Tag Archives: Writing

Update: 12th July 2017

BY JON PILL

Goodness, gracious, where does it all go? The time that is. The time between tossing out the last fortnightly missive to Jim and the sudden tumbleweed silence of the last two months.

This is not a return to your regularly scheduled programming unfortunately. Work, by which I mean, writing work – off which I have been living for the last month or so – has slurped, and continues to slurp, up time and, far more importantly, energy. The blog, with its pious penury is fun to write and in its own way an important place for me to expend some of my creative soilings, but it does not cough up the necessary potatoes and so cannot take up too much of my time at the moment.

That said. I am hoping to get at least a skeleton posting schedule back up and running shortly. In the meantime, consider this a hopeful fluttering in the ribcage of the corpse.

Here’s what you’ve missed:

Writing

June was my most productive month possibly ever for writing, a little over 40k in words the vast majority of them for Poker Tube, where I was doing the live tournament reporting for the World Series of Poker.

I’ve also got back on the Buzzy Magazine roster and should have something out with them shortly on Season 7 of Game of Thrones which is airing this Sunday.

And I am continuing to write for Front Vision. But there is always room in my schedule if you need something written, or know someone who does. Blog posts, ghost writing, articles, erotic poetry… you name it I’ll write it. Get my email from the About part of the site and hit me up. I’m not proud and I gotta eat.

Reading

A lot of this, mostly disciplined until the last few weeks when my ‘Currently Reading’ pile exploded to sixteen books. Among them is Finnegans Wake which I continue alone, having been abandoned both by the GoodReads group and by Jim, both of whom were reading it with me.

Other key books include The Expanse series (on book 2 atm, not as good as the TV series, but fun) and the gigantic The Norton Anthology of Theory & Criticism which I suspect will be an endless frustration of pseudo-intellectual gabble about stuff which sociology, anthropology and psychology are all studying by looking at facts.

Much to Jim’s relief, I have also started American Pastoral.

Life

Keeping on top of writing, reading, and the various habits I try to keep going: eating well, meditating, exercising, socialising and various smaller things mostly aimed at keeping my mental health solid as the little grey cells will allow, all makes for a certain amount of cat juggling and ball herding.

While May was a fabulous month where everything lined up, the last month and a half-has been rather more chaotic and as a result, while specific things have been working it comes at a cost of other things. Word count goes up, exercise gets pushed out for example.

Being self-employed gives me plenty of flexibility to manage my time. But it is possible to get a little paralysed by the choices. I’m hoping that there will be a series of articles on time management in a little while, but not until I get back into practice what I intend to preach.

Till then there should be a few more Dear Jim’s and book reviews coming out. But they will probably remain sporadic at best for the next couple of months.

For everyone reading this, thanks for sticking with me. You’re my kind of sucker.

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Dear Jon (#18) Re: This Is Not For You

BY JON PILL

I am in a strange street, empty of people but full of voices. A light rain forms a mist into which the two ends of the street vanish. Neon signs hang and hum along with insect light-traps and one of them sparks as a moth meets its end.

The voices are under the street calling out a garbled message: ‘Dear Jon,’ they say. ‘Be gone buzz words. Buzz off buzz words. Bzzzzzzzt.

There is a pause and I step underneath a shop’s doorway to shake the earwigs from my cochlear canals they slither down a drain and the psychic audio bletter becomes clearer:

‘Let’s talk attitudes, because there’s another aspect to deal with. There’s one attitude which you talk about, I should read, listen to, look at x. One side of the groat there. The other side of the groat: but it’s not for me, it’s not for people like me, it’s for other people…’

The voice trails off. The sign above me reads: ‘CLICK HERE TO READ THE REST.’

