Let it sit awhile, sometimes

[hmmnmm]

bluebell,
you think we're clones separated in the lab?
None of that was verbose to me, at all, none whatsoever, and not in the least, or the slightest.

You're right about the waves - some might call it lack of discipline (is your inner strict teacher pretty?) which it may be, and which might be why Some of Us gain a certain progress in several areas, but then comes something else - like, I also like guitars and guitar music - all kinds - and I wish I was a great player, but I'm not. A few months I was all into the guitar, couldn't imagine even thinking of trying to write anything creative. No appeal, none, whatsoever, not the slightest. Then, something switched on, got back into writing, and the guitar's sat untouched ever since. Back and forth, back and forth.

Not to mention the different ways to present any one batch of written words. It's really hard to pick something and stick with it. So, I guess that means you just go with the waves, huh?

 

[hmmnmm]

Your observation about knowing people and where they're coming from when they attempt to express themselves, connecting those important dots, is very very very very important and oft neglected.
In fact, it's so important and involved, and the hour here is late (no millers, thought!) so, it'll be good project tomorrow.

 

[bluebell]

bluebell,
you think we're clones separated in the lab?
None of that was verbose to me, at all, none whatsoever, and not in the least, or the slightest.

I thank you muchly, kind sir. I do tend to run on a bit. But I'm glad to hear you weren't put out about it.
And, maybe we are clones separated in the lab, but something tells me it's more like we scampered away before they could fill us with Boring Adult Essence.

You're right about the waves - some might call it lack of discipline (is your inner strict teacher pretty?) which it may be, and which might be why Some of Us gain a certain progress in several areas, but then comes something else - like, I also like guitars and guitar music - all kinds - and I wish I was a great player, but I'm not. A few months I was all into the guitar, couldn't imagine even thinking of trying to write anything creative. No appeal, none, whatsoever, not the slightest. Then, something switched on, got back into writing, and the guitar's sat untouched ever since. Back and forth, back and forth.

I'm very torn about following discipline. Very.
C.S. Lewis once said in an essay that it takes discipline to overcome uneasiness and unfamiliarity. In essence, it's necessary in order to follow through successfully.
Granted, he was referencing it in a very specific way, but I've found myself going back to that seed thought over the years. Having been an english major, they drill it into you that writing takes discipline. Even when you don't feel like it. Even when you'd rather take a paperweight for a walk, you should be writing, if that's what you ultimately want to do. Push through the stuff.
So on the one hand I've got this disciplinary pull.

On the other hand I've got my own life experience. Sure, you HAVE to make it work in college if you ever want to leave. But I mean in reference to personal writing. And in my own experience, I find that I work much better when I don't have Teacher Lady boring her eyes into me about why nothing is done yet (in answer to your question, I'm not sure if she's pretty. I admit, I think she sort of looks like Grushenka's librarian avatar in my mind...).
I feel freer to do it at my pace and work at it slowly. I let a little bit of guilt in every now and then because it has its motivational powers, but for the most part I find that being around other creative, writing people is what spurs me on most. Just reading some of the things by people here, catching the loving writing infection, helps immensely.
Essentially, whatever I'm surrounding myself with has a primary draw of influence.

And I think this goes back, too, to what we talked about with people finding their own way into it. I know people who need the grind and the guilt and the Teacher Lady threatening dismemberment upon incompletion. But for me, I found this path. It's still a work, but I like that. I like knowing I'm changing the way I absorb the world and then filter it back out. It's the kind of flux I can enjoy.

Not to mention the different ways to present any one batch of written words. It's really hard to pick something and stick with it. So, I guess that means you just go with the waves, huh?

Pretty much. That's something I still have niggling worries about but I'm endeavoring to let go of the writing OCD and just let it come out how it wants. Then I just try to concern myself with making it time-durable.
But that's also why it takes me forever and a day to submit anything. I check it and check it. I know exactly where it needs to be before I hit that "submit" button because if it isn't then I'll just regret it and think unpleasant things about it.
I suppose it's both a freedom and a burden to know oneself so acutely.

