Wide and Well

Wide & Well

How Reading Well & Widely Equates to Better Writing & Being 

 

 

Hey Ryan, why is it important for writers to also read?

Well, first off I think it's important to read even if you're just a regular ol' human being. Read widely and read well. If you find yourself sneakily thinking 'I've read everything' - that's just silly. Unless you're immortal (and I'm not necessarily saying you're not...), you probably haven't read EVERYTHING (yet). A good strategy for getting past readers-block is to look up who inspired your favorite authors and start there. 
Another maneuver is to head to your local bookstore... walk in and take that deep breath. Smell all those lovely books? Good. Relax, take a second or two and chill... then get excited. Let your inner compass guide you to your regular isle haunts... trace your fingers lovingly along the spines of all those books you love... and then blink. Rub your eyes and look around. There's a whole bunch of other books there, too! (I know I know, 'who put all these here??) Pick up at least one new book from a new author. 
Don't be snooty. Try something new.
Along these lines, you can also ask one of the book sellers which authors are their favorite and go from there.

My point is, you have to keep personally fresh and current with your reads. We people tend to find little corners of bookdom and burrow our own little den there. Doing your best to range beyond your literary foxhole will help grow you as a person, as well as expand your mind with new ideas and places. Whatever is in your mind and heart will eventually spill out onto your pages. So if you've been reading well and widely, that fresh stock of new ideas can both oil and fuel your write-abilty.

Examples!

Two examples of how reading well and widely can help you personally and as a writer for me begin with the Fossegrimmen. That's right, you heard me: Fossegrimmen. Now don't be fooled, brave reader - books are not the only thing you can read to garner ideas from. While recently browsing through one of my favorite time-killing sites, Imgur, I came across a post on Norse Mythology. If you've beta-read any of my upcoming novels or know me - then you'll already know just how much I adore northern European mythology. So it was a delight when I had begun reading the post and realized it was about creatures I had hitherto been unaware of. 
Idea central! I could hear my imagination and wonder whirring to life as I read article after article on old-world Norse creatures. One of these was the Fossegrimmen - which apparently even good 'ol Wikipedia didn't know about (which is saying something).

Here's the article on the Fossegrimmen:

Fossegrimmen

"Fossegrimmen, or just Grim (Foss is Norwegian for Waterfall) is a water-creature. He is a young, handsome man who sits naked under waterfalls. He plays the music of nature itself; the sound of the water, the wind in the trees, it all comes from his music. He is said to teach humans how to play if they secretly brought him a stolen piece of meat. Torgeir Augundsson (1801-1872), better known as Myllarguten, was a famous fiddle-player from Telemark, Norway who was so good it was rumored he had sold his soul in exchange of Fossegrimmen’s skills."

My other example is Neil Gaiman. More than half of you reading this are probably rolling your eyes; the rest just mentally said, "huh, who?" Neil Gaiman is an incredibly talented writer originally from England. He's written everything from graphic novels to movies to books (and probably more). After I discovered him (and realized just how many things of his I already loved without knowing), it was like opening up a whole new fantasy vein in a mine I was beginning to think I had exhausted.

When you keep reading, you're not only training and stretching your mind, you're helping grow yourself as a person. You can expose yourself to powerful, enchanting writers who can transform you with their own magical talent and creativity. Reading well and widely gets your own wonder whirring. It fuels you and oils you. You learn what good writing looks like by osmosis. You're adventuring into a vast realm of Imagination, where other sojourners have already gone before you. So pick up your laptops, pens and paper and prepare yourself: your Story is awaits.

- Ryan

Agnes Martin on Inspiration

Artist Agnes Martin on Inspiration, Interruptions, Cultivating a Creative Atmosphere, and the Only Type of Person You Should Allow Into Your Studio

(reposted from http://www.brainpickings.org )

“The development of sensibility is the most important thing for children and adults alike, but is much more possible for children…. Adults are very busy, taught to run all the time. You cannot run and be very aware of your inspirations.”