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The Best Books For Writers – Part 5: Books on the Other Arts

BY JON PILL

Previously on… 

Part 1 – Books on Being Writerly

Part 2 – Books on the Craft of Writing

Part 3 – Books on The Writing Life

Part 4 – Books on Reading

This is the last and considerably latest, in this series on books to read if you’re a writer / into writing / want to write. This time looking at a grab bag of books that I and / or humans have found useful in our approach to writing that deal with other art forms topics.

There will also be another post coming soon about all the non-book resources people have found useful. So look forward to that, kidz.

Part 5 – Books On Other Art Forms

1. Silence by John Cage

This collection of lectures by experimental composer John Cage (he of 4′ 33″ in(fame)y), is a collection of lectures on various subjects. Unable to keep from experimenting even in the when typing up his lecture notes, the book is full of odd formatting and the occasional section of apparent word salad.

But as a creative guide it’s served a few of my writerly friends. It might well serve you to.

2. 7 Minutes. The Life and Death of the American Animated Cartoon by Norman M. Klein

This is another Interior Dasein recommendation, covering the history of the short American Cartoon, typified I guess by the work of Chuck Jones. There are parallels between the zany movies and the short story, and you can certainly learn a great deal from the discipline of the artists and the surreal and metamorphosable worlds they build.

For members of the straw poll, it was also a source of inspiration and permission to break the rules of our world in interesting and fun ways in their art.

3. The Artist’s Reality by Mark Rothko and 4. A History of Art by E. M. Gombrich

Visual art has inspired a great deal of poetry and a little prose, but it is also probably the art form with the longest history. Where the stories told by the cavemen at Lascaux are lost to time, their paintings live on.

The Rothko is a collection of essays on art and artistry, and the Gombrich a broad history of visual art from the ancients to us with a ton of colour plates and a lovely binding.

5. How to Read a Film by James Monaco

An overview of the mechanics, theory, business and history of film this book is readable intro to the medium. I consume a lot of story through television and movies, and having a better sense of how to watch closely and think critically about film has improved my ability to do the same for reading and in assessing my own writing.

It could do the same for you.

6. Logical Chess: Move by Move by Irving Chernev

Recommended by Jim MacDonald in an Absolute Write thread on the grounds that Chernev’s approach works for the creation of plots as much as it does check-mating your opponents on the board.

If nothing else, it will probably improve your chess game.

7. Measurement by Paul Lockhart

Measurement teaches maths creatively, and draws comparisons between the formal restrictions of poetry and the logical restrictions of maths. Paul Lockhart empowers the reader to go away and create maths on their own by focusing on the process and on proof. Having given the reader the tools to do maths, he then sets them off with a bunch of questions for them to look into and solve on their own.

The link with writing is pretty tangential but much of what makes maths beautiful is there in literature: those moments of realisation and discovery, and the revelling in patterns. The approaches to learning however, are perfect for the writer.

Enjoy.

If you have any favourite books that have helped you with your writing, especially if I missed them in this series, let me know in the comments.

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The Best Books For Writers – Part 3: Books on the Writing Life

BY JON PILL

Previously on… 

Part 1 – Books on Being Writerly

Part 2 – Books on the Craft of Writing

what-it-is-1

A page from Linda Barry’s What It Is.

These books have some crossover with the books on craft (the first half of King’s On Writing is memoir rather than guide).

1. Top Pick: A Writer’s Diary by Virginia Woolf

This is my top pick for a number of reasons. It touches on so many aspects of the writing life, detailing Woolf’s concerns and ideas, various manifestos, the thoughts behind her novels. You get to see things grown from a vague idea and take form for her on the page.

But the main reason I would recommend it to anyone who writes is for the violent mood swings. Entries that are days apart can assess her current WIP as being either a worthless self-indulgence that should be burned, or a satisfying piece possibly her best.

It is always good to see someone else come out of that slump time and time again.

2. A Life in Letters by Anton Chekov

Penguin produced this set of letters in which Anton Chekov touches on every part of his life. Somehow both prolific and brilliant, Chekov is someone to worth listening to.

