Do I have that right? Doesn’t sound quite … well, in any case, I spent the weekend moving my office around. And doing some major cleaning. (All flat surfaces had been covered in a disorder of paper.)
I always enjoyed Roger Ebert’s reviews, viewed on his TV shows, “Siskel & Ebert” and then “Ebert & Roeper”. Then he became very ill and there was a vacuum. The show, now; eh.
But as I discovered a short while ago, he’s started blogging. And his words are a pleasure to read. He crafts words and sculpts ideas. RSS-subscribe to his blog, if you wish.
In May, I began to sense a change going on. At first it was subjective. This autumn it has become undeniable. My writing has improved.
By that I don’t mean it’s objectively better from the reader’s point of view. I mean it has expanded within my mind, reaches deeper, emerges more clearly, is more satisfactory. Sometimes I glory in it–not the quality of the prose, but the quality of the experience. I find myself writing more, because I will return to that zone longer.
I take dictation from that place within my mind that knows what to say. I think most good writers do. There is no such thing as waiting for inspiration. The idea of “diagramming” an essay in advance, as we are taught in school, may be useful to students but is foolishness for any practicing writer. The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before.
(Post title from Star Trek’s Spock’s Brain episode)
This was worth a thorough read. Starting with the mundane (gadgets and web sites to measure and pique brain activity) it moves through anecdotes and scientific observation and (it really is well worth a read) concludes in this mode, with some suggestions like:
Nancy Andreasen offers four suggestions to which you should allocate 30 minutes a day — choose a new and unfamiliar area of knowledge and explore it in depth, spend some time meditating or just thinking, practise observing and describing things, and practise imagining.
The best advice I ever heard came from a Spanish neurologist, Damaso Crespo. He said I should do 100 yards a day, not sprinting but walking. But I had to walk with a friend and talk all the time. It’s the walking, the talking and the friendship that feed the brain; the sprint just feeds dumb muscles.
In the end you die, and it seems likely that the miracle of the world inside your particular 1.3 kilograms of crème caramel dies with you. Perhaps you had insight, inspiration, perhaps you created, perhaps you were a genius. [...] Brain workouts are all very well but, stripping away the science and the rhetoric, they all come down to the same simple injunction: pay attention, because you pass this way only once.
First, I watched (streaming Netflix) “The Natural History of the Chicken” (a PBS video, about 1 hr.) Netflix linkIMDB link
Now: whilst procrastinating a bit, caught this on Newsweek’s site: Chicks and the City (2 min.) about family raising chickens in the middle of Brooklyn.
This is 100% logical to me: there is much of a needed and forward-looking nature that can be done with federal funds, and I’d rather it go to this.
That means putting two million Americans to work rebuilding our crumbling roads, bridges, and schools. It means investing $150 billion to build an American green energy economy that will create five million new jobs, while freeing our nation from the tyranny of foreign oil, and saving our planet for our children.
A few nights ago I watched the film, Into the Wild. It was very skillfully done — Emil Hirsch was brilliant — and I was prepared to be affected. It was a sad thing, some say a stupid thing. It gave me pause to think of the dreams and razor-sharp idealism of (some of) the young. It’s so sweet, so bright, so fleeting. Much to muse upon; I’m not sure if I’m ready to put it all in words.
But then there was a song. The song from the Slab City performance by Tracy and Alex. I’d not heard that in so long. It haunted me (as I guess it has others). Google filled in the gaps: a beautiful John Prine song from around 1971, Angel From Montgomery. Here’s a recent (2004) performance — complete with mandolin intro (d’y’ hear that, Niall?). Ah.
For the record, it’s the version on John Denver’s Farewell Andromeda that I first knew. True, ’tis not so pure as the Prine version, but what was it that drew me to it all those years ago. The longing, is it.
I hoarded links for almost two months. I think I’m doing well by not spreading them all over my (immense) desktop as much as I used to. A few minutes ago I sorted them. Three “geeky” (see previous post). Then, 34 of a political nature. Well, it’s not like you’re unable to see the nose in front of your face, so I’m just going to toss out that folder. That leaves this mix and match set.
Miraz told me about these tattooed NYC toughs who have no pity for those that abuse or neglect animals. Rahhh!
A German prosecutor is checking into Bayer CropScience’s pesticide chlothianidine for links to mass bee deaths. Bees be critical to everything, beeeesides being cool creatures.
If you’re serious about increasing your strength, follow this six week training program and you’ll soon be on your way to completing 100 consecutive push ups!
What worries me are the consequences of a diet comprised mostly of fake-connectedness, makebelieve insight, and unedited first drafts of everything. I think it’s making us small. I know that whenever I become aware of it, I realize how small it can make me. So, I’ve come to despise it.