Your observation about knowing people and where they're coming from when they attempt to express themselves, connecting those important dots, is very very very very important and oft neglected.
In fact, it's so important and involved, and the hour here is late (no millers, thought!) so, it'll be good project tomorrow.

Meh. No worries. Sometimes it's just too much to expect people to spend so much time at their keyboards over such things. I'm pleased enough that you understood.

 

[hmmnmm]

Holy Moly!

You've set out quite an array of idea gems to gander and behold.

The local server was down for a couple days (addiction check!), so I'm just seeing these thought-provoking words today.

But I need some time, please. About six or seven hours? Fascinating stuff, all of it.

 

[hmmnmm]

I thank you muchly, kind sir. I do tend to run on a bit. But I'm glad to hear you weren't put out about it.
And, maybe we are clones separated in the lab, but something tells me it's more like we scampered away before they could fill us with Boring Adult Essence.

I'm very torn about following discipline. Very.
C.S. Lewis once said in an essay that it takes discipline to overcome uneasiness and unfamiliarity. In essence, it's necessary in order to follow through successfully.
Granted, he was referencing it in a very specific way, but I've found myself going back to that seed thought over the years. Having been an english major, they drill it into you that writing takes discipline. Even when you don't feel like it. Even when you'd rather take a paperweight for a walk, you should be writing, if that's what you ultimately want to do. Push through the stuff.
So on the one hand I've got this disciplinary pull.

On the other hand I've got my own life experience. Sure, you HAVE to make it work in college if you ever want to leave. But I mean in reference to personal writing. And in my own experience, I find that I work much better when I don't have Teacher Lady boring her eyes into me about why nothing is done yet (in answer to your question, I'm not sure if she's pretty. I admit, I think she sort of looks like Grushenka's librarian avatar in my mind...).
I feel freer to do it at my pace and work at it slowly. I let a little bit of guilt in every now and then because it has its motivational powers, but for the most part I find that being around other creative, writing people is what spurs me on most. Just reading some of the things by people here, catching the loving writing infection, helps immensely.
Essentially, whatever I'm surrounding myself with has a primary draw of influence.

And I think this goes back, too, to what we talked about with people finding their own way into it. I know people who need the grind and the guilt and the Teacher Lady threatening dismemberment upon incompletion. But for me, I found this path. It's still a work, but I like that. I like knowing I'm changing the way I absorb the world and then filter it back out. It's the kind of flux I can enjoy.


Pretty much. That's something I still have niggling worries about but I'm endeavoring to let go of the writing OCD and just let it come out how it wants. Then I just try to concern myself with making it time-durable.
But that's also why it takes me forever and a day to submit anything. I check it and check it. I know exactly where it needs to be before I hit that "submit" button because if it isn't then I'll just regret it and think unpleasant things about it.
I suppose it's both a freedom and a burden to know oneself so acutely.


Meh. No worries. Sometimes it's just too much to expect people to spend so much time at their keyboards over such things. I'm pleased enough that you understood.

Well, you were a little hard on the poor oatmeal raisin cookies, but I will choose to believe you meant nothing personal to the cookies themselves, since someone else forced the raisins where the oatmeal may have preferred chocolate ships - I mean, chips. But I did love the way you castigated the oatmeal raisin cookies.

And about the clone suspicion: you can believe this or not, but I was really joking about that - and this happens a lot - maybe to you, too - say something in a complete spirit of harmless jest, and you find out later that there was more truth in that jest than you expected. Because, I happened to peek at your profile, and unless that's a ficticious date, our birthdays are one week apart, albeit there appears to be a more significant gap with the year differential. This is doubly funny because I choose to maintain a decided skepticism towards astrology and such.

About the discipline and finding one's own way, and so on:
More than once I've gotten the feeling that of all the wonderful minds who populate this big room, I'm the only one without collegiate background. Most of the time I don't really think about it, or if I do I don't worry about it, but once in a while I feel quite intimidated. I mean, until I was about thirty-six or seven, my interest in the fineries of the literary arts stopped at The Rolling Stones. It was only at such a late stage that I began to really check out some of the Required Great Reading. And loved most of it. But it was because I became sincerely interested and chose to look into it, rather than having to read such stuff, when I'd rather be smoking pot and trying to lose my virginity.

