain that the inner ear is not kidding, you will find this a great way to spend the ride if you’re already familiar with what’s out the window.)
Catbooks will allow you to do things like chronicle your comings and going as you come and go, to vent about frustrating situations without taking it out on other people (waiting rooms, for example, are fine examples of frustrating situations) and to jot down your observations about your surroundings. They don’t have to be written in nonstop, you can write for as long as you feel like and then put the book down and look around for a bit and then dive back in again. Write when you’re in a place where you can write and stop writing when it’s time to stop (such as when the bus, the food or the time for the appointment arrives.)
Writing allows you to look busy so people will generally leave you alone. Sometimes people will ask what you’re writing. You are under no particular obligation to tell them. If I’m feeling particularly smartass, I’ll say “words” and leave it at that. If I’m feeling more sociable, I’ll explain what a catbook is to them. If you wanted to explain that’s it something you picked up from this nifty site called Wonderbink.com, go right ahead.
Use this technique for: making wait times a lot more bearable.
Starting point: when you have a spare moment and not much else to do.
Stopping point: when the spare moment ends.
Band’s over, but the rain’s still falling and looks like it will be for some time. So I guess I’ll pass the time here until the clouds pass over. Story of my life, really. I could have another drink, but I know I’d regret it in the morning, so I’ll get drunk on words instead.
Any time I venture from the house, I carry four essential items with me—keys, wallet, phone and catbook.
A catbook is a small notebook that I use to free write in. I’ve used miniature hardbound journals with fancy covers and I’ve used cheap tiny notebooks from the drugstore. (Lately, I’ve taken to sticking them in my back jeans pocket, and thus I’ve rather lost interest in the hardbound ones.) The important thing is that it fits easily in a purse or pocket and is not burdensome to carry.
As I mentioned, I started to carry one in the event that A Brilliant Idea would strike me over the head and I would have a place to write it down before it got away. I still use it for that now and again, but I mostly use it while I’m waiting for things.
Many of my catbooks have been filled while I waited for public transportation to arrive. I’ve used them in waiting rooms, restaurants, bars, long lines and even in exceedingly bad traffic (though I’m quick to put the book down the moment things start to move.) I’ve also done some rather shaky writing on moving buses. (If you’re one of those fortunate souls who can read while in a moving vehicle without suffering motion sickness, you may not need this. If, like me, you need the movement of the pen to signal to your brain that the inner ear is not kidding, you will find this a great way to spend the ride if you’re already familiar with what’s out the window.)
Catbooks will allow you to do things like chronicle your comings and going as you come and go, to vent about frustrating situations without taking it out on other people (waiting rooms, for example, are fine examples of frustrating situations) and to jot down your observations about your surroundings. If there’s something on your mind that has nothing to do with your surroundings, you can just as easily write that down instead. They don’t have to be written in nonstop, you can write for as long as you feel like and then put the book down and look around for a bit and then dive back in again. Write when you’re in a place where you can write and stop writing when it’s time to stop (such as when the bus, the food or the time for the appointment arrives.)
Catbooks also liberate you from the stultifying notion that one needs “quiet time”, an antique desk with a beautiful view and a perfect cup of tea in order to write. Indeed, you may find that the more tumultuous the surroundings, the more interesting the results.
Writing allows you to look busy so people will generally leave you alone. Sometimes people will ask what you’re writing. You are under no particular obligation to tell them. If I’m feeling particularly smartass, I’ll say “words” and leave it at that. If I’m feeling more sociable, I’ll explain what a catbook is to them. If you wanted to explain that’s it something you picked up from this nifty site called Wonderbink.com, go right ahead.
A revised version of this entry can be found in the ebook Catbooks and Other Methods.
When I was in high school back in the 20th century, I was introduced to the concept of free writing. I was taking Advanced Placement English (which is much like a regular English class, except that they expect more of you) and the teacher started each class by playing a song on a primitive device called a ‘cassette player’ and giving us the length of one song to write whatever happened to be in our heads on a sheet of notebook paper. Random observations, lyrics, elations, frustrations, whatever. To give us something resembling an assignment to hand in, we had to type up one of our pages for his perusal each week. I recall that the typed-up pages I produced were heavily embroidered with bracketed comments, per his instructions, to explain what exactly the heck I was going on about.
