I’m here at the Cheese Shop, supposed to be typing in the words I wrote longhand at work today. It was a good day for writing while at work, even though my head was heavy and I felt like not doing much more than crawling back to bed (a luxury I can no longer afford). While I may be angsting about the plot here and other places, the words keep coming in dribs and drabs, and this is a good thing.
But typing them in tonight? Adding new words? No. We are sitting by the windows, pushed off because of an event being held here, so we are baking under the sun. My left ear, my left arm, boiling. I am too warm and uncomfortable and still in a bit of pain. I have done my part. I can take the evening off now with little guilt.
Have also started a new indulgence: 750words.com. It’s like an electronic version of the Morning Pages exposed by Julia Cameron. Completely private (if you want), where your one and only goal is to real 750 words. It times you, tracks you, will generate tables to tell you how introverted, positive, self-focused or whatever-you-are per entry and if you really want to keep it, will export it in a text format for you.
Here’s a blurb:
I remember Morning Pages, by the way. They were my first introduction to journaling “for reals”. I was artistically stuck and here was this big glossy book, looking like something between a modern bible and a Buddhist guide book at the local bookstore, promising to break my writer’s block, and all that shit. So I bought the book and the special spiffy journal to go with it and I did those morning pages, three pages a day, until the book was filled. It was the first time that I had actually started and filled a journal with all of my small, petty thoughts, those little day-to-day bits and bobs. Did it break me of my creative blocks? No. Took a while longer until I realized what they were and what they weren’t — that basically the best cure for writing isn’t tearing up and worrying about all the mean people who told you not to be creative but to just BUTT IN CHAIR, MOFO!
Those Morning Pages are what started me into journaling. After completing the book, I realized that I missed writing. Maybe not daily, but that journaling was a mentally cleansing process that helped writing in general.
But doing more journalling on top of the blog and paper journal I already have? I balked. But after trying it, I’ve decided I like it. I can hammer out 750 words of stream-of-consciousness babble in 15 minutes cause I’m a mean typist, and I actually liked some of the description I ended up with. Sure, I could do this here, but this is public and there is still that sense of self-sensoring. Over on 750 words, I can really let it rip.
Plus, statistics. As Julia pointed out, “My paper journal doesn’t do THAT!”
No, it does not.
Ah, the sun has finally fallen behind the clouds! I can see! But after looking at food blogs and talking about pizza and sushi and specialty cakes, my attention span is shot. May have something to do with the Mort Subite I splurged on.
Incidentally, the kitchen table has been, as previously discussed, completely taken over. It is now the research table. I have far too many books on it. However, it has reaffirmed that as much as I want to go digital for my fiction, I like having reference books, especially big ones with lots of photographs. My brain likes to have pictures. It makes connection, follows trails. I don’t know what I need to learn — but I know it when I see it.
Sun is back. Melting commencing!