But, formal background or not, I'm still a human being. I have passions and drives and interests and ideas, and I don't like to be told what to do (unless that Strict Teacher is really pretty). So, as far as finding one's own and best way (which is really a lifelong avocation), I'd be the guy who's looking over the box of goods, and figuring out, okay, these are nouns, these are verbs, these are adjectives. These are periods, and these are commas... and I get this really interesting picture in my head, and I wonder how these nouns and commas and periods might be able to express what I see. Some attempts may be just a bunch of scribbles. Reams of nonsense. At least the outside world might call them nonsense.

Or, maybe there's no real conscious motive for arranging those nouns, verbs, adjectives and commas other than it feels good. Just messing around. And maybe in that messing around, something begins to take shape. Maybe the shape is recognizable by others, maybe not at all (if we dare allow anyone else to see).

So here's the scruffy guy in the corner scribbling and scratching. Then along comes the Teacher. Peers over the dude's shoulder. "Uh, you have run-on sentences."

"Oh really. Wow. That's pretty heavy. Thanks."

Ah! just got the call! Actually when I said that about moving, we hadn't really moved. We were expecting to move. But now, the transfer may begin. Oh it's been a trial of a year.

I love rambling on about this stuff. I'm really touched that you seem to understand.

 

[bluebell]

Well, you were a little hard on the poor oatmeal raisin cookies, but I will choose to believe you meant nothing personal to the cookies themselves, since someone else forced the raisins where the oatmeal may have preferred chocolate ships - I mean, chips. But I did love the way you castigated the oatmeal raisin cookies.

Well, those raisins really ought to not be there, the dirty little blighters.
And thank you. I'm overjoyed that my deep-seeded vendetta against oatmeal raisin cookies made you smile instead of smiling...and then calling the mental institution.
I've always been one to scold inanimate objects if I feel they are doing wrong by me. And why not? Just because they don't move, that means they can't be naughty? *scoff*

And about the clone suspicion: you can believe this or not, but I was really joking about that - and this happens a lot - maybe to you, too - say something in a complete spirit of harmless jest, and you find out later that there was more truth in that jest than you expected. Because, I happened to peek at your profile, and unless that's a ficticious date, our birthdays are one week apart, albeit there appears to be a more significant gap with the year differential. This is doubly funny because I choose to maintain a decided skepticism towards astrology and such.

I can say safely that it's not a fictitious date (are you implying that my memory might be faulty??? Because, if you were, that would be okay. And, with much proof to back up your claim ).
Creepy-cool.

About the discipline and finding one's own way, and so on:
More than once I've gotten the feeling that of all the wonderful minds who populate this big room, I'm the only one without collegiate background. Most of the time I don't really think about it, or if I do I don't worry about it, but once in a while I feel quite intimidated. I mean, until I was about thirty-six or seven, my interest in the fineries of the literary arts stopped at The Rolling Stones. It was only at such a late stage that I began to really check out some of the Required Great Reading. And loved most of it. But it was because I became sincerely interested and chose to look into it, rather than having to read such stuff, when I'd rather be smoking pot and trying to lose my virginity.

Firstly, I know this probably won't allay any odd spooks or reservations you already have within yourself about education, but I can say for certain that I've never read anything by you (prose, poetry, or otherwise) that seemed to come from an unenlightened place. Formal education, while valuable to many, is not always the best way for all. That doesn't make you lesser.
I would go on, but I'm wary of the waters so I will suffice it to say that nothing you have said or are saying is of any less value, and that goes for other people in my life as well.

Secondly, I completely understand about the required reading. It's SO not for everyone. I just happened to enjoy it because I've always been a book geek.
But I think that principal spans other things. It's not always possible to enjoy things under a Have-To banner. In fact, for some of us (who shall remain nameless but who have heel-digging tendencies inside of them...), the required aspect can kill almost any joy associated with the activity.
When I was a small girl, my mother would make chore lists for me every once in awhile and after one look I knew everything on them. I would look at them once and plan an order of execution. But if she happened to ask me while I was in the middle of one whether I remembered I still had to do this other thing, I immediately didn't want to. I am such a brat.
When you have the freedom to do it in your way and at your time, it can be much more rewarding. Not that a gentle kick every now and then isn't warranted, but for the most part, I'd rather go at my own pace and slide into whatever it is with my own ease.

