Week XIV: The week that I slacked off

I have many drafts in various states of completion, but none that I'd be proud of posting. I didn't write much this week, I was visiting relatives in far away lands. Legitimate excuse? Surely not. I'm not going to try to pass of some last minute ramblings as a piece I'd worked on all week, I'd be lying to myself and everybody else.

I've been reading this book by Stephen Pressfield called "The War of Art." It's all about overcoming Resistance (capitalization is his) and seeking inspiration from the Muses through ritualized work schedules and invocations and the like. It's a rather elevated treatment of a simple concept - shut up, sit down, and put in some hours, don't be an idiot, don't give into distractions and temptations that keep you from your art.

I like what he's saying overall, but I really don't think that it's necessary to anthropomorphize Resistance. I don't really think it's necessary to externalize creativity and inspiration as the words of God or angels or whatever else. It's an interesting thought, the idea that when we work at our artistic endeavors, that we channel some kind of otherworldly power that allows us to receive words and thoughts and visions.

Religion is interesting for that - people have used God as inspiration for untold volumes of art, writing, music, you name it. Credit to the big guy upstairs. People put a lot of things on God. That's another essay for another time. Pressfield gives kind of a "if God makes you uncomfortable, think of it as some greater, unseen influence, some kind of spiritual higher plane without a name or face" treatment to the subject. I understand that he's trying to make his work accessible to a larger audience, but it doesn't totally address the issue I have, being that he's overdoing it.

If God or angles or whatever, if they help you to be a better person, a better artist, then pray and love and feel the hands of the angels guiding your brush, your pen, your carving knife, what have you. I don't understand the need to externalize influence.

There's a terrible danger in developing a huge ego when your art is well appreciated. Look at me, I can create! Love me! Love my creations! The God complex. It's complicated. It's so important to keep the ego in check, I can't imagine many things that keep people further from their potential as artists. Humility is vital, it's absolutely critical to making good art in my estimation.

It's funny, I sat down to write a couple of sentences about how I slacked all week, but just the act of putting in the time and staring down the clock at a fast-approaching deadline, and here come the words, just pouring out. Have I just conditioned my body for it? I knew that I hadn't written anything I was proud of this week, despite numerous attempts. I have drafts in the can for essays about math and geometry, a good rant about broken hearts, and a poem that I may post in the future that somehow turned into an epic composed of limericks that expresses my disdain for the pope and the Catholic church... stand by for that one, we'll see where else it goes.

I was unprepared this week, I didn't fight the good fight in the War of Art. But in some senses I did, I suppose. Nurturing the artist within or some other sort of new-agey silliness. Giving and receiving a lot of love, being with my family, seeing old friends, making music. Now I just have to organize all of that good material in my brain and produce something worthwhile. This isn't good art, it's just whatever I can crank out before the deadline.

I promised myself when I started this blog that I would post every Sunday by 11:59PM, regardless of what I'd produced that week. When I sat down to write tonight, I was disappointed in myself. I'm fulfilling my obligation, though. The thought of leaving a blank page wasn't acceptable to me, I had to fill it up.

I won't have time to edit this much, it'll come out more or less exactly as I wrote it. I usually agonize over numerous drafts, picking through every word and phrase with a fine-toothed comb. Perhaps I need to surrender to the Muses more often and just let the words come out as they see fit. I'm not worthy of composing or creating my own thing, maybe. I don't know how to feel about that at all. It's nice to hear kind remarks about my writing or music, but I've never taken compliments about talent to be particularly complimentary. I think that when you have an appreciation for someone's work, you shouldn't tell them that they're talented or gifted, or make a big fuss about how the Muses created this amazing thing that they had the fine privilege to channel into the earthly sphere... I think that it's a much deeper compliment to acknowledge the work and time and practice that came before the presentation.

In that sense, I deserve exactly zero praise for what I've done here. I sat down to write at 11:40PM, it's now 11:49PM and I'm calling it. Nine whole minutes of creativitiy. Stephen Pressfield would be disappointed, and rightly so. If you want to be a writer for real, which I honestly do, you can't just put in 9 minutes, or even 9 hours a week and expect that things will take off for you. I've struggled with maintaining discipline all of my life, and this week was no exception. That I was away from home and visiting with friends and family isn't a good enough reason to miss a deadline or post and empty page. 1,000 words is not a lot to ask, and it's not a lot to give.

Sometimes when a goal is met, it's time to move the yardsticks. Keep moving down the field. I've thought about upping my weekly word count to 1,500, or maybe even 2,000. Would you sit through 2,000 words? That seems like an awful lot to ask of an internet audience, but I only know my own attention span, and the immediacy of social media and mindless web browsing has not helped it. I might take it for a test run. Until then, I slacked this week and I should feel bad. And I do. If you're still with me, thank you for you patience.

Word count: 1,076