Dreams are nothing but hot air unless you take specific actions to bring them into reality. One can talk-talk-talk about writing, or making music, or quitting your stupid job to start organic farming, all the live long day; but in the end, few of us make the leap from talk to action.
Writing is a pretty easy jump to make in comparison - all you need is a pen and paper. I've always wanted to be a writer (though I'm not so sure anymore), and so, way back in the year 1990, I made a vow to myself to write everyday, as a concrete action to turn a dream into reality. 20 years later and I've kept to that vow (missing some days of course, but not many). I am always interested in how artists work, what tricks writers might use, or what schedules, etc. I learned a lot from Henry Miller in this regard, with his "4 hours every day" school of writing. Writing everyday is my committment to myself to continually explore my own mind for new ideas. I challenge myself in these notebooks, because I have no thought of audience, other than myself. I highly recommend this routine for anyone looking to write, or heck, think better.
So! All that for setup for this rather mundane photo of some spiral bound notebooks. They happen to be Madonna's, and they cover the early 90's. These notebooks were stolen from Madonna by an assistant who later tried to sell them, only to have to spend a great deal of time in court. Regardless, look: Madonna used the same notebook I started with in 1990! It's the blue one in the lower right column, and I remember her well (gone now, thrown out). I have since upgraded to super fancy, artsy notebooks, but I remember these spiral jobs fondly.
We are clearly entering a period in human history where paper will fall by the wayside, and while I am going along with that in some ways (this blog, for example!), in others, I hope to stick with paper - my precious notebooks - till I return to the Source. Nothing beats a beat up piece of paper covered in notes!
Proof:
1 comment:
Nice little excerpt by Barry Hannah on writing and one's hopes in this month's Harper's. It concludes with:
"I'm waiting, however, for a future priest to be kicking around the chars of our old cabins. He finds some pages. My God, it's paper, ancient paper. He bends over, holding the cigarette-pack-size computer to his shirt pocket so it won't fall out.
Poor devils, the old scribes, jabber-jabber, yadda-yadda, he says.
But wait, this is pretty good."
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