I'm glad you like the books, but I still think some of what you were doing before you even read them was an education of sorts. Sometimes people stop dead at activities. They don't think about them more, or think deeply (or even appreciate), but you have an obvious sense of observation that's keen and gentle. I can't help but think you were still taking notes.

But, formal background or not, I'm still a human being. I have passions and drives and interests and ideas, and I don't like to be told what to do (unless that Strict Teacher is really pretty). So, as far as finding one's own and best way (which is really a lifelong avocation), I'd be the guy who's looking over the box of goods, and figuring out, okay, these are nouns, these are verbs, these are adjectives. These are periods, and these are commas... and I get this really interesting picture in my head, and I wonder how these nouns and commas and periods might be able to express what I see. Some attempts may be just a bunch of scribbles. Reams of nonsense. At least the outside world might call them nonsense.

Or, maybe there's no real conscious motive for arranging those nouns, verbs, adjectives and commas other than it feels good. Just messing around. And maybe in that messing around, something begins to take shape. Maybe the shape is recognizable by others, maybe not at all (if we dare allow anyone else to see).

So here's the scruffy guy in the corner scribbling and scratching. Then along comes the Teacher. Peers over the dude's shoulder. "Uh, you have run-on sentences."

"Oh really. Wow. That's pretty heavy. Thanks."

*laugh* Now this is some good prose.
It makes me think of The Phantom Tollbooth, by Norton Juster. I do hope you've read that book because it's one of the most wonderfully non-sensical sentient books ever. I didn't read it until I was in my early twenties, and I only did because I once asked a friend, "If you were a book, what book would you be?" And he couldn't tell me what book he would be but he told me that if I were a book I'd be that one. And I'd never read it.
But it's delightful. You share its whimsy.
(I can't comment on how true his comparison was. He might have been drinking at the time. )

Personally, I like the method you outlined above. Clutter is better. And I think there's less pressure to "learn things". It's enjoyable, and you can also figure stuff out as you go along. Like, figuring out the secret of the woods when you're a kid.

I love rambling on about this stuff. I'm really touched that you seem to understand.

Likewise. Feel free to ramble. I certainly do my share.
And, thank you.

 

[hmmnmm]

A ramble reply approaches. Additional observations who shall bubble from the River Meander.

The transition has finally transpired. I can't hardly fathom the comparison of this where we are now and where we were. This is another something that I think is too infrequently considered: surrounding circumstances that influence how one thinks or works - or if they can or can't or face hindrances.

Besides the move into more human quarters, the primary internet biz who I'm sure over half the internet users in this town subscribed to, went out of business last week - like, gone. no connection. Which really motivated a change for the better - now we're on high speed broadband whatever - ever since getting on the internet over five years ago it's been dialup.

So - the nicer more spacious house, plus being able to get on here and not worry if someone might want to call, not to mention the magnificent pre-spring blue heavens today and maybe tomorrow, I've been in a sort of awestruck mental meander this evening.

The sensation is of such intensity that even a decent metaphor is not available, not even a purple pinata.

So... tomorrow.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

When you create something exceptional you usually know it immediately. Mediocrities and crap require time to think about and fool with.

 

[bluebell]

So... tomorrow.

Whenever you get there. No worries. Enjoy your Thoreau-ness outside and your Gatsby-ness inside.

When you create something exceptional you usually know it immediately. Mediocrities and crap require time to think about and fool with.

I definitely understand what you mean by that, James. Sometimes you just know you're creating something really good (or hope, anyway). The words come easier and you can leap over mental obstacles that usually take longer to sort out.
But, I also think there are pieces that can take a lot longer to craft and are just as good. You can tell the time was used well. Though, truth be told, I can only think of a few examples off the top of my head. So perhaps that makes it a rare quality and your rule would apply more generally.

It does make me wonder, how much more does weak writing make us appreciate the really good stuff? Our own weak pieces and the pieces of others. Would the masterful be lesser without the things that weren't quite so shiny? Or would we still be able to recognize them with the same enjoyment?

