Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)Thurs. Sept. 2, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #23 - Again, house I'm sitting at, stealin' time...
Another late night jam session, another sub-par sleeping performance, I see each night sleeping as a separate performance now; however, "I feel good, and I [didn't] know that I would, now" (James Brown)...Yesterday's lows have vanished - seemingly so quickly. Sometimes it just takes a cat-nap to overcome ones fears and doubts about tomorrow's promises - imagine a cat with insomnia. I like that line, it makes me feel like a real writer, and I'm back on my path, or a train, toward the future I want. It's funny, it's not?...funny how yesterday could seem so devastating, we've had feelings like this before, and we know time will pass most doubts/feelings, but we still let them creep in and aggravate us off our path. It's like that John Butler lyric about how we know these feelings will pass...I'll look up that lyric later...and for the dude in my creative writing class that critiqued my short story Garbage (check it out!), and said, after reading the Bob Marley lyric I quoted, "You shouldn't use or rely on lyrics or quotes to better your writing"...well, fuck that guy and the horse he didn't ride in on...fuck that guy and the SUV he rode in on...Lyrics are a language that speak to me, it's like the Romance novels speaking to the lonely gal - except rational on my part, right?...Maybe I shall quote Romance novels for now on...maybe not...(consider looking up Romance novel to quote; also consider not doing this)...
I'm writing at this home again, watching the kids, and not as scared to get caught writing as I was before...at some point in life you've just got to stop caring, I guess...the kids keeping joking that I'm a terrorist. I'm not sure how that makes me feel...maybe I really am like President Obama, he's Muslim, he's not?...
I'm not sure what I'm getting at here, and don't care...I do know that I'm getting at something though, and will "fax' you when I find out exactly what it is...Let's assume I wrote this 20 years ago, and just dated each date in the future, and now that this "is" (it's not? just in case it's not yet, or ever?) a book, I have to explain it was written 20 years ago, and that's why I said "fax", not email...I must have written this when I was 8. Let's assume all of this...let's sit and stare at a damn wall, and assume everything...Let's assume this writing will lead somewhere so I can freakin' breathe and just write without, again, apologizing for who I am, or am not, who, also, again, nobody is directly asking for an apology from. Imagine that. Again, I ask my readers to imagine instead of them catching themselves in the imagining state. It's not lazy writing, it just cuts out all the bullshit about what the weather's like outside, and how the chair feels under my ass, useless detail/description that makes everything metaphoric, bullshit...and now imagine - somebody walks up to you and asks, "I would please like to receive an apology"..."An apology for what?"..."You know"..."No...no, I don't...I think I'm gonna walk away now...cause it's a dog-eat world out there, and I ain't got the time"..."Would you please apologize for who you are?"...I walked away before I could answer...but somehow still heard what the...cocksucker...requested...
I like what I'm getting at here, again, not in life, but with this writing -- one day the writing and life will converge - into, maybe, a writing life, etc, but also whatever for now...My mind's still on yesterday's writing, but it was more note taking, and those feelings, whatever it was, haven't developed yet, so I'm still organizing what happened yesterday. Again, when this is edited for book form, this may seem/get "repetitive", but again, I will claim that that (the double that) was intentional and another metaphor for life...
I jotted down in the margin: relate this to removing self from a place, like New York, and all the questions, yes, that others impose, but more so your own questions, for a million sprint through your head, but it's also like a marathon, constant and never ending, for an insomniac's mind...sometimes you just need to get away...
...I think about how to bring all of today's writing home, think about rereading what's already written, get some clarity and some sort of storyline -- but that's not the point of these "Morning Pages" - it's supposed to be first draft, and as much as possible, first-thought...it is a first draft (and still will be by publishing time because, a cracker don't edit)...this is a first draft and come to think of it, I thought of it like 4 sentences ago, but my mind's still racing and other thoughts crept ahead...come to think of it, life is a first draft...go vomit if you must because of another metaphor, I know I just did...but hey, it's true, life's a first draft, it's not?...
(Pause to take kids to the Y and Subway, etc.)...
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This whole idea of anxiousness comes from us, or maybe it's just me, trying to fastfoward life too fast, and wanting to get to the future. This can relate to these "Morning Pages", and what I believe is being created. I don't want to get into specifics, and get ahead of myself, but it's like, whether we like it or not, that's what our mind does - in writing or any other of life's daily tasks, looking to the finish line instead of enjoying the ride. For example: I begin to write, but then think of the next line, so I forget the exact phrasing of the first line, man it was so good inside my head too...like I've said before, my pen will never catch up to my racing mind...and I wonder if my life will ever catch up...It's like what I was thinking about on a train ride from Grand Central to New Haven, on a trip back home...that journey is a train from my present to past, where I live now, where I grew up...and my thought-dreams of my future are nowhere between, keeping my mind everywhere except for where I am...again, yearning to be fully present...it's like I'm not even here...was I there the first time we met?...or the last time we met up?...
I guess that's a reason to write. It's a way to be fully present, or at least evidence you were, in a way, once upon a time. The idea of not knowing where life's going is scary for all of us, and so some choose to write as a way to deal with it, maybe it's even a way to direct where life's going, create a path...Again, this is very similar to the writing process, it's an uneasy feeling while writing because you don't always know where it's going, and if you care, then you want it to be good...but you keep punching, those keys, and writing, until your hand hurts...and that's life, I guess, a writing one, at least...
I said to my cat, Bob Dylan, "Man, Bob, my hand hurts from so much writing...for you, it's your paw"...He responded, "Whateva man...eventually you keep writing and get used to it, and move on...it's called the blues"...he's such a poet...
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I jotted down for later use: Ms. Cameron's chapter "Driving" / exercise p. 196 / relate to your lyric - " Write a lyric on a train, just to stay sane, do so solo in a cab, like the passing street images is your writing lab" / thinking, every line, a step in my right direction...
After writing today, I'm thinking that stealing time to write like this might be better than setting aside huge blocks of time to write...it allows thinking, too much, to get out of the way, there's not enough time to do that...
I'm stealing more time to write, in between terrorist jokes by the kids, and me being scared again to get caught writing...in fact, all this anxiousness may have lead me to being scared of getting caught eating pudding...in this family's fridge there is pudding, the mother had said help yourself, and so I did, but for some reason I'm scared of getting caught eating it...how stupid...but the feelings there...and more than likely will be there for days, years to come...it won't?...
This makes me think back to a previous "Morning Pages" when my confidence wavered. One second I'm singing to myself This Train is Bound for Glory, the next I feel I'm a failure. I know I'm not, so why does that feeling creep in? What the fuck, what...the fuck?...I often sit with constant shifts, and I guess I do the same with confidence...
I stole another (like it's stolen, oh ok) pudding just to stay awake, keep busy. I'll take this risk, which is better than getting caught sleeping on the job...(at a later date relate this to Cameron's p. 205, and being on the right track...and also relate to Paulo Coelho, Zodiac signs, etc...I'm a Leo, of course)...
The toots outside their house wake me up from writing. I had been channeling, forgetting to care, in this moment, I guess, and these toots are almost like a reminder to be scarred, in case I forgot to be...I did for a little bit...
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It's now 5:47 AM, the next day, and I haven't gone to sleep...I'm trying to make sense of Thursday's "Morning Pages", but I can't organize these thoughts now. My mind just won't work...will it ever again, the way it used to.
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