My first English class in college also had me free writing. (I recall the girl sitting next to me looked completely baffled at the concept. “It’s easy!” I said cheerily, “Just write whatever comes into your head!” She gave me the blankest look I’d ever been given.) At some point around that time, I can’t recall exactly when, I picked up a small pocket-sized hardbound journal with a silhouette of a cat looking down at a knocked-over vase. Originally, I’d bought it for the Writing Down of Brilliant Ideas that writerly types are supposed to be struck with. Instead, I found myself free writing into it at random intervals, while waiting for things or needing to clear my head. I dubbed it my ‘catbook’ and the name stuck even as I used that one up and moved on to other small books for scribbling in.
When I was in high school back in the 20th century, I was introduced to the concept of free writing. I was taking Advanced Placement English (which is much like a regular English class, except that they expect more of you) and the teacher started each class by playing a song on a primitive device called a ‘cassette player’ and giving us the length of one song to write whatever happened to be in our heads on a sheet of notebook paper. Random observations, lyrics, elations, frustrations, whatever. To give us something resembling an assignment to hand in, we had to type up one of our pages for his perusal each week. I recall that the typed-up pages I produced were heavily embroidered with bracketed comments, per his instructions, to explain what exactly the heck I was going on about.
My first English class in college also had me free writing. (I recall the girl sitting next to me looked completely baffled at the concept. “It’s easy!” I said cheerily, “Just write whatever comes into your head!” She gave me the blankest look I’d ever been given.) At some point around that time, I picked up a small pocket-sized hardbound journal with a silhouette of a cat looking down at a knocked-over vase. I’d bought it for the Writing Down of Brilliant Ideas that writerly types are supposed to be struck with. Instead, I found myself free writing into it on a regular basis. I dubbed it my ‘catbook’ and the name stuck even as I used that one up and moved on to other small books for scribbling in.
These books may well have saved my life. Or, at the very least, made it much more bearable. I emerged from college into a recession-tightened job market and found myself taking public transportation to various menial jobs. I filled many a catbook during the drawn-out journeys from bus to train to destination. Over time, I came up with other ways to make use of the fine art of free writing–some adapted from other sources, others pretty much sprung from trying something and finding it worked.
Free writing is so ridiculously easy that I suspect that’s why so few people seem to do it. They may assume that something so simple couldn’t be of any help to them. Then again, walking is pretty simple, but people use walking to lose weight, strengthen their bodies and even as a way to meditate. Not bad for putting one foot in front of the other.
The main rule of free writing is to write down what’s in your head without going back and fixing anything. That’s pretty much it. All other parameters are subject to change and this blog will be talking about those parameters and when and why to apply them.
If you’ve never, ever done it before, it might seem a bit odd to you. You may think, “oh, crap, I can’t think of anything to write” at which point you write down the words oh, crap, I can’t think of anything to write and you’re on your way. You may think “geez, this is so stupid” and, well, write down geez, this is so stupid and, yeah, I think you get the idea. You may be disappointed to discover that you can’t come up with anything more profound than I want a grilled cheese sandwich and my neck is sore. Relax. If you haven’t done it in a while (or if you haven’t done it ever) it can be a bit like cleaning out a junk drawer and finding all the expired coupons and keys that don’t fit any locks. Once you get all that out of the way, you may find more useful things buried underneath.
While my first experience with free writing required me to hand in a neatened-up version of the results periodically (I suppose to prove that I was indeed doing it) most of not all free writing should be written with the expectation that nobody is going to read it other than you. This allows you to write without mentally glancing over your shoulder to wonder What Will People Think. Who cares? This isn’t for them. This is for you. (In fact, for some of these methods, I recommend that you destroy the results afterward so even you can’t read them again.)
So, if you’re new to this (or even if you aren’t) here’s your homework assignment: Get one sheet of notebook paper and a working pen. Go somewhere you will be left alone, whether it’s your bedroom or your favorite coffee shop. Start at the top of the page and write until you’ve hit the bottom. If you’re feeling up to it, do both sides. Note how you feel before and afterward. If, like me, you feel better than when you started, hello and welcome to my writing habit. Come back and I’ll show you some more fun you can have with this stuff.
A revised version of this entry can be found in the ebook Catbooks and Other Methods.
|
|
