In the Throes of Process

Today I began writing. This is a milestone not because words were produced but because I smiled afterwards. Here are my thoughts today:

1) I must establish tone.

2) I will force myself to make the first pass through a continuous chunk (not sure how big it will be yet) about story and tone and leave pacing for a revision.

3) I have a sense of theme but that is not enough. I need to figure out what themes are going to work together and how. I know what I want to say but what is my vocabulary for doing so?

This is a mysterious enterprise, but I am excited to be underway.

Inspiration Strikes

Over the past few months, I have mentally explored the proposition of writing something careful and focused. I will not go so far as to say that I have given genesis to the idea of a "book", or "story", or anything particular, in fact. But, I believe the writing process would be good for me.

I suppose there is a preconception with writing that the person writing does it to fulfill external desires (communication, sharing, etc...). I cannot speak for others, but in this case, I would say that is not true. I believe that I need the writing process to give myself an understanding of what has happened to me in the last ten years. How did I come to this conclusion? I think it was Joanna Newsom who first planted the idea in my head that writing can be an intensely introspective activity; she described a song she wrote as an attempt to make sense of certain events.

Although I do not think it is adequate to invoke the saying, "art imitates life", it may be a start. If art is expected to retain truth, than I believe art approximates life. They are a continuum, but it should not be forgotten that life is the primary and must necessarily be the anchor to art, just as the sun is primary to the moon and anchors it interminably.

This means that although the process of writing may be difficult, the concept of good writing is exceedingly simple. You must simply write reality. All formalism is but the hope of some shortcut that must necessarily be a compromise, or a beautiful distraction.

I could itemize the times in my life that I have come across grand statements that I thought needed to be made, but these statements would make for terrible reading because they were all cast under a common illusion - that the order of the universe allows us to remove or change one thing and expect all else to remain unharmed. That is a lazy way of writing. Good writing does not tolerate shortcuts. Words cannot - in essence - say more than the content of the words, and a story likewise cannot say more than the content of the story.

As I undertake the process of writing, my hope is not to complete some certain thing, but rather to understand the material I will write. Perhaps it seems counterintuitive, but I believe that I will be more likely to complete whatever is required by the content if I rather pursue the goal of understanding. But I digress. All is conjecture, and it is a destructive enterprise to try to outguess the future. Time will tell all in the clearest voice.

The Shadow of the Wind, part 1

It has occurred to me on numerous occasions that Radiohead produce better album art - and more consistently - than any other band I know. For this feat, we have Stanley Donwood to thank, who is Radiohead's perennial visual artist/associate. Years ago, when I was obsessed with Radiohead (let's say, 2002), Mr. Donwood produced a written work that you might call a story and that took the form of a thin book. Now, most of the productive output of the people in or associated with Radiohead is hard to nail down (I think I am being complimentary to say this), but Mr. Donwood's "Catacombs of Terror!" had a basic formula. Were it to be stocked in your local Barnes and Noble, you'd find it under mystery, but this mystery was suffused with intentionally-inelegant plotting and a peculiarly affected ("lo-fi"?) writing style and was marketed as a rip-off of third-rate pulp thrillers of the past. I cannot vouch for that comparison, but Donwood's style was idiosyncratic enough (and carefully attuned enough) that I doubt that simple comparison does the novel justice.

Lately I have been reading "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, and in the process of doing so, have had a hell of a time un-knotting my mixed and myriad feelings towards it. There are some things I can say for sure:

1) The pacing is outstanding, as mystery novels must usually be to be a success.

2) The literary references to Gabriel Garcia Marquez in the reviews are legitimate and truly bound into the tapestry of the text and specifically, Zafon's imagination. The references to Borges are topical (a labyrinth of books, temporal mirroring and incongruity) and 400 pages in, I would judge them to be irrelevant. I can't speak for Eco, having not read any of his works.

3) Zafon writes good scenes and good dialogue, and has a way with evoking place and time without trying hard. However, he places all of this between filler that is often boring, obvious, cliche.

4) If Zafon is capable of writing a female character that is not one-dimensional, he does not explore the talent here.

It took me until tonight to realize that the reason I have been overwhelmingly willing to cut him slack on #3 and #4 is that the clunky characteristics of the book are reminiscent of Catacombs of Terror!, a book where these characteristics are taken to be ironic (or at least intentionally absurd). I believe my mind has mapped this absurdity/irony onto The Shadow of the Wind, and therefore I respond to it as a compelling story told with the author winking at the reader. Ironically, this level of formalism that glosses over the entire story - a construct that I have to believe I alone see - may be the most Borgesian thing about the book.

So, to review, a second-rate book written as an affected tribute to third-rate stories has convinced me that this first-rate book with several notable drawbacks is actually something close to sublime. Wish me luck in the last 100 pages.

Impressions from Colorado

I recently went on a skiing trip to Colorado, a trip that I can say had two highlights: skiing, and the drive home.

Skiing sort of speaks for itself and you could do worse than simply to say that it costs a lot of money and it is money well spent if you get up on the mountain and can manage to enjoy it. We had lots of mountain weather variety (snow, sun, wind) and lots of friends around to ski with, which at one or two points congealed into a borderline-transcendental experience. I had a lot of fun doing dangerous things (never a good combination) like flying through the woods on narrow paths, which I have promised myself I will not do again with such indiscretion. For someone who is neither a speed nor adrenaline junkie, skiing really brought both out in me.