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

Excellent writing creates joy in the reader and the writer.

As for the writing, the ore comes in grades of quality and much of it requires processing; but it's ore! There is something there to be refined.

But most writing is crap.

 

[gghotstuff]

Diamonds in the rough

I agree that much writing, even writing that has been published for public consumption, is crap. Like diamonds in the rough, its quality could stand to be improved greatly by first, allowing it to remain buried for awhile, after first conception. Are you looking for coal or diamonds? Allowing a piece to sit for awhile before returning to it can often reveal new qualities that were previously hidden away. Secondly, cutting and polishing are essential in coaxing jewels from the stone. Like Michaelangelo, you must chip away everything that is not worthy and polish what is left until it shines. Too many pieces are allowed to see the light of day too soon because of commercial pressures. With the advent of the internet age, I suspect this will become even more prevalent and we will all be wading through piles of rubble, searching for that one exquisite gem that will make our heart quicken with delight.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

Good analogy: coal vs diamond.

But consider what you want the carbon for. Diamonds may start a fire in her heart, but they wont keep you warm. Plus diamonds nor coal are of equal quality.

 

[hmmnmm]

Whenever you get there. No worries. Enjoy your Thoreau-ness outside and your Gatsby-ness inside.


I definitely understand what you mean by that, James. Sometimes you just know you're creating something really good (or hope, anyway). The words come easier and you can leap over mental obstacles that usually take longer to sort out.
But, I also think there are pieces that can take a lot longer to craft and are just as good. You can tell the time was used well. Though, truth be told, I can only think of a few examples off the top of my head. So perhaps that makes it a rare quality and your rule would apply more generally.

It does make me wonder, how much more does weak writing make us appreciate the really good stuff? Our own weak pieces and the pieces of others. Would the masterful be lesser without the things that weren't quite so shiny? Or would we still be able to recognize them with the same enjoyment?

I posed a similar sort of quest in the poetry section, because I began to notice a phenomenon that recurred too consistently frequent to be coincidence. Some of the better poetic pieces came out in a matter of minutes. Like, one scratchout, a couple touchups and there they were, born with the most minimal mental exertion imaginable. Which creates a little guilt because of feeling like it should've been more agonizing. Then others, that I'd expend so much thought, work and rework, and think and grimace and stuff... they'd get to a certain point of 'that's not bad' but not near the crisp clarity that the easier ones displayed.

the perplexity wasn't/isn't that it does often happen this way, but I just was and am insatiably curious as to why it happens this way. Still not sure, but I got an idea that those that seemed to roll off (I used a ripe berry metaphor - ripe blackberries falling into your fingers, into the pail) were really not so fast. They were simmering back there. They were ripening. The season wasn't right before, then it became so. Or something like that.

something happened yesterday that shed a little more light but because of the disbelief of the freedom and the gift of spatial leeway of late, I shall share what happened at a later hour.

Not to mention - it is such a joy to be able to 'speak' purplish and not feel guilty about it, or to not worry about if these thoughts honor the creed of clarity for laypersons! So many little doors and ports opening to so many little rooms and yards where freedom reigns. And the heavens remain a royal blue.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

BLUEBELL7

The more I learn about good writing, the more bad writing I see.

 

[hmmnmm]

It does make me wonder, how much more does weak writing make us appreciate the really good stuff? Our own weak pieces and the pieces of others. Would the masterful be lesser without the things that weren't quite so shiny? Or would we still be able to recognize them with the same enjoyment?

A few years ago I developed a fetish-like enjoyment for badly written mysteries from the forties and fifties. I mean, if they'd been like, good, they wouldn't have been near as... well, good.

Which brings to mind something that's nagged me for several months - you'll be the first I share this with (shhh). But the nagging wonderment was to the effect that maybe sometimes we try too hard. I so wish to learn something of a carelessness. Just sling it out there. Quit obsessing over stuff. Just sling one out, scratch another, sling it out, sloppy and all. Who knows that ninety-nine might wither and dry up after a week of life, but maybe one of them makes it and lasts. Holds up, as they say.

