You’d think it would be more fun, this. But it’s...

Good Advice.

Ten Minutes! Go!

Here are the essential rules that are often formulated for the beginners or students, often a paraphrase of Natalie Goldberg’s “Rules for Free Writing.”

* Give yourself a time limit. Write for one or ten or twenty minutes, and then stop.
* Keep your hand moving until the time is up. Do not pause to stare into space or to read what you’ve written. Write quickly but not in a hurry.
* Pay no attention to grammar, spelling, punctuation, neatness, or style. Nobody else needs to read what you produce here. The correctness and quality of what you write do not matter; the act of writing does.
* If you get off the topic or run out of ideas, keep writing anyway. If necessary, write nonsense or whatever comes into your head, or simply scribble: anything to keep the hand moving.
* If you feel bored or uncomfortable as you’re writing, ask yourself what’s bothering you—and write about that. Sometimes your creative energy is like water in a kinked hose, and before thoughts can flow on the topic at hand, you have to straighten the hose by attending to whatever is preoccupying you.
* When the time is up, look over what you’ve written, and mark passages that contain ideas or phrases that might be worth keeping or elaborating on in a subsequent free-writing session.
Via Wikipedia

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June 25, 2008

You’d think it would be more fun, this. But it’s not. It’s not fun to give it all up. TO walk away. How man stories end that way. The grass isn’t always greener and all that. So frustrating.
This isn’t happening tonight. It’s just not. I’m a festering ball of doubt, self-loathing and morose. I’m petered out. I’m a stubb. A candle burned down to a waxy grime. I have guilt. Oh yes. I have it. Guilt.
THis daily thing is hard. You’ve got to keep it up. But why? Why daily? What is so important. YOu can’t only do it when you feel good. YOu have to be able to do it all the time, no matter what. I have a better idea. Be relaxed.
You can’t be relaxed all the time.
Black Plastic. A solid thick casing. With a nice pattern— textture even on the top part, the pushing part. it’s a grip-making texture. So your hands don’t slip off. Ca-chunk. That’s the sound it makes. They don’t make them like they used to. They used to be all steal and solid. Now they’re plasti c and cheap. They have little rubber feet.

I’m out of time.

I came back. I wanted to tell you about this concept: I’m having a bad night. Numerically. Fighting with numbers. Struggling with numerics. The numbers do not fall in my favor tonight. When that happens, numerics fail. And you’re best bet is to sit under an umbrella making beersmores until it blows over.