I suppose you could say that I like to be the driver when leaving home and the passenger when returning. Most people will say that the drive home is a drag and a chore, which the act of driving itself can be, but there are few things I like better than the chance to meditate on the events of the vacation during a drive home. This trip afforded lots of time, ample back-seat room, appropriate homebound weather (rolling storms in the distance, a variety of overcast tones), good music (thank you, Brian Eno, Great Lake Swimmers, and Junior Boys) and good reading material (The Crossing). (It cannot be denied that I surely know what I like, and I have expended much thought and energy refining the process of achieving it.)

I have been especially struck lately by the way McCarthy's novels of the Southwest, filled with so much desolation and violence, only increase my affection for the land. The Crossing is my new favorite of his stories (not bad for a book I couldn't finish the first time I tried), although it would be hard not to admit that Blood Meridian contains a much stronger and tightly cohesive vision. More importantly, though, the protagonist in The Crossing contains a more closely observed moral character. I cannot relate to the Kid in Blood Meridian in the slightest, but I am with Billy every page of The Crossing. I believe I will reread it again and again in the future.

Lost in Translation

The soundtrack to Lost in Translation is done by the band Air and is quite good, but watching it tonight, it occurred to me that thematically - not just aesthetics but the suggestions presented in the constant companionship of the incomprehensible city that surrounds them - the band M83 might make for a tighter fit. There is a strange presence in each of... is it possible - oblivion? Air is appropriately surreal but inappropriately reassuring - or am I wrong? Perhaps Air isn't reassuring us at all. Perhaps they are merely working at the same punctuated speed as our higher cognition - requiring events, lapses, days to wear through generic boredom into something conclusive.

A couple years ago, I had a very positive initial reaction to the film sub-genre uselessly known as "Mumblecore", when I saw both Mutual Appreciation and even better, Quiet City. The latter made practical use of the space between characters as well as the characters themselves - what went unsaid and undone and unseen are all in our minds when a movie has the patience to let our minds wander - carefully, purposefully. But Lost in Translation (and Coppola's earlier "The Virgin Suicides") does this even better. The strange alien city is constantly speaking underneath Bob and Charlotte; after a time, it is there even during relatively grounded scenes like those that take place in the hotel bar.

I have liked this movie more after each viewing, as my attention gradually shifts from the largest moments to the smallest. My favorite moments tonight are the flower arranging, the first night in the club with Charlie Brown, the shots of Charlotte sitting on the windowsill looking down at the city that she doesn't understand; as her marriage, as her life.

The Best Laid Plans Do Not Suffice?

I am happy to say that as of today, when I look back at the last eighteen months, things have gone well:

1) I finished my degree. I succeeded under conditions I would have scoffed at attempting not long ago. I achieved a GPA (3.5) that was an ambitious target just two years ago (my final two years brought it up significantly).
2) I was hired back at my old job in a limited capacity. I proved myself and was hired back full time. Not only have I grown far beyond my old capabilities, but I am learning faster, "learning to learn" faster, making better use of my time, making wiser, more holistic decisions, utilizing knowledge and ideas from a variety of fields, and executing on my own goals more consistently than ever before.
3) I am extraordinarily close to being free of the need for my AD/HD medication. This means I am near the end of a 10-year long journey to become behavioral medication free without repercussions for my mental state. I am close enough today to free of it that I consider myself "there" already. I can again see the medicine as a worst-case safety net, rather than a constant crutch.
4) Although it is a simplification, I have made one big investment in each of the last two years that I feel was a real home run. I have refined my methodology considerably in the last two years and have concrete ideas that I am highly confident in to continue moving in that direction. Less is more and I am striving for significantly less.

Still, all the machinations of a society cannot - within themselves - produce contentment. Indeed, I am NOT content, and maybe no closer. Perhaps what I have done so far is the easy part. Witness what is to come:

1) Eliminate the need for stimulants and mental hyperactivity in order to navigate weekdays. Utilize some combination of exercise, meditation, and other mental conditioning to replace hyperactivity with true clarity and balance.
2) Balance societal attentions (job, money management) with personal interests. Find the right books and read them. Spend time specifically with music. Find a satisfying and natural way back into making music.
3) Work because it is a satisfying challenge. Become sufficiently financially independent to spend time unemployed, traveling. Extinguish the wealth accumulation compulsion and make decisions that affect finances holistically. Acknowledge my inherent expectations for my own life, rather than falling into a fate one day at a time.
4) Fully acknowledge and internalize my obligations to my partner. Make decisions together for a future we will share.

The Search for Meaning, part two

"Isn’t that what being young is about, believing secretly that you would be the one person in the history of man that would live forever?"
- David Aames, Vanilla Sky

Boy, does that quote hit the nail on the head for me. I really believed that - quite exactly - when I was young, but it was more than that, too. I imagined the graduation speeches, and television interviews, and one-off dinners with prominent people that I would give; a gift of my extended wisdom, the sightlines of my brain that stretched farther than others for reasons that today I can only describe as "heroic". (Thanks go to Jung, who correctly saw that Superman is not arbitrary.)

It is sad to look back and see that such boundless dreams have been extinguished by nothing more than the passage of time, but such is life. The ultimate mystery is alive in the universe; what complaint regarding our existence can be brought forward that is not a misunderstanding? Indeed, I am fascinated by Leibniz' posit that we live in the best of all possible worlds, although my view of a "God" does not require that it be so. On the other hand, I am philosophically unsophisticated; perhaps a few years of concentrated reading on the subject would bring around one or another of my supporting positions.

What more is there to say? The thoughts of youth trail off now, although I try to hold on. We are what we used to be for only so long, and I - perhaps in contradiction - try each day to fall asleep a little wiser than I was when I woke up, even as I try to hold on to what I was. Which do I want more? I push on bravely because the past will fade regardless. I don't ultimately want complicated things; only to be happy.