Or maybe pick one or two days of the week to intentionally not try real hard. Just sling stuff out. Another day or two to just do nothing. Which would leave three or so days to worry about really trying, and maybe one twelve hour stretch wherein actual and serious effort is applied.

An aspiration near and dear to within, but the achievement flutters out there way beyond reach, at least it does today.

 

[bluebell]

The more I learn about good writing, the more bad writing I see.

I understand. The door swings both ways.

This is another something that I think is too infrequently considered: surrounding circumstances that influence how one thinks or works - or if they can or can't or face hindrances.

Oh man. Don't even get me started.
That's almost the entire reason why it takes me months and months to write just one poem (stories? Gawd, nevermind). Lots of small, weird things have to be in place for me. The most important one is headspace. There's just a certain headspace I need to be in, and it rarely comes, which compounds the issue.

Which brings me to this:

Which brings to mind something that's nagged me for several months - you'll be the first I share this with (shhh). But the nagging wonderment was to the effect that maybe sometimes we try too hard. I so wish to learn something of a carelessness. Just sling it out there. Quit obsessing over stuff. Just sling one out, scratch another, sling it out, sloppy and all. Who knows that ninety-nine might wither and dry up after a week of life, but maybe one of them makes it and lasts. Holds up, as they say.

Or maybe pick one or two days of the week to intentionally not try real hard. Just sling stuff out. Another day or two to just do nothing. Which would leave three or so days to worry about really trying, and maybe one twelve hour stretch wherein actual and serious effort is applied.

This is the method I've heard most frequently lauded among writers. Anne Lamott, one of my very favorite wordsmiths on the crafting of writing is a big proponent of that method.
I've tried. I've failed. I canNOT do it.
There are certain things my body just will not allow me to do. And, rather unfortunately, that is one of them. If I think it's shitty then nothing will dissuade me from thinking otherwise and nothing could propel me towards a submission form. I desperately love the idea of it, but I can't do it to save my life. Just, can't.
I so admire people who can. I think the attitude behind it is mostly good, though. The ability to disconnect from caring about who likes it and who hates it and why. It's much more liberating like that. You can pay attention without letting stuff like that rule your thought life.

Just a note: I hope I don't sound overly snarky in responding to you about this stuff. Just now as I was typing I had a bad feeling.

I posed a similar sort of quest in the poetry section, because I began to notice a phenomenon that recurred too consistently frequent to be coincidence. Some of the better poetic pieces came out in a matter of minutes. Like, one scratchout, a couple touchups and there they were, born with the most minimal mental exertion imaginable. Which creates a little guilt because of feeling like it should've been more agonizing. Then others, that I'd expend so much thought, work and rework, and think and grimace and stuff... they'd get to a certain point of 'that's not bad' but not near the crisp clarity that the easier ones displayed.

the perplexity wasn't/isn't that it does often happen this way, but I just was and am insatiably curious as to why it happens this way. Still not sure, but I got an idea that those that seemed to roll off (I used a ripe berry metaphor - ripe blackberries falling into your fingers, into the pail) were really not so fast. They were simmering back there. They were ripening. The season wasn't right before, then it became so. Or something like that.

something happened yesterday that shed a little more light but because of the disbelief of the freedom and the gift of spatial leeway of late, I shall share what happened at a later hour.

Not to mention - it is such a joy to be able to 'speak' purplish and not feel guilty about it, or to not worry about if these thoughts honor the creed of clarity for laypersons! So many little doors and ports opening to so many little rooms and yards where freedom reigns. And the heavens remain a royal blue.

This was a beautiful post.
And the idea behind words not being ready and then gleaming out of us at just the right moment- yes! I feel like you gave me a gift by saying it that way. It's the type of situation where you stumble along and you're probablykindasorta eventually gonna get to the place where you can form that thought into cohesion but it would take you forever. And then someone brilliant and purplish comes along and says it way better than you could've when you finally got there.

Oftentimes we inadvertently look over our means of transport and just pay attention to the beginning and the end. Almost Machiavellian in viewpoint. It's easy to look at an end result and say, "There! It worked!" and forget what the travel conditions were like.

