COVID has completely changed my outlook on, well, life I suppose, but particularly in how productive I think I need to be. I’m much more likely to do unproductive things with my free time now - sort stuff, exercise, have a bath, rather than careening through projects. But - I’m in a mulling mood right now. I’m trying to choose what to get working on next. I tried doing NaNoWriMo four years ago and was on track and then the US election made me so depressed I gave up. I remember ordering an inordinate amount of comfort food and just… not writing. I think I’d like to pick that project up and will be doing a poetry blitz in November too. The thing that really appeals to me about NaNoWriMo is it’s anti-perfectionist attitude. Write fast, no judgement, no editing, just words on the page. Most of the things I’m mulling over now I’m stuck on because I have a mood I want them to have but I’m not sure how to execute it and so I’m tied up worrying I’ll do it badly. And really what on earth does it matter if I write some clunky poems? NaNoWriMo seems like a great way to jumpstart those projects so, for now I’ll nap and mull over which to choose, and November 1 it’s on!
Writing
Impulse Over Control /
I have a small handful of random poems I wrote a few months pre-COVID that I really like. They’re not for any project—just one-offs—and they’re some of my favourite recent work of mine. Rereading them now makes me realize how working away at poetry as though it is work—a task, and practice, a goal, etc—prevents me in writing in this way that I actually quite like and usually nets some really satisfying results. Often when I think of a line or an idea rather than writing it down and letting the moment take me I think “ok I’ll have to sit down and flesh that idea out” and then I never write it at all because of the usual adult being busy stuff. There’s a balance point between approaching writing professionally and embracing it emotionally that I want to tip a bit more into the emotional. When I was younger I wrote a ton—all over my arm if I didn’t have paper. Much of this was not amazing stuff because I was practicing—getting started. All passion and love of language and a desire for expression. Then after university I became anxious about writing and way too over controlled. I never wrote because I thought it had to be super thought out ahead of time and this perfectionist sentiment led to a drought of words on the page. I have a fairly balanced approach now. I’m not anxious about writing nor am I churning out reams of pages that are only kind of working for me. But I think I can balance it better. Making time for those one-off poems is in a way making time for myself. Making space for whatever I’m feeling and allowing that to be important just to me, just for a minute. It’s a tiny little shift this sort of decision—giving oneself just the littlest bit of purely uncontrolled leisure to be introspective and expressive, but it’s the sort of thing that feeds the soul. It’s a method of practicing self-acceptance. I’ve been enamoured with writing my whole life. Why when a line pops into my head don’t I write it down? Why not take that opportunity to just be myself and do what I’ve always felt compelled to do? It’s the littlest thing, but I think those random poems stand out to me because they’re so open and expressive and bare. The planning and the channeling energy and ideas and the editing and all that bigger stuff is also an important part of my writing life, and those skills are central to making my writing practice function. But I want to give a little more space for the teenager writing on her arm while waiting for the bus whenever she shows up, instead of always saying “ok ok later” and then never showing up for her in return. A little more time for the girl writing in her journal, a little more time for the child scribbling on paper before I could write so it would look like writing because I wanted to write so badly. To embrace those moments rather than trying to control them. To let them be.
Fall feeling /
It very suddenly seems like it’s dark so early. The tree across the street is getting yellow streaks in its big green bows. The grass is crunchy. I put socks on for the first time in months the other day. Fall is approaching.
I mentioned before that I’m just not that artsy in the summer. It doesn’t spark creativity in me… just a desire to go for bike rides. I can now feel that feeling returning. It’s exciting and welcome.
It’s especially welcome in COVID times. I find myself demotivated and aimless a lot these days. The shuttering of literary and artistic events and spaces has taken a toll on me in that way. It’s reassuring to feel the usual autumn motivation and inspiration blowing in on the slightly cooler breeze. With everything that’s changed these past months it’s comforting to know this cycle of artistic motivation is still unfolding in me.
Distancing Pace /
I started this blog in large part because before COVID I suffered from a constant “I’m not doing enough art!” feeling, when in fact I was doing a lot of art. Things have definitely slowed down for me. Without the feeling of the world turning and churning at its regular pace I no longer feel the same urgent drive, though I still feel a strong consistent drive to make things—minus the more panic-inflected tone it had before. I find my sense of when I started and complete things is getting wonky, though. There are some things where I think “argh I’ve let that project sit for so long!” but then notice that I actually worked on it two days ago, and then I’ll discover I’m three months late returning a personal email. As the nights get longer and the grass outside gets roasted in the sun my natural inclination towards creativity is coming back as it does every year. I’m not sure I’m going to have daily blogging as a goal going forward because of the more subdued pace of life these days, but I will aim to keep it up regularly to anchor my sense of my artistic practice.
The Forgotten Manuscript /
I have a habit of repeatedly writing out the list of major projects I’d like to complete—manuscripts and art series. I do this… every few days depending on my mood. These begin as “today” or “this week” to do lists because I’m always convinced I will finish multiple manuscripts in a week, weekend, or even day depending how I’m feeling. This is a strange habit quite divorced from the repeated reality of my days, but it’s a very cheerful habit, and one that keeps me excited about the art and writing. So odd but nice.
I notice recently though that I keep forgetting one project—Glass Clouds. It seems bizarre that I do so. I’ve put an enormous amount of work into it and have had a great deal of help from family and friends on it, and I’m really happy with it. I’ve completed 50 poems (paired with the photos that’s enough for a book) but plan 250 more to go with all my favourite photos that might be shared in some alternate way, as that’s probably too hefty for one book! But I haven’t been writing those poems because it keeps slipping my mind which is very strange for me.
There are two possible reasons, I think, for why it keeps slipping my mind. First—I don’t talk about it much. This is because if it takes a long time to expand and/or to have published I don’t want everyone to already be sick of it. This might be an unsubstantiated concern. I can’t recall ever getting bored of hearing about someone’s forthcoming book even when they talked about writing it for ages. Partly this might be the visual art, though. This project is in many ways one of my first big professions steps in my visual art, as I received funding for the project, and I’m not sure if I should be sharing the photos so early in the process, or how many I should share, or if there’s any reason to hold them back. I’m not sure what exactly I’m unsure of but I think I have a latent sense that I’m not totally sure what I’m doing but that I do want to get it right…
These are bogus reasons when it comes to the memory thing though, I think, because I never talk about the other projects I keep listing out. Some I haven’t mentioned to another human in ages if ever.
I think I might just be at peace with the project. Just sort of happy with how the first leg went in a deep and pleasant way. It was such an incredible struggle to get there for so many reasons—most of them personal not artistic reasons—but that hasn’t marred the work for me. When I think of it I feel quite content. Maybe this is the reason I forget it—because it already feels like an accomplishment. It’s the only reason that seems likely.
But I definitely don’t want to forget about Glass Clouds. I am really fond of it and it is really significant to me and holds so many important life moments in it for me. So maybe I’ll start talking about it more as I go. If it brings me peace maybe it’ll do the same for someone else.