2:33 PM, Tuesday afternoon. Got up, got out of bed -- dragged a comb across my head... (Actually it was more like: got up, rolled off the futon, washed my face and ate a Pop-Tart and an orange.)
It is bright and crisply-cold here, today. The quality of the sunlight reminds me of Spring -- but a step outside shivers away that idea. I’m listening to a random mixture of Yaz, Pixies, and The Stone Roses on my CD player. It’s sort of an odd combination, I guess -- but I’m feeling pretty odd today, myself. And random too, for that matter. Oooh, "Monkey Gone to Heaven" just came on; that’s one of my favorite Pixies songs. [John grooves for a bit...]
I know for a fact that I don’t write enough. Too often I sit around waiting to be inspired when I should just be grinding out something. Writing is a skill, like carpentry. The more you do it the better you get at it. Inspiration can transform your work, enliven it, or give you a visionary edge -- but so can good hard work.
The Muse can be both fickle and addictive.
Algis Budrys, a writer who’s opinion I respect, once said something to the effect that great stuff has indeed been written by inspired authors -- but it has also been written by authors with head colds forcing themselves to type away because they are worried about paying their light bills. Inspiration is an edge: it’s not the whole ball game.
So, in that spirit, I’m writing this sans inspiration.
I’ve always loved Alison Moyet’s voice (Yaz’s "Bad Connection" is playing in the background now). Her sound is rich and strong. And now "Fool’s Gold" by The Stone Roses has come on. Funky. I think it would be interesting to have a "random play" feature for my mind. Just press that button and all sorts of ideas are mixed and matched in new combinations. Concepts collide, fresh vistas appear.
Inspirations arise.
Of course that could make you lazy. Dependent. Self-referential to an extreme, always re-shuffling the same mental deck of cards. You do have to go out in the world and add to your deck from time-to-time. You do have to think your way through to new ideas.
Sometimes you have to hammer together your inspiration, sand it with annoyance and necessity, varnish it with determination. The good thing is, if you can make your own inspiration it is always available to you. You don’t have to rely on chance. Or random play.
It’s getting dark now, the sky is a deeply luminous cobalt blue. I’m still uninspired (but I wrote this little thing anyway, so there). The CD player is swapping disks. I wonder what will be next?
Ah, it’s Alison again.
--- JWR, 1/13/98
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