There's never going to be a surefire way to clinch the perfect writing all the time. Or anything, really. There will always be little oddities; the slip showing from underneath the skirt and all that. It's almost confounding to think about, but it's a joy as well.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

BLUEBELL

Many masters added flaws to their creations in the belief that humility is an essential ingredient in all art.

 

[hmmnmm]

BLUEBELL

Many masters added flaws to their creations in the belief that humility is an essential ingredient in all art.

Reminds me of something I read that Chet Atkins (guitarist) said; something like, if you make a mistake, do it again so it'll look like you meant to do it that way.

 

[hmmnmm]

Blue,
you cover so much territory and I'm still putting pieces together from some of your remarks and commentary many days past.

It really all connects and comes back around to the same thing: if there is no one way to do anything, and everyone bears the burden of finding their best way(s), then if one of those ways happens to go contrary to popular words of advice or How Tos, they just have to understand that it's really okay to have a limited reach. This would be where the value of local and underground comes in.

Underground art, music, writings, etc is almost always way more interesting (to me at least) than the mainstream (of course I'm slightly prejudiced towards it since it's what I used to do). The reason the underground is more interesting (usually) is because it is more interested in honest expression and using whatever means available for that expression. The expressions may vary in degrees of crudity or finery. Might be a bit raw, ragged around the edges, rebellious. But generally true. Or, True. Real. The Real. It's also often on the monetarily poor side, so there's an urgency and a concern with the immediate basics of survival.

If the underground wishes to enter the mainstream, there's really little choice but some sort of sacrifice. Usually a part of the honesty that gave the underground its charming taste.

Hm. Don't know where that came from. There was a point, but it's got lost.

Crap.

Continuation pends.

 

[hmmnmm]

headspace

Great word! Meant to mention that. Says just about everything.

Headspace.

Great word.

 

[bluebell]

Blue,
you cover so much territory and I'm still putting pieces together from some of your remarks and commentary many days past.

Please don't worry about responding to everything. Just, say what you want.

It really all connects and comes back around to the same thing: if there is no one way to do anything, and everyone bears the burden of finding their best way(s), then if one of those ways happens to go contrary to popular words of advice or How Tos, they just have to understand that it's really okay to have a limited reach. This would be where the value of local and underground comes in.

Underground art, music, writings, etc is almost always way more interesting (to me at least) than the mainstream (of course I'm slightly prejudiced towards it since it's what I used to do). The reason the underground is more interesting (usually) is because it is more interested in honest expression and using whatever means available for that expression. The expressions may vary in degrees of crudity or finery. Might be a bit raw, ragged around the edges, rebellious. But generally true. Or, True. Real. The Real. It's also often on the monetarily poor side, so there's an urgency and a concern with the immediate basics of survival.

If the underground wishes to enter the mainstream, there's really little choice but some sort of sacrifice. Usually a part of the honesty that gave the underground its charming taste.

Hm. Don't know where that came from. There was a point, but it's got lost.

No, it's a really interesting thought. As fine as I am with slotting in some mainstream books or music (everything fills a hole), I think I head primarily for stuff that's below the fold. A little out of sight. You're right, it feels freer and more expressive. Kinda like a secret you get let in on.

I think it's easier to be real and raw when the receptive audience isn't a staggering size. If you feel like you have just enough of a platform to be heard, it's easier to just put it all out there. When millions and millions of eyes and ears start watching and listening, it becomes an entirely different animal. The more of a microscope you're under, the harder it can feel to let it out there. Or, that's what I think. I've always felt far more at home in a small group than in a room of people. The idea of me being a me isn't so intimidating when there's not as much at stake by way of scrutiny.

 

[hmmnmm]

Please don't worry about responding to everything. Just, say what you want.


No, it's a really interesting thought. As fine as I am with slotting in some mainstream books or music (everything fills a hole), I think I head primarily for stuff that's below the fold. A little out of sight. You're right, it feels freer and more expressive. Kinda like a secret you get let in on.

