(no subject)
I borrowed the e-book "The Artist's Way Everyday" from the library and so far it has been a profound joy to read. Julia Cameron (or the editor, not sure if this is an original book or a cut-up version of the original Artist's Way) gives daily nuggets of spiritual, practical, and creative advice for writers and, really, all artists. She has a gift for elevating writing and the artistic process into something sacred and in communion with an entity that is larger than ourselves.
One of the themes that I have gleaned from the book is that it is important to just "show up" for writing, whether or not we are in the mood or have anything particularly profound to say. The more we produce, produce, produce, the better it gets and the more likely we are to reveal treasures that would not have popped up had we not been tiling the soil of our minds. And so I am forcing this out despite the sense that I have "nothing to say."
One thing that nobody tells you about fake nails is how much food will accumulate under them. For every meal I eat, there develops a thin, dark layer of matter under the fake nail, right at the point where my real nail ends. In idle moments I find myself trying obsessively to get the food out of there, since, well, it's gross. But unearthing the food is probably grosser.
A few minutes ago I found the perfect tool: a small, pointed knife from a set of camping utensils. Unlike a butter knife, this had a necessary sharp point, and unlike a steak knife, it was small enough to fit under my fake nail and to trace the cure of the underside entirely. Eagerly I sat on the couch and went to work.
Within just a few minutes, my whole being nearly shook with relief and pleasure. Big chunks of smelly food were scraped out and flaked away. Thoughts or "this is so gross" alternated with "this is so satisfying" in my mind. I'm pretty sure I sighed a few times as a particularly stubborn bit of dirt or meal was unearthed. If there be a hygienic ecstasy, this was it.
(I'll probably set aside this knife and buy another for actual food cutting. Or at least that's what I'm telling you here).
One of the themes that I have gleaned from the book is that it is important to just "show up" for writing, whether or not we are in the mood or have anything particularly profound to say. The more we produce, produce, produce, the better it gets and the more likely we are to reveal treasures that would not have popped up had we not been tiling the soil of our minds. And so I am forcing this out despite the sense that I have "nothing to say."
One thing that nobody tells you about fake nails is how much food will accumulate under them. For every meal I eat, there develops a thin, dark layer of matter under the fake nail, right at the point where my real nail ends. In idle moments I find myself trying obsessively to get the food out of there, since, well, it's gross. But unearthing the food is probably grosser.
A few minutes ago I found the perfect tool: a small, pointed knife from a set of camping utensils. Unlike a butter knife, this had a necessary sharp point, and unlike a steak knife, it was small enough to fit under my fake nail and to trace the cure of the underside entirely. Eagerly I sat on the couch and went to work.
Within just a few minutes, my whole being nearly shook with relief and pleasure. Big chunks of smelly food were scraped out and flaked away. Thoughts or "this is so gross" alternated with "this is so satisfying" in my mind. I'm pretty sure I sighed a few times as a particularly stubborn bit of dirt or meal was unearthed. If there be a hygienic ecstasy, this was it.
(I'll probably set aside this knife and buy another for actual food cutting. Or at least that's what I'm telling you here).