"The writer must experience every sort of life's degradations...I think that's what attracted me to the job!"
That's a line from Plenty; the movie version of the play from 1985. The actor who says it is Tracey Ullman. I'm not sure if it's the exact line; but that's how I remember it. And I can't say I disagree with it.
Did you ever read this book:
That's a line from Plenty; the movie version of the play from 1985. The actor who says it is Tracey Ullman. I'm not sure if it's the exact line; but that's how I remember it. And I can't say I disagree with it.
Did you ever read this book:
That book is from 1992 and I own it. It's by Julia Cameron. It's a self-help book for creative people who are blocked, essentially. Apparently it was way more popular than I thought. There are special editions of it now and boxed sets and so on and so forth. I was into it for a while, more so because a friend at the time was totally into it and kind of hounded me into reading and/or following the book's advice. I got maybe half-way through. I had two take-aways. The first, that I sort of couldn't get past, was that the author was at some point married to Martin Scorsese. I mean, what would that be like? Pretty intense, I would think...or maybe not. Maybe he's totally mellow when he's not on a movie set. The second was: "The Morning Pages."
The Morning Pages was Ms. Cameron's main exercise. So, what you do is, you get yourself a notebook and every morning, you sit down with your beverage of choice and hand-write three pages of whatever. It doesn't matter what you write. You're basically clearing your brain's palette of subconscious residue. You're just spewing your psychic junk onto those pages as a kind of reset. Every morning. Three pages. Hand written. It was that simple.
But I'm not a morning person.
The Morning Pages was Ms. Cameron's main exercise. So, what you do is, you get yourself a notebook and every morning, you sit down with your beverage of choice and hand-write three pages of whatever. It doesn't matter what you write. You're basically clearing your brain's palette of subconscious residue. You're just spewing your psychic junk onto those pages as a kind of reset. Every morning. Three pages. Hand written. It was that simple.
But I'm not a morning person.
And do you know how hard it is to fill three note-book pages? Try it. It's not easy. And every day? I lasted two weeks.
Thinking about it now, I realize that what The Morning Pages are, are (is?) a kind of diary. However, it's kind of a diary out of duress. That's why it's so difficult to do.
I was thinking about this blog. What is it if not a diary? But it's now a public diary. People other than me are reading it while I'm still alive, and thankfully, kicking. I mean, I started this blog as a sort of light-hearted exploration of my experiences in Show Business; in the Big Pond and the little ponds. It didn't take long, however, for me to start sharing things that weren't quite so light-hearted. Like my attempt to be a male prostitute. That is now out there in the world. Anyone who reads this will now know that at one point in my life I set out to be a prostitute. But you know what? I don't care. It's a part of my life. I did it and I can't change it. But I didn't go through with it. I was at a desperate place in my life; but I hung on and things got better.
I guess this blog is my iteration of The Morning Pages. It helps me to vent my inner-turmoil about what's going on in my life and the world at large. Because, let's face it, the world at large right now is a shit-show. I think a great many of us are suffering PTSD after living for so many years with a loud-mouthed clinical NARCISSIST as our leader. An imbecilic child who trashed the playground and left the mess for the rest of us to clean up. The wild-fires, heat-waves, floods, food shortages, inflation, mass shootings et al are kind of like...meh. Hey, I lived through the Trump presidency. I swear to God if he somehow manages to get another four years I'm moving to Ireland. Or Costa Rica.
Thinking about it now, I realize that what The Morning Pages are, are (is?) a kind of diary. However, it's kind of a diary out of duress. That's why it's so difficult to do.
I was thinking about this blog. What is it if not a diary? But it's now a public diary. People other than me are reading it while I'm still alive, and thankfully, kicking. I mean, I started this blog as a sort of light-hearted exploration of my experiences in Show Business; in the Big Pond and the little ponds. It didn't take long, however, for me to start sharing things that weren't quite so light-hearted. Like my attempt to be a male prostitute. That is now out there in the world. Anyone who reads this will now know that at one point in my life I set out to be a prostitute. But you know what? I don't care. It's a part of my life. I did it and I can't change it. But I didn't go through with it. I was at a desperate place in my life; but I hung on and things got better.
I guess this blog is my iteration of The Morning Pages. It helps me to vent my inner-turmoil about what's going on in my life and the world at large. Because, let's face it, the world at large right now is a shit-show. I think a great many of us are suffering PTSD after living for so many years with a loud-mouthed clinical NARCISSIST as our leader. An imbecilic child who trashed the playground and left the mess for the rest of us to clean up. The wild-fires, heat-waves, floods, food shortages, inflation, mass shootings et al are kind of like...meh. Hey, I lived through the Trump presidency. I swear to God if he somehow manages to get another four years I'm moving to Ireland. Or Costa Rica.
I grew up with a narcissist in my family. Someone I had to deal with on a daily basis for the first half of my life. Then I blithely entered into a friendship with a narcissist; perhaps I didn't recognize this person as a narcissist because I was so acclimated to it. Couldn't see what was right under my nose. It wasn't until that relationship ended that my life began to change for the better. There's that phrase again. I guess that speaks to the cyclical nature of life. Things can't get better if they don't sometimes go bad. But I don't want to wallow in cliche.
So, I lost my original train of thought. What was I saying? Oh, yeah, I was musing to myself as to why I'm sharing deeply personal details about my life here. I guess I'm sharing my life experience with you. My degradations, as it were, as a way to connect with you. Whoever you are. And who are you? I don't know. I only personally know two people who I'm aware read this on a fairly regular basis. Everyone else is an abstract. I can't know exactly who you are. But I'm pretty sure you're a human being. A human being who lives in the same world that I do. Someone I can commiserate with. Commiserate with, with humor (humor that seems to be inching further and further towards the gallows!). I guess, too, that I'm trying to control "the narrative" of my own life...not there's anyone out there wanting to tell their version of my life...
"...with humor."
Humor. That's the key.
And I hope you find me such.
So, I lost my original train of thought. What was I saying? Oh, yeah, I was musing to myself as to why I'm sharing deeply personal details about my life here. I guess I'm sharing my life experience with you. My degradations, as it were, as a way to connect with you. Whoever you are. And who are you? I don't know. I only personally know two people who I'm aware read this on a fairly regular basis. Everyone else is an abstract. I can't know exactly who you are. But I'm pretty sure you're a human being. A human being who lives in the same world that I do. Someone I can commiserate with. Commiserate with, with humor (humor that seems to be inching further and further towards the gallows!). I guess, too, that I'm trying to control "the narrative" of my own life...not there's anyone out there wanting to tell their version of my life...
"...with humor."
Humor. That's the key.
And I hope you find me such.
CFR August 2, 2022