It doesn’t take much. You wrestle with a scene and suddenly a voice says: “What utter nonsense. Why even bother?”
Some days I spring up, most days a bit late. Improvement expected Week 2. Otherwise effective.
Eric Maisel seems to understand the fine-grained complexity, yet intrinsic simplicity, of writing and the other arts with greater wisdom than anyone I know. I tell everyone I know to read all his books, but that doesn’t mean I’m adept at practising what he espouses. In his recent blogs, he covers problems with “finishing” projects, an issue central to my Writing Big Year, but I was also taken with an earlier snippet about “creative grandeur.” He exhorts:
There are things that arise from our heart, our head, and our hands with the power to move our fellow human beings. That is so grand! Demand a little more grandeur from your life and from your own creative work!
Reading this, I wonder if my issue isn’t the opposite, a desire for too much grandeur for my book’s chosen subject.
How much more time consuming can this jogging biz get? Now I’m to chill my foot for 20 minutes every day for a fortnight!
So you’ve toughed out a half year, done the hard yards, put in the two hours a day every day, knuckled down . . . yadda yadda cliché . . . but legs are leaden and your other obsession, the more important one, the one that counts, the writing one . . . that one intrudes. Your jogging habit isn’t quite the habit you crowed about, is it? Isn’t it time to forget the nonsense? Remember the advice about taking it easy on yourself?
Personally I’ve no advice to myself other than this: out into grey, lovely Melbourne . . . a Currawong lilts low and high . . . a Coot scampers away.