Alexandersmap

    Category: Writing

    • Mastering Our Moments of Truth

      “Anybody can look at a pretty girl and see a pretty girl. An artist can look at a pretty girl and see the old woman she will become. A better artist can look at an old woman and see the pretty girl that she used to be. But a great artist-a master-and that is what Auguste Rodin was-can look at an old woman, protray her exactly as she is…and force the viewer to see the pretty girl she used to be…and more than that, he can make anyone with the sensitivity of an armadillo, or even you, see that this lovely young girl is still alive, not old and ugly at all, but simply prisoned inside her ruined body. He can make you feel the quiet, endless tragedy that there was never a girl born who ever grew older than eighteen in her heart…no matter what the merciless hours have done to her. Look at her, Ben. Growing old doesn’t matter to you and me; we were never meant to be admired-but it does to them.” ― Robert Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land

      We might never achieve the mastery of a Rodin in our art, but surely it’s something to aspire to. We might also aspire to it in this bold act of living. For living with and for others is itself an art, mastered by some, clumsily attempted by most. Everyone wants to be seen and heard and appreciated in the moment they encounter another person. How many disappoint in that moment of truth?

      I aspire to craft a sentence like Heinlein’s in each post. Maybe I will attain that level of craftsmanship on the next one, or the one after that. Time will inform the reader of such things, but making a go of it day-after-day is what matters most on our journey to becoming. Art isn’t the same as aging, for aging subtracts some vitality from the physical self, while days are accretive in art.

      At a party recently, I was reminiscing with a woman about her mother, who passed away a couple of years ago, shattering my belief that she would live forever. When she was alive she and I had a thing for each other, she being 40 years my senior, but young at heart. From the day I first met her I treated her as the vibrant woman I saw in her eyes, and she treated me as her would-be suitor, doomed to fail but welcome to try. This performance went on for almost three decades before she passed, and still makes me smile today.

      We may not become a Rodin or Heinlein in our art. But living offers other opportunities for mastery. Life is about the connections we make with people along the way, one after the other, in our time here. To master that is truly a gift.

    • In Favor of Wonder

      “Sadly it is not only the force of gravity we get used to as we grow up. The world itself becomes a habit in no time at all. It seems as if in the process of growing up we lose the ability to wonder about the world. And in doing so, we lose something central—something philosophers try to restore. For somewhere inside ourselves, something tells us that life is a huge mystery. This is something we once experienced, long before we learned to think the thought.” — Jostein Gaarder, Sophie’s World: A Novel About the History of Philosophy

      Gaarder’s premise is sound: We come into the world full of wonder, but as we grow up being alive becomes a habit. We reach a point where we think we’ve seen it all before and grow comfortable with the general act of our daily existence. Each day remains a miracle, but the vast majority of people take it for granted. What a pity.

      I’ve been working to break this habit in myself for years through deep immersion in philosophy, poetry, history, travel and the deliberate process of savoring the moment. Sometimes I get it right, sometimes I slip into the routine of the day-to-day. But every day I try to begin with reflection on this miracle of being alive. The blog forces me to stay in this lane, if only for a short while, before work and responsibilities draw my attention elsewhere. But I always strive to return to wonder.

      What if instead of returning to wonder we found a way to stay on the dance floor with it? Not in some stupor or drug-induced high, but through deliberate focus on each moment. Turning the habit of living day-to-day on its head and instead embracing heightened awareness and the quiet delight available to us in each encounter along the way. Isn’t that taking the act of living to a higher level?

      We all want more wonder and delight in our lives, for it’s the frosting on our cake—our exclamation point on our moments. The thing is, to break the old habit of merely living, we’ve got to favor wonder and make it a regular part of us. Like any habit, it becomes a part of our identity through consistency. That’s putting the wonder in a full life.

    • Lost Words

      “If you get stuck, get away from your desk. Take a walk, take a bath, go to sleep, make a pie, draw, listen to ­music, meditate, exercise; whatever you do, don’t just stick there scowling at the problem. But don’t make telephone calls or go to a party; if you do, other people’s words will pour in where your lost words should be. Open a gap for them, create a space. Be patient.“ — Hilary Mantel

      Mantel passed away this week, leaving a vast treasure of her words to sift through. Writers are said to live forever, transformed into their words, so long as there are people to read them. In that context, we create our legacy one word at a time. So we ought to make those words as much our own as possible. Aspiring to the level of a Hilary Mantel is surely a worthy, if lofty, objective.

      We all get stuck sometimes, and state change often clears that which blocks us. Any productive endeavor benefits from quiet focus time, we know this. My own productivity, thrown off by a schedule off kilter recently, would benefit from a return to structured quiet time.