3. Lions and Shadows by Christopher Isherwood

Written as a novel, with most of the real life names obscured, though often not very well (Wystan Hugh Auden for example is called Hugh Weston), Lions and Shadows covers Isherwood’s formative years as a writer and the drafting of his first works. It is facinating to get a sense of how his friends influenced him and how he figured out what he wanted his books to do.

Also recommended are Isherwood’s Diaries which come in several volumes.

4. What It Is by Lynda Barry

This is another recommendation from Interior DaseinWhat It Is is part artistic guide, part memoir, part objet d’art. With each page a collage of drawings and handwritten notes.

5. Believer Book of Writers Talking to Writers by Various

A book of interviews made up of writers who were asked, “Who would you like to interview about writing?”. These writer to writer conversations are a great source of writerly tidbits.

6. Paris Review Interviews by Various (in many volumes)

Covering decades there are hundreds of these interviews with writers, all focused on how the writers write, what their approaches to literature are, the arcs of their careers. It is probably one of the most interesting and useful resources out there.

The interviews can also be found for free on the Paris Review website.

7. The Imperfect Life of T. S. Eliot by Lyndall Gordon (reviewed here)

This is both a biography and a biographical reading of Eliot’s work. It is fascinating to see the mirroring of his concerns both in life (where he was a persistently troubled and terrible human) and in his works (where he is brilliant).

A good place to see how not to let one’s artistic concerns rule your actual life.

*

There were several memoirs which didn’t make it either because they failed to cover writing much (e.g. Martin Amis’ Experience) or because I haven’t read them or been recommended them by friends (e.g. Dante’s La Vita Nuova).

I am sure you’ll be able to find plenty more yourself, and I’d love to hear your recommendations.

Coming soon…

Part 4 – Books on Reading Like a Writer

Part 5 – Books on Art and Arting in General

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Dear Jon… (#6) Re: 9 Reasons Why the To-Do List Life is the Life

I got this, whatever this is, in the ble-mail.

“Dear Jon,

I am much obliged to you for your post. This post comes to you in 9, yes, 9 parts. 

 …2. 

I do not want to write a blog post. It is (figuratively) the last thing I want to do, and yet it is the first thing on my list. I do not know why I write this blog post. The web is clotted with the remnants of dead blogs. You’ve seen these, right? You’re scanning the pages of some blog on recipes or someone’s adventures in Europe to look at the date to see this hasn’t been updated in six months, three years, eight years. Often abandoned without explanations. Something IRL had dragged the writer away. Perhaps boredom. Perhaps forgetfulness. Maybe their IRL had suddenly ended, even…”

Click here to read the rest.

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Dear Jim… (#5) re: When Reasons Not to Write Aren’t Reasons Not to Write

He started his epistle with an epigraph. What a nob.

– Overheard while walking near my own mouth.

Dear Jim,

Firstly, and obviously, get well soon.

Secondly, the answer to your question of when to stop is just as obviously: Never; ‘Starve a fever, feed a cold, but work through both,’ as my mother never actually said, but should have. Which is why my bosses have always applauded me for sitting at my desk hacking up the most infectious parts of my lungs, before passing off freshly moistened files to my soon to be just as poorly workmates. Go Capitalism.

But thirdly – and mostly – I wanted to pick up on your reference to Amis:

“Amis is damn right when he talks about stepping back !!!!!FOR A MOMENT!!!!, and going to do something else: not slamming one’s face endlessly against a wall of words.” 

The emphasis there is mine, and I bring it up because it triggered a particular bugbear of mine.

Far too often people seem to think that art requires some sort of hermetically sealed Ivory Tower with a south facing window and just the right humidity and temperature for your pet muse to whisper in your ear without getting tongue cramp. Which is fine if you are happy just doodling. Like, you can get a ton out of just doing creative stuff every now and again as a hobby.

But if you want to write something good, if you want to be read without embarrassment, or even to read at all… you do actually have to write. And you have to write a lot.

