Something is coming up. Perhaps inspiration.
What a morning – writing while trying to fix a clogged toilet, fix breakfast for my pregnant girlfriend, fix shopping, fix everything.
But I got written a bit for my Story.
And soon on to the accounting.
I’m glad I delayed that last part until I had the Story-bit done.
It’s good to remember that if I write every day on stories I love for the next 10 or 50 years … then making mental room and spending calendar time for and on that … is worth the most.
Worth a lot more, actually, than the money I might receive eventually for my efforts.
Started the day writing, before we did all kind of cleaning up- and baby-prep stuff.
And I quickly got some business-mail out of the way, and although I know it is waiting for me Monday, I just had to get going.
So I wrote again – a scene for my story. And I felt rejuvenated.
12 hour work-day and then writing my story. One day in my life that should be a guiding star.
It’s so banal, really. Do something first. Just a bit. That gives to your soul. That builds up something important for the long-term.
Do it often. Repeat it.
There is still time enough for The Rest.
I have to tell stories to feel alive, it is that simple, and I know it and I am deeply regretful about the periods when I have forgotten it, for all sorts of ‘good reasons’. Or when I have doubted my ability to do it, to ever bring my storytelling out into the world in any meaningful form and therefore have stalled.
I have to keep fighting that and so the only way that makes sense is to do it one fight at a time, a few hundred words here and there – but regularly. Please let me not forget.
Then … at some point, give or take a baby’s upbringing and 1001 stressful workdays, there will be more order in the apartment again.
Or elsewhere. Or in my head. Whatever comes first …
Order enough so I feel better about sitting down somewhere and drawing for longer. In a suitable, good enough space. So it is actually physically possible to do it!
But the very first thing to do is to keep those embers in that space where they need to be always, no matter what:
Maybe I – we – want so much to be perfect because we have been taught early on that a ‘pure record’ is the only way to be appreciated.
In school. By parents. By peers.
Maybe. It seems deeply ingrained.
And obviously critique, even if it’s just someone with a need to tell me I said “right” too many times during a live-talk – that still gets to me, despite years of experience.
But what are the standards? Who gets annoyed by 12 “rights”? Who gets annoyed by 25? Who gets annoyed by 5 in a row? Who feels 5 in a row constitutes the whole talk? And so on …
These kinds of critical questions usually short circuit when I am critiqued. I have to make an effort to call them up.
I’ll do better next, certainly, when I give a live-talk.
Afterwards I’ll ask ALL of the right questions about how I actually performed.
Wanting to be seen more than anything is the worst motivation to create art. The worst of all. It can and will destroy you. And your art. Whichever comes first.