Introspection and magazine articles
7/6/02p
I am restless, unsettled. I came to the cafe with the express wish not to be a simple observer of what is going on around me; but to be introspective, to examine myself-- where am I going with writing. Then I get depressed thinking about all the writers whose books line these bookshelves- thousands? Millions? Or the talented writers whose books will not be published. I have a writer's digest "Writer's guide to Creativity"
which I should read; but feel that it would iron me flat, take out every creative idea and make it like some other person. Pretty stupid-- uh? I wonder if I should take a writing course. Why should I think I can write without studying writing? Would an opera singer not take lessons? No way, she would take as many lessons as she could.
What would my novel be? What genre? Romantic comedy science fiction? Write something autobiographical. I can't remember yesterday much less the apartment building to which I was taken home from the hospital. Do research then. You don't have to kill Jehovah's witnesses, whump thump, kadump, thud, to write about them.
Write something you feel passionate about...
The effect of religion and God on tolerance on being different on art.
Beauty and how it can paralyze you, mesmerize you like an animal caught in a snake's gaze, until it strikes you dead.
Music which holds you completely still and transports you beyond the ordinary
Mood altering substances like triple cappuccino which takes you from weepy, ugly, little feelings to grandiose thoughts that you can actually write ---
How many cappuccinos would it take to write a novel? Get me started someone. Let me fly, cappuccino above the ordinary thoughts that tie me down. I want to fly above all these readers’ heads and collect up all the thoughts that leak out. I can almost see their thoughts leaking out... that scientist over there... reading the math textbook... has numbers spiraling out from his nose... that frumpy looking woman with the bonnet that is made of bamboo has a messy purple aura of leaking thoughts...that young women with her textbook whose subject I cannot read from here has an intense light like the sun shining through clouds... that old women whose scalp shines through her wispy hair has weak emanations of.. That young couple has thoughts intertwined reflecting the body language leaning into each other across the table...
Sorry.... I said I was going to be introspective and not observant. It must be the cappuccino which forces me to type this fast. I like the awake feeling it gives. The frenetic intense feeling of living it imparts. Let us all offer up a cheer to caffeine or whatever else lets the words tumble out effortlessly as water flowing over a waterfall. I am harnessing the electricity that the water imparts and not caring particularly if this is interesting. It is the feeling of intense pleasure that writing can sometimes give when you let it flow.
Looking back on this will certainly freeze the river, damn up the thoughts... damn...
15 minutes later
I am staring at this young women's shoulder. She is wearing an electric blue scoop neck top. I never realized the erotic nature of a shoulder..... Whoa, woe... she came around to sit next to her boy friend to show him something in her magazine. Peaking up from the back of her blue jean shorts and her blue top is some sort of tattoo showing on the slit of skin. The shorts stick out about 3/4 of an inch and my minds fingers want to wander there.... Sheech, I can't believe I am telling you guys these things. Maybe cappuccino has aphrodisiac qualities. Time to shift my gaze.
There is a set of short haired young women. One with dyed blue green neon hair, the other with vanilla ice cream hair. What is with this new fashion of too short shirt tails.... or should I say no shirt tails. Many girls show great rolls of pudge like old fashioned inner tubes. I admit that the tattooed girl looked sexy with her skin slit; but this one. Yikes. There should be a magazine article on this...
I am restless, unsettled. I came to the cafe with the express wish not to be a simple observer of what is going on around me; but to be introspective, to examine myself-- where am I going with writing. Then I get depressed thinking about all the writers whose books line these bookshelves- thousands? Millions? Or the talented writers whose books will not be published. I have a writer's digest "Writer's guide to Creativity"
which I should read; but feel that it would iron me flat, take out every creative idea and make it like some other person. Pretty stupid-- uh? I wonder if I should take a writing course. Why should I think I can write without studying writing? Would an opera singer not take lessons? No way, she would take as many lessons as she could.
What would my novel be? What genre? Romantic comedy science fiction? Write something autobiographical. I can't remember yesterday much less the apartment building to which I was taken home from the hospital. Do research then. You don't have to kill Jehovah's witnesses, whump thump, kadump, thud, to write about them.
Write something you feel passionate about...
The effect of religion and God on tolerance on being different on art.
Beauty and how it can paralyze you, mesmerize you like an animal caught in a snake's gaze, until it strikes you dead.
Music which holds you completely still and transports you beyond the ordinary
Mood altering substances like triple cappuccino which takes you from weepy, ugly, little feelings to grandiose thoughts that you can actually write ---
How many cappuccinos would it take to write a novel? Get me started someone. Let me fly, cappuccino above the ordinary thoughts that tie me down. I want to fly above all these readers’ heads and collect up all the thoughts that leak out. I can almost see their thoughts leaking out... that scientist over there... reading the math textbook... has numbers spiraling out from his nose... that frumpy looking woman with the bonnet that is made of bamboo has a messy purple aura of leaking thoughts...that young women with her textbook whose subject I cannot read from here has an intense light like the sun shining through clouds... that old women whose scalp shines through her wispy hair has weak emanations of.. That young couple has thoughts intertwined reflecting the body language leaning into each other across the table...
Sorry.... I said I was going to be introspective and not observant. It must be the cappuccino which forces me to type this fast. I like the awake feeling it gives. The frenetic intense feeling of living it imparts. Let us all offer up a cheer to caffeine or whatever else lets the words tumble out effortlessly as water flowing over a waterfall. I am harnessing the electricity that the water imparts and not caring particularly if this is interesting. It is the feeling of intense pleasure that writing can sometimes give when you let it flow.
Looking back on this will certainly freeze the river, damn up the thoughts... damn...
15 minutes later
I am staring at this young women's shoulder. She is wearing an electric blue scoop neck top. I never realized the erotic nature of a shoulder..... Whoa, woe... she came around to sit next to her boy friend to show him something in her magazine. Peaking up from the back of her blue jean shorts and her blue top is some sort of tattoo showing on the slit of skin. The shorts stick out about 3/4 of an inch and my minds fingers want to wander there.... Sheech, I can't believe I am telling you guys these things. Maybe cappuccino has aphrodisiac qualities. Time to shift my gaze.
There is a set of short haired young women. One with dyed blue green neon hair, the other with vanilla ice cream hair. What is with this new fashion of too short shirt tails.... or should I say no shirt tails. Many girls show great rolls of pudge like old fashioned inner tubes. I admit that the tattooed girl looked sexy with her skin slit; but this one. Yikes. There should be a magazine article on this...
posted by Kajgreb | 5:56 PM
2 Comments:
and now you are into aura gazing -
or should I say are you still into aura gazing? This is old right? write?
Writing is about writing.
We can research and read and study
and want to but the end result is we must sit our big/skinny/saggy/tight/tatooed/whatever cabooses down and write.
I think and what the hell do I know but I think writing classes certainly help get us wannabes up and inspired but in the end --
This is a wonderful post! I always wonder about writing and the many things I can do/read/study to get me inspired.
Why aren't you writing? Because you're spending the time you should be writing observing the many different people at Borders! LOL!
I agree with Anna. You just have to sit right down and do it. Set a goal. 500 words a day. Or -- 2000 words a weekend if you can't find the time to write during the week.
The goal is the key.
So I look forward to your next creative writing piece.
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