For some reason in the 1800s the view shifted from artist as organ grinder/monkey combo, to artist as visionary. They forgot artist and artisan come from the same root and started thinking of artists as ‘brilliant’ or ‘zeitgeisty’ or ‘so fetch’. Artists are not any of those things, they are the less calorific half of bread-and-circuses.

Stepping away from the words is fine, as long as it is about managing your energy or health. My basic thing is that if your reason for not writing wouldn’t fly as a reason for not doing your actual job if you have one, then it just isn’t good enough.

If you are a writer, and you lack inspiration, so fucking what? You want to protect your precious art? It’s not that precious. Set yourself deadlines and meet them. Hate the work you produce by all means, but produce it. Anyone can write when the muse is balls deep in all your brain holes, but the point of being a writer is that we WRITE. The universe can’t do all the heavy lifting.

If you’re blocked then you need to put your arse back in the chair and work at it. If you have no ideas then sit down and brainstorm, read some non-fiction that looks like it might trigger something, find a specific market and let their guidelines direct you to something. But don’t leave that chair until you’ve written something.

It winds me up no end to hear things like: ‘I can’t make myself write. Writing for money/to a deadline/on cue/every day hurts the art’. When I worked nine-to-five, I would finish the day exhausted, with whatever currency discipline is transacted in spent in not throttling my immediate manager. As a colossally lazy person, it was already excruciating to sit down to the genuinely taxing brain-work of writing. So once I had carved out the time, avoided all the temptations and apathies that lay between me and the word processor I had to write then, because tomorrow I might not have the wherewithal to drag myself to it.

Just try telling that person to wait for the muse.

And that sort of thinking misses the fact that first drafts are not Writing. They’re like 5% of it. What the muse gives you is always half-cocked and half-baked even at the best of times.

Fact: your first draft is ugly. Even at your best it is ugly. Too ugly to live. You have to beat the ugly out of it. That beating is basically 95% of the gig. If you sit around waiting for the muse, it means you’re not even doing that first 5%.

Lastly, writing is not meant to be fun. You shouldn’t enjoy it. Like childbirth it should be a vindictive punishment exacted against yourself for the sins of your ancestors. The whole process should be horrible, a trial by ordeal which leaves you not happy, but somehow satisfied, having been tested and having measured up.

Since quotations are apparently a major constituent of letters, ideally from poetry – specifically James Baldwin where available – I’ll leave you with this poem, reconstructed from memory because as far as Google seems to think Dorothy Parker is the only person to have said it:-

I have a confession,

And this is it:

I hate to write,

Love having writ.

I am willing to admit this last point about self-flagellation may owe more to the Protestant work-ethic of my own conscience, who dismisses anything enjoyable as sinful*, but I stand by the rest no matter how Calvin-inflected your conscience is.

il_fullxfull-306934858

A piece of writing that is a metaphor for what writing should feel like. 

So here’s the cliff notes version of this rant to pass on to anyone you meet whose excusing themselves from writing. After cussing them out tell them:

(1) don’t get prissy about ‘inspiration’, just write daily or close to it;

(2) if you don’t write today, you have nothing to rewrite tomorrow, and rewriting > writing, so write daily or close to it; and

(3) if you enjoy doing anything, you’re doing it wrong; and you won’t enjoy writing daily or close to it.

In the print edition of this blog, I’ll just turn this into a listicle.

Yours curmudgeonly,

Jon

P.S. *Imagine how tragic it must be for this conscientious conscience to be housed in such a dissipated layabout. Only the self-loathing makes all that laziness palatable.

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Dear Jim (#3) re: Thousand Page Journeys

Dear Jim,

Thank you for your letter of last week. I know that The Gift (1938) feeling – or as it is known in my own head-brain: the A Dead Man in Deptford (1993) feeling – that frustrating feeling that you are always reading, have always been reading, and will always read a book which despite all that reading past, future and present does not ever seem to end.

