instrument

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I've always gravitated, emotionally, towards the work of those whose chosen medium or instrument is the only way they can fully express themselves – which, I suppose, explains why I've morphed through so many creative identities (drummer, composer, filmmaker, writer, etc) over the years: I never found that instrument that felt like it was an extension of myself and that I wanted to dedicate myself to learning to speak through, until I landed on writing. Feels like my instrument – doesn't mean it won't shift in the future, but I've been here, in the halls of its practice rooms, for the last 20 years, so I suppose that bodes well for its chances.

(cl)ashes

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Been doing the newsletter for more than ten years and a blog for even longer and I still don't have a clue how to balance things out: what do I share publicly, what do I save for Sunday? is Sunday a review of the week previous, a revision of / synthesis? do I use all of the pieces from the week to construct something new? is it simply something new?

A clash of Annie Dillard's exhortation in THE WRITING LIFE with this writing life, at least as it stands at present (same river twice, etc etc):

"One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now... Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and you find ashes." 

Every week being new effort to understand it?

Of course, the real question may be why I'm continuing to wonder about it at all, a conflict between my usual whenever/whatever and that OCD need for (faux) certainty in an calling that feeds on uncertainty.

dive / control

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Arrived at the (obvious) conclusion that the only way to deal with the malaise arising from things outside my control in this game called writing is to double down and dive back into the things I can control with greater frequency. Three 90 minute blocks instead of two? Question being if it's sustainable – which is, and always has been, my primary concern, for better or for worse. Still, would like to figure out a way to make writing my default activity, without time constraints, as I do, for the most part, have the freedom to do so. Problem being that so much of writing (at least in my process) is in iterating and winging ideas without a straightahead to-do or outline. Task-based won't work - at least for big works (and word counts and I don’t play well together). Maybe for smaller things, though?

a fundamental fear

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That, as recognized during my final years in music school (now twenty years in the past, JFC), I'm lacking a basic, instinctual component of competence, a fundamental - potentially unlearnable? - tool, in my chosen craft. However, unlike in music school (couldn't sing, couldn't find a pitch in solfège; ignored structure and form which is probably why I'm such a junkie for it now, overcompensate much?), I haven't a clue what it is, only that it's there. Maybe.

accept / embrace

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Working still to accept that I won't have a "career" (whatever that looks like these days) as a writer and to fully embrace that I'll forever be underground, a blend of writing, pulps, underground comix, and cassette-trading electronica. Want to be the Jiro-restaurant, the little sushi stand in a subway station that strives only for perfection, knowing full well it can never be attained.

While there are mainstream things I’d like to accomplish – have to believe that I've got a Batman run in me somewhere, if only to satisfy the kid that hungers for it inside – I'm trying to be good with where I am and what I'm doing.

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Pondering: can the day's (creative) work be considered honest only when you combine the discipline of showing up with the willingness to set aside the perceived expectations of yourself and the imaginary audience and follow – without thought of gain or productivity or any other artificial metric – the path of your inspiration even if, at day’s end, it led you down a (temporarily) unusable path? Leaning towards probably…

note to self

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Trying to keep this bit – for my money, the finest bit of wisdom in a book full of it – at the forefront as I navigate my own resoundingly unproductive (and maddening) creative period:

"The word block suggests that you are constipated or stuck, when the truth is that you're empty... The problem is acceptance, which is something we're taught not to do. We're taught to improve uncomfortable situations, to change things, alleviate unpleasant feelings. But if you accept the reality that you have been given – that you are not in a productive creative period – you free yourself to begin filling up again."

THE SHADOW SCRAPBOOK (1979)

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The latest addition to the collection, a first edition of Walter Gibson’s THE SHADOW SCRAPBOOK. Here’s the title page, signed by Gibson:

Gibson, on his writing days (which produced 282 +/- of the 325 SHADOW issues (plus comics) that Gibson, as Grant, penned):

I was turning out first drafts at a rate of four pages an hour, each page running over 250 words. That meant a little over thirty pages in an eight-hour day, or better than 8,000 words. At that rate, I could finish a 60,000-word story in less than eight days, but I never wrote one that mechanically. Usually I was slow in warming up or took a few too many breaks, so I felt lucky if I got beyond twenty pages on the first or second day. But once the story was rolling, & didn't care about the hours. With a few breaks, _ would work up to ten or even twelve hours a day, hitting as high as forty or even fifty pages.

I generally started around nine o'clock on the morning of the first day but seldom worked steadily until five or six o'clock. I might take the afternoon off and finish my stint in the evening; or go out in the evening and put in a few hours after I came in around midnight. In the latter case I wouldn't begin my second "day" until about noon, which would push the third "day" even further ahead. A few more hours of extra work would push the following "day" still further on, and there were times when I slept so late that I didn't start until early evening but kept going until the following dawn.

The whole book is available via The Internet Archive; stoked to have a physical edition –the signature makes it even more wonderful. Will add more from it as I peruse and read.