By Maria Popova

During my annual surrender to a week of forced extroversion, I was acutely reminded of the perils of interruption in creative work. Although studies of the psychology of the optimal creative environment indicate that some artists and writers thrive when surrounded by stimulation, most creative work requires unburdened space and uninterrupted time for what Mary Oliver calls “that wild, silky part of ourselves” — also known by its commonplace name, inspiration — to reveal itself.
The nature of that wild, silky part and the conditions that best coax it forth is what the great artist Agnes Martin (March 22, 1912–December 16, 2004) examines with uncommon insight in her handwritten notes for a student lecture, included in the magnificent monograph Agnes Martin: Paintings, Writings, Remembrances (public library), edited by Martin’s longtime friend and Pace Gallery founder Arne Glimcher.

Agnes Martin at her studio in New Mexico, 1953 (Photograph: Mildred Tolbert)

Martin begins with the often troublesome relationship between the artist’s ego and the artist’s art:

I have sometimes, in my mind, put myself ahead of my work and have suffered in consequence. I thought me, me and I suffered and the work suffered and for that I suffered more. I thought I was important. I was taught to think that. I looked very big and the work small. But now I see it quite differently. To think I am big and the work big, the position of pride, is not possible and to think I am small and the work small, the position of modesty, is not possible.

The only possible position for creative work, Martin suggests, is the position of inspiration, which she considers “the beginning and end of all art work.” For this notoriously elusive grab-bag concept she offers the crispest yet most expansive definition I have yet encountered:

An inspiration is a happy moment that takes us by surprise.
Many people are so startled by an inspiration or a condition of inspiration, which is so different from daily care, that they think that they are unique in having had it. Nothing could be further from the truth. Inspiration is there all the time for anyone whose mind is not covered over with thoughts and concerns, and [it is] used by everyone whether they realize it or not.
[…]
It is an untroubled state of mind. Of course, we know that an untroubled state of mind cannot last, so we say that inspiration comes and goes, but it is there all the time waiting for us to be untroubled again. We can therefore say that it is pervasive.

In a sentiment that echoes and adds dimension to Picasso’s famous proclamation that every child is an artist, Martin considers how our relationship with inspiration evolves over the course of a lifetime:

Young children have more time in which they are untroubled than adults. They have therefore more inspirations than adults. The moments of inspiration added together make what we refer to as sensibility — defined in the dictionary as “response to higher feelings.” The development of sensibility is the most important thing for children and adults alike, but is much more possible for children.

But inspiration, Martin argues, cannot be controlled or willed — it can only be surrendered to. She illustrates this by way of the child:

What is the experience of the small child in the dirt? He suddenly feels happy, rolls in the dirt probably, feels free, laughs and runs and falls. His face is shining… “The light was extraordinary, the feeling was extraordinary” is the way in which many adults describe moments of inspiration. Although they have had them all their lives they never really recall them and are always taken by surprise. Adults are very busy, taught to run all the time. You cannot run and be very aware of your inspirations.

It’s a sentiment that pierces our modern condition and calls Kierkegaard to mind — as he contemplated our greatest source of unhappiness more than a century earlier, the Danish philosopher lamented: “Of all ridiculous things the most ridiculous seems to me, to be busy — to be a man who is brisk about his food and his work.” To counter this ridiculousness, Martin urges artists to create a sanctuary for inspiration — a space devoid of busyness and dedicated to unburdened clarity of mind, with “no telephone,” where one is “to be disturbed only if the house is burning.” A century and a half after Delacroix admonished against social distractions in creative work, she counsels aspiring artists:

A studio is not a place in which to talk to friends. You will hate your friends if they destroy the atmosphere of your studio. As an artist you will have to try and live with inspiration. You are not like the little boy in the dirt free and open. The whole world which you now know intrudes. It is almost hopeless to expect clarity of mind. It is hopeless if your studio atmosphere cannot be preserved.

But there is one kind of person who should be allowed, even invited, into the artist’s studio — the kind that calls to mind Patti Smith’s notion of those who magnify your spirit. Martin writes:

There are some people to be allowed into the studio, however, who will not destroy the atmosphere but will bring encouragement and who are an absolute necessity in the field of art. They are not personal friends. Personal friends are a different thing entirely and should be met in cafés. They are Friends of Art.
Friends of art are people with very highly developed sensibilities whose inspiration leads them to devote their lives to the promotion of art work and to bringing it before the public.