      Routine draws words from hidden places deep within us. Changes to routine inspire new ideas, shake old beliefs, and force a reckoning with priorities. Each serves us when balanced, and undercuts our potential when we tilt too far in either direction. Are we a one trick pony or risk merely surface-level understanding? The answer, always, is somewhere in between. It’s there where we may find those elusive lost words to piece together just so.

    • Beating Dragons

      ‘Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.“ — Neil Gaiman, Coraline

      We talk about evil in the world, the worst of humanity, beasts of unimaginable strength and viciousness… but most dragons aren’t out there in the world, not really. Most dragons reside within us. The beast isn’t rising up to sink our ship; it’s holding us back from setting sail. The true dragons are bad habits and that voice inside our head that tells us to snooze a bit more, for you’re too inexperienced or established or young or old to dare change things now.

      Slay these dragons.

      We often think about the gaps between our desired state and our current state as a chasm, when mostly it’s simply a gap. The business of closing gaps is as simple as establishing routines, doing the work one day to the next and moving past what we previously thought possible to discover and close another. We know this intuitively, yet we still listen to dragons. Until their fearsome voices fade into the distance as we build new gaps between who we are now and what we once were.

      Life will throw its dragons up at us, but we might prevail anyway. Simply take the next step. Like a toddler learning to walk it’s invigorating and delightful to see where our steps might carry us, one after the other. Make soup of those dragons. It turns out they taste a lot like chicken.

    • Mastering the Omission

      “Storytelling reveals meaning without committing the error of defining it.” — Hannah Arendt

      There’s an art to telling stories. You see it masterfully displayed in the work of certain authors and public speakers. Everyone knows a great story when they hear it, but many don’t understand the craft of actually creating something that becomes compelling. As a would-be writer and occasional public speaker, I chip away at storytelling with the natural hope of drawing in the reader or audience, instead of lulling them to sleep.

      Like any craft, storytelling requires apprenticeship and time. The artist grows into everything of consequence that they’ll ever create. We hone our skills, witness firsthand the impact of our work on others, and go back to the drawing board to try anew. Everything we do is a hit or a miss, and good timing is, if not everything, essential.

      I say this as a lifetime apprentice to the craft of writing. A blog is like balsa wood for the aspiring storyteller, allowing the writer to carve out a sympathetic audience. But The Thinker wasn’t carved out of balsa wood. One must eventually step out of one’s comfort zone and take more risks. A journeyman reaches mastery when they create a masterpiece. We all reach a moment when we believe that the journeyman gig isn’t nearly enough.

      Any masterpiece includes certain elements that demonstrate the fine skill of the craftsperson. In storytelling we often think about what to include, but often forget that true mastery includes omission. To draw an audience in, we must leave the space for them to fill.

      As you’re doing right now.

    • A Wisp of Smoke

      “There may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.” ― Vincent van Gogh

      Wildfires are once again turning our New Hampshire skies a milky white overcast, with a burnt orange sun. This looks extraordinary at sunrise and sunset, but never natural. And yet a wildfire is a natural occurrence, I suppose, if unduly influenced by humanity. A reminder of places changing a great distance away, yet close enough to change our place too.

      How often people confuse our wisp of smoke for another fire. Though fire reveals itself in both subtle and apparent ways, we never really know what burns inside the soul of another. We often don’t know it ourselves.

      Yet writing reveals. Pages become kindling, words provoke and burst into ideas, and passion plays with the muse to light up our minds and dance across the keyboard. We place ourselves into this cauldron willingly, and forge something transcendent by consequence of the heated ritual.

      Drawn in by the slightest ember of idea, the writer coaxes it to a signal fire that others may see, if only they’ll turn their attention ever so slightly this way. Still, the beacon indicates nothing more than where we’ve been. For the artist is already gathering tinder to reveal what’s next.

    • Creating, Out of Yourself

      “Do not do what someone else could do as well as you. Do not say, do not write what someone else could say, could write as well as you. Care for nothing in yourself but what you feel exists nowhere else. And, out of yourself create, impatiently or patiently, the most irreplaceable of beings.” — André Gide

      The writing comes slowly. The writing comes effortlessly. The work has bursts of creativity mixed with repetition and familiarity. The things I’m most proud of often fall flat, the hits keep getting views and likes. So it shall be.

      We must do the work, and see where it takes us. The work took me to André Gide recently, and I’m delighted with the discovery. Another stepping-stone on the journey across the mad stream of noise and nonsense that wants to sweep us all away before we’ve done the work. When you find such solid ground in the midst of chaos you celebrate the landing. Gide reminds us not to settle, but to make something of ourselves in our time.

      The work deserves our best, because it represents our best in our moment. Should it fall flat in its time or become a surprise hit matters little, save a bit of ego stroke. Work that matters doesn’t fly on the wings of a clever hashtag or marketing campaign. That may matter to a publisher or salesperson or PR firm. What matters in the creative process is how it resonates within us. And where it takes us.

