healthy distraction and the art of comics (re)bagging and boarding

in

Stated yesterday that I know that the writing's not going well when I've (re)bagged and boarded a lot of comics and I've (re)bagged and boarded a lot of comics this week and while I do stand by what I said yesterday, I’ve evolved my thinking through the recognition that it's become a largely automatic – the winnowing is more or less complete – distraction to help me think things through on The Work at hand and, whereas, normally, I’d get pissed at myself for such an attention-switching (while I like and use some of what Cal Newport has to say, I don’t believe that he has as solid a grasp of the creative impulse as he seems to think he does); Rick Rubin, in THE CREATIVE ACT, is, unsurprisingly, far more on target:

"Distraction is one of the best tools available to the artist when used skillfully. In some cases, it's the only way to get where we are going....

We might hold a problem to be solved lightly in the back of our consciousness instead of in the front of our mind. This way, we can remain present with it over time while engaging in a simple, unrelated task...

Distration is not procrastination. Procrastination consistently undermines our ability to make things. Distraction is a strategy in service of the work." 

The key is that you must have a problem in mind, as I certainly did – my problem being that I didn’t know what the problem was only that there was a problem, my old standby, "What am I not seeing" – and, while little writing-writing (the placing of words in order on a screen is, after all, only a part of the process) was actually done over the last couple of days of bagging and boarding, not only was the problem found but solved: I realized I had committed my cardinal sin of thinking of form first and attempting jamming the story into that.

Egregious error corrected and words flowing, somewhat, though fragmentary. A new focus on one thing only, a simultaneous all in AND lowering of the stakes: I’m not going to run out of chips; this is only being written so it can be finished and I can do the next thing and so on and so on until I’m no more. (Does lowering the stakes allow me more self-permission to let things come as they do? Perhaps.)

Side note the first: never underestimate the amount of video game and toy history you can gleam from 50+ years of comic books advertising.

Side note the second: whoever came up with the adhesive comic book bag is a both genius and a bastard: those static film adhesive coverings are all over the place, stuck to every part of The Paintshop and my person, the forget-me-nots of the collecting world.

(repost) :: i am my wife's ornamental hermit (and i feel fine)

in

(This was originally shared here last July, but given that summer is once again upon us and I am back to my hacking and digging and mowing and leveling ways, I felt it was an opportune time to revisit…)

There’s something about the life of the 18th century ornamental hermit — which, according to Atlas Obscura…

While some gardeners might now throw in a gnome statue among their flowers and shrubberies, back in the 18th century wealthy estate owners were hiring real people to dress as druids, grow their hair long, and not wash for years. These hired hermits would lodge in shacks, caves, and other hermitages constructed in a rustic manner in rambling gardens. It was a practice mostly found in England, although it made it up to Scotland and over to Ireland as well.

— speaks to me: I feel, as I wander our backyard in the AC, a certain kinship with the gentleman pictured above. I would totally live in one of those “hermitages constructed in a rustic manner in rambling gardens”; I pretty much already do. I have found, then, my life goal; little did I know I was already living it.

(Plus, the bit about not speaking to anyone for seven years sounds fantastic. The not bathing part, eh, not so much. Still, sacrifices must be made.)

the winnowing, existentially

in

*(being a segment from MacroParentheticals0117, continued and expanded…)

In spite of what recent postings and sharings might lead you to believe, I've started a process of winnowing my comics collection, wheat from etc etc: this first phase consists of parting with a lot of the chaff that made up the bulk of my early collecting days – four shortboxes so far, most likely bound bound for a donation to a new LCS to let them do with as they please – while keeping those that appeal based on a.) my perception of the narrative and historical importance; b.) a compelling emotional attachment; and c.) whether or not I like the creators' / creative team's work – similar to how I decide to keep the books on the shelves or donate them to a library or used bookstore.

(The second phase will be selling individual issues, should the desire ever arise – AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 252, 361, off the top of my head, but that’s a ways away – if I ever get to that point.)

Regardless of whether selling actually happens, my goal here is, as with the winnowing, similarly two-fold: one, a move towards trying to get full series – my now-complete O'Neil SHADOW run (I've also got a complete run (and then some) of the Howard Chakyin BLOOD AND JUDGEMENT mini (LOVE) and Andy Helfer / Sienkiewicz / Baker 19 issue ongoing) and O'Neil's similarly heading-towards-completion THE QUESTION (which I also have in Omnibus format – so, so good) – and important (to me) standalones: Ditko Spideys (those being especially emotionally relevant); early Daredevils (yellow suit FTW); Jack Kirby Fourth Worlds (probably not the whole thing, but I do have the doorstop Omnibus and I'm in love with the Kirby unleashed madness that pours off of every panel); Golden Age Dick Tracy; and more, TBD.

And second, probably as a result of having spent too much time (a fast-paced three weeks between death and apartment exodus this time last year) among my mother's things after her fucking off from this mortal coil and realizing that, among the QVC and Christmas decor, there was zilch that I wanted to keep (beyond the antique furniture she didn’t throw out behind my back) or to which I had any emotional attachment, I've become cognizant of what I leave behind: other than my wife and my niece, it's not like I have kids or anyone, really, save a few friends and the progeny of those few friends (and even then that’s just two, one local and another on the other ocean), to whom I can leave The Collection or the rest of my shit – and want to make sure that it’s got a home before something finally kills me: Swedish Death Cleaning is – when you have no children or other heirs (other than your wife, a set of oct-and non- agenarians, and dogchildren), a last name that isn’t your own, and a legacy which consists primarily of the possession of a pretty fucking awesome collection of things (if I do say so myself) and the writing of weird shit that no one reads (which is also fine, grumble grumble) – nothing if not existentially perplexing.

To end on a slightly less morbid and ballooning existential-and-creative-crisis note: everything I share at this tag is a photograph from my own collection – all comics art, everything: The Collection has reached a point where I am my own source of digital fascination for myself (and possibly for you) which is not an unenviable place to be.

That went on a lot longer than I planned so now it’s back to writing more weird shit while being surrounded by a bunch of really cool shit which is what I’ll probably do until I too, like all of us, fuck off this mortal coil: it’s not like any of us get out alive.