I think it's easier to be real and raw when the receptive audience isn't a staggering size. If you feel like you have just enough of a platform to be heard, it's easier to just put it all out there. When millions and millions of eyes and ears start watching and listening, it becomes an entirely different animal. The more of a microscope you're under, the harder it can feel to let it out there. Or, that's what I think. I've always felt far more at home in a small group than in a room of people. The idea of me being a me isn't so intimidating when there's not as much at stake by way of scrutiny.

Luuuuuuuuv this! Every word.

You're like a translator.

 

[hmmnmm]

I think it's easier to be real and raw when the receptive audience isn't a staggering size. If you feel like you have just enough of a platform to be heard, it's easier to just put it all out there. When millions and millions of eyes and ears start watching and listening, it becomes an entirely different animal. The more of a microscope you're under, the harder it can feel to let it out there. Or, that's what I think. I've always felt far more at home in a small group than in a room of people. The idea of me being a me isn't so intimidating when there's not as much at stake by way of scrutiny.

I was blessed with the fortunate experience of spending a bulk of growing-up years in rural Virginia. Some of my fondest memories entail being around some of those old farmers. It's really sad that most of them are passed away now, or will soon do so, and there's really no one to replace them. It's like a void in our culture or something. I mean, they had this characterabout them. In their faces, their mannerisms, their speech. You could be around them and be completely enthralled and entertained (and enriched).

Well, you know, storytelling and tall tale telling was a big part of the communication, and some of those old guys were just sheer masters of the art: but they used no manuals and they didn't have internet How To articles to learn from, because they were pretty much just being themselves. And they weren't doing it for a huge audience. Maybe sitting at the kitchen table or lounging on the front porch, or under a tree.

Two of these guys in particular stand out in my memory. They were brothers. Whenever I would go visit them or they come to our house, I could count on a spellbinding experience, because they couldn't help but start telling some yarn. But their styles were completely opposite of the other.

One of them used a lot of body language, you couldn't help but get caught up in the enthusiasm. And he'd go off on tangents, and rambles, and maybe not even arrive at a point to what he was trying to tell. He would tell it in such a way that it was pretty obvious he'd departed quite far from anything near the truth, but you didn't mind. Because he was just so entertaining: to watch, to listen to. And he'd never ever let on that what he was telling was 96% bullshit. He was one of a kind. No one, I mean no one I've known since, has come near him.

Now, his brother took a different way. He was the more soft-spoken. He'd be visiting, standing around on the porch, puffing his pipe, and say something like, "there was the time..." and off he went. And you went with him. You really had no choice. His tactic was a slower rhythm, somberness, the puff off the pipe, stoking the pipe, continuing. Not a snicker, not a tone of embellishment. And you're listening and going, "wow!" completely taken in, hanging on every word, until the very end. And you're staring in awe, when he suddenly breaks out laughing, maybe nudges you with his elbow or slaps your back.

Now, I have no preference. Loved both styles. And they weren't doing it for votes or public approval or ratings. If they did, I'm sure someone would come along with their strunk/white equivalent of storytelling and say, "wait! you should've used the active voice in line ten" or someone else would say, "you go off too much on too many tangents that don't advance the story." And so on. Which you can only really laugh at and almost feel sorry for them, and pray they may someday go get the operation to remove those manuals from their hands.

Then I could tell about my own granddad, who was yet of a different style than the two farmers. My granddad was more yankee-like and more direct and used almost no purple prose in his speech. There is no one, not one person in any entertainment sector, no comedian, no rapper, no no one, in all the earth who made profanity the creative and fine art that my granddad did. He could tell the stupidest jokes that didn't even have much of a punchline, but it didn't matter, because it was just the way he had about him. It was the presentation. And I don't think he had a manual that taught rules about the usage of profane words.

Oh my!

Didn't mean for this to go so long. And it's really not finished.

More coffee... more more coffee.

 

[hmmnmm]

this came just a minute ago: the styles of the three examples varied. But they did observe the rule about not boring the listener (at least they didn't bore me). Also, they didn't seem to second-guess themselves, and I just don't see them wasting too much time agonizing over finding their best way. They were just themselves and they communicated (although granddad did offend a few).

And... strangely, the setting was often the kitchen table.

 

[DeeZire]

Is this Zoot person a LIT author? I searched, with no success. I am a fan of the sticky word.