At the moment that feeling is a source of minor stress, because beyond your Dead Men in Deptford there are always other books. As you know, I am a massive fan of reading lists. You’ve seen the forty or so books which sit on my desk in a line of TBR towers, looming over a row of ten or fifteen other books, bookmarks jutting out of them like dorsal fins, who are sitting there waiting for me to go back and finish them. Towers of classics which I should read, of pulpy trash I want to read, of research books I need to read, and of books that the real owners will be wanting back any day now.

Those fortyish books amount to about five months worth of reading at my current rate. It is like a speculative geography of my future knowledge. And beyond those roughly 15k pages is the unread deep-time strata of the bookshelves. Those are so far into the future there are Morlocks and Universal heat-death and I will be in my thirties. All that and more will come to pass before I can read half of what I should/want/need to.

(I feel like there’s a paradox in there among the TBR piles somewhere, if one wanted to tease it out. Something to do with how the books that matter most are the one’s that by definition have had no direct influence on you because they are not yet read. Like, I don’t stress about the thousands of pages of Dostoevsky I have read, but the thousands of Dickens that I haven’t. Not now though, there are future letters for frivolous stuff like that, this letter is about frivolous stuff like this:)

So much of this Chicken Habits for Effective Souls stuff the problem is really one of tricking your brain (half-wit that it is). You can only ever read the next page, paragraph, sentence, word, letter or punctuation mark. So just don’t look at the pile of books on your desk, or the monolithic Billy bookshelves from Ikea. Head down, tail up and all that.

Which reminds me of the more general struggle to be writing, to eat well, to live well, to exercise and meditate, to not eat the marshmallow, not drink the whole bottle of wine, not spend the whole day in bed masturbating, napping and binge watching Pokémon. These things are difficult for some reason. They shouldn’t be; every one of them comes with a positive reinforcement of satisfaction when done, while not doing them has the negative feedback of Protestant guilt.

The tricks we play are often silly; ‘I will just wash one dish,’ I tell myself. ‘I will do one set of pushups.’ Or like Isherwood ‘I’ll just put the novel up on a screen and then go do something else nearby, looking over occasionally.’ Whatever it takes to trick the brain into lowering the activation energy required to get started. Because inertia is not just a physics thing, it’s psychology too.

One of the many reasons the tricks are needed, is because if you lean to much on the idea of ‘completion’ then the whole exercise of being starts to look pointless. it comes to the realisation and rerealisation that you will never finish reading all the books you should/want/need, will never run out of art to create, that there is no final boss fight that will end exercise. There is no completion for a lot of stuff, just giving up and/or death (And what do we say to the God of Death, Jim?*).

Existentially unpleasant as that can be, accepting it is also the best way out of the kind of doing/not-doing stress that I’ve had accumulating of late. Which is why I bring this up, less for your benefit than as a reminder to myself to just keep doing. Sweat the parts as they come (*snarf*), and the whole will take care of itself.

Not only does the thousand step journey start with the first, it continues with the second, then the next one. And after that you’ll still have to decide to take the next one after that,  until way down the road – I hope– you suddenly find yourself sans feet, sans teeth, sans etc…

The best thing about this particular trick is that it is not a trick, it reflects the world.  The worst thing is how oddly forgettable it is. I used to listen to Zen Mind, Beginner Mind (1970) on audiobook once a year, to refresh the memory.

I haven’t done that for a while now, but it might be a good time to put it back into rotation because I am about to start reading DeLillo’s billion-page epic Underworld (1997). I feel like that massive book almost a thousand pages long and covering a span of time roughly equal to a smoker’s life could in some way be a metaphor for something.

But like paradoxes metaphor’s are beyond my remit today. Today I’m just psyching myself up.

Yours briefly mindful,

Jon

*’Not today.’ You really should just suck it up and watch Game of Thrones – Today, ideally.

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