      If we’re lucky, maybe it carries us to places we haven’t been before. To something unexpected and delightful in ourselves. Should be keep at it just a little bit longer.

    • Time in Orange

      The early morning is my game: fresh ideas, new hope, quiet time with the reset before the madness begins. All the petty frustrations of yesterday punted abruptly to a previous version of me, not today’s me. No, not yet.

      A rising waning crescent moon, just a sliver, dances with Venus, also rising, calling for attention herself. Behind me, Jupiter, god of the sky, living up to his nickname as he brightly dominates the western sky, not conceding any royal status as the sky brightens ever so timidly around him. A satellite glides quickly past, just below the king, brash in its intrusive busyness. “A little decorum, please?”, I think to myself, quietly admiring the boldness of technological advancement in the face of custom. Jupiter, playing the long game, remains stoic and proud, despite the affront.

      I return to yesterday, thinking today might be better. It ought to be better, with a bit more effort, a bit more applied acting the part, and maybe, like that satellite, a bit more intrusive busyness. But there I go again, dwelling on the past, cheating the present. This rusty, orange, glowing, hopeful present. It demands more from me. It deserves more from me.

      I dreamed of a TSA agent who wouldn’t set me free. I’m not someone who remembers dreams, but this one woke me at just the right moment, freshly minted in my brain as it was, that it stayed with me through the ritual of orange. I think of it still, that maddening limbo. And it made me think of fresh starts with a sprinkling of boldness.

      Time in Orange

    • Every Single Day

      “If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories — science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.”― Ray Bradbury

      I went for a long walk late in the day yesterday, dodging raindrops, a rarity this summer, to power through nine muggy miles (14.5 km). The mileage wasn’t a surprise, for it was agreed upon before the walk began. The trick in longer walks is to set your expectations and pace, and naturally, to wear good shoes. The rest is just putting one foot in front of the other and observing the world as it comes to you.

      The similarities with writing, or any other mission you decide to show up for every single day, are within reach if one should be inclined to harvest them. We establish our routines, dance with the muse one idea at a time and let it run through us to become something tangible. When it’s finished we share a sense of accomplishment and loss all at once, linger for a beat and shift our mind to what comes next.

      Life is a series of days, repeated one after the other, optimized by expectations and pace. We do with them what we will. And then? We move on to whatever comes next. Yet we always return, don’t we, to the things that matter most to us?

      It would be bold to expect another 20,000 days in my own lifetime. That would make me a very old blogger indeed. But I do have this one, and maybe tomorrow, or maybe not. So I work to make this blog post count for something, maybe stand up as that final post should it be that. Of course, every sentence can’t end in an exclamation point, we’d be seen as more insane than most think of writers as already, but we can’t put our best into everything we do in the moment… just in case.

      Hope to see you tomorrow. 😉

    • Becoming That Shape

      “The ability to fantasize is the ability to grow. [For] boys and girls… the most important time of their day, or especially at night before going to sleep, is dreaming themselves into becoming something, or being something. Into being something. So when you’re a child you begin to dream yourself into a shape, and then you run into the future and try to become that shape. When I was 10, 11, 12 I began to dream of becoming a writer, and the rest of my life has been the real task of shaping myself to that boyhood thing. So fantasizing has been very creative.” – Ray Bradbury, from Day at Night Interview, with thanks to The Marginarian for showing the way.

      It’s easy to spot potential in others, when you pay attention to such things. A nephew with a knack for brilliant cooking, a niece with an eye for brilliant photography, a friend with the aptitude and attitude for finish carpentry, a son or daughter with the unique combination of empathy and talent that they bring to the world. When you look for the spark in others, often it’s easy to see. And sometimes it’s barely detectible, needing space and air to spark into something more substantial. We, witnesses to the fire burning inside others, either feed the spark or snuff it out. Which will we offer in the moment?

      And what are we with ourselves? Are we stoking our own dreams or snuffing them out? We ought to be arsonists with our spark, stoking our dreams and lighting the way for others. For in those moments alone with a dream, when we see so clearly what we might become, we discover our anima. In Latin anima refers to “a current of air, wind, air, breath, the vital principle, life, soul” (wiki). There’s magic in air as we dance with that vital principle, for there we form our (dare I say it) life’s purpose. For us humans trying to reach our potential, the question or what animates us ought to be front and center in our journey to becoming what we might be.

      In our brief dance with light and air, we must build our beacon in earnest. Shaping ourselves into whatever we believe possible shouldn’t be the stuff of childhood fantasy, it can be our lifetime pursuit. For dreams ought to be stoked, if only to see how brightly that spark might burn.