Such “friends of art,” Martin argues, bring with them a highly attuned intuition — intuition being, of course, merely the accretion of experience-encoded discernment — which can help guide the artist closer to his or her own truth:

When they come to see the work it is not to judge it but to enjoy it… When these friends of art come to your studio they should be treated as honored guests, otherwise you will destroy the atmosphere of your studio yourself. If you are not ready to do this, be sure to wait till you are ready. The premature showing of work when you are perhaps struggling and even fighting is an unnecessary suffering. You will know when you are really ready.

Because the studio should be a sacred space for the untroubled mind, Martin recommends avoiding physical clutter in order to prevent mental clutter:

You must clean and arrange your studio in a way that will forward a quiet state of mind. This cautious care of atmosphere is really needed to show respect for the work. Respect for art work and everything connected with it, one’s own and that of everyone else, must be maintained and forwarded. No disrespect, carelessness or ego [and] selfishness must be allowed to interfere if it can be prevented. Indifference and antagonism are easily detected — you should take such people out immediately. Just turning the paintings to the wall is not enough. You yourself should not go to your studio in an indifferent or fighting mood.

What Gets You?

What Gets You?

- Persistence & the Writing Muscle -

Usually, I write about writing success or some sort of inspiring quip about writing... usually. But this time, as I'm typing away, I have to be honest. My regular writing times have been flagging a bit. I mean, I'm still writing something just about everyday, but I sense that I'm trying to revert to only writing when the misty-magical muse hits me. I realize instead of this, I ought to be focusing on writing consistently, instead. I really ought to read my own advice and just keep on going...

One of the things I love about my wife, Steph, is that she's a smart cookie. Yeah, I might complain about her, shall we say 'high standards' when it comes to my writing... but all that said, if you stick around long enough, she says just the right stuff I need, often at times I least expect (which makes for keeping me on my toes). In the previous paragraph, I used the phrase 'I ought' quite a bit. It just sort of spilled out. And if you're trusting me, I can assure you I did not just go back and add the phrases in for effect, either.  'I ought' is a dangerous phrase. One of the reasons I like journaling and blogging is because you get to take these little wispy, intangible thoughts out of your inner-dialogue and make them a bit more real. By going from little voices in your head to real words on the page or screen, it can help you to see what you're really thinking, and get it out of you. Once you've got your self-conscience out of the darker corners and into the light, you get to see just what sort of creature you're actually dealing with.

Which brings me back to the phrase, 'I ought'. Like I said, it's a dangerous phrase. The 'I ought' creature is one with ties often linked to fear, guilt, shame, and/or doubt. It's dubious and accusatory - and it's a real buzzkill. When you catch yourself running on fear, guilt, shame, and/or doubt, it means you're drinking from poisoned wells. So when you're creating art as you write, it affects you. 'I ought' is a slippery creature, too. Right now, you may even feel it's subtle claws grasping for your will... because you may be beginning to think I ought not use 'I ought'.

The only way I've found to avoid this existential trap is to jump tracks completely. Just like in Ursula LeGuin's A Wizard of Earthsea, you have to make peace with your own shadow. The only way I've found where someone can successfully jump tracks out of the 'I ought' trap is with George MacDonald's rallying cry from his Unspoken Sermons, "More LIFE!"

What did good ol' George mean?

The idea comes from the notion that we don't die (physically, personally, spiritually, creatively) from death. We die for lack of LIFE. The true goodness and vivacious gusto for what truly motivates and inspires us on a deep personal level (and at an even deeper, light-hearted level) is what we need to dance with and nurture. It's what we need to have our deep, late night conversations with - and IT is what we need to buy another round for. Among many things which humans beings are, one of them is Joy-Chasers. If you've never thought about it, get an idea about what you truly love. What gets you all passionate and waxing poetic about? It's not so much about what you get, but about what gets you.

When it comes, full-circle, back to writing, we find that now our love, passion, creative need ect. is now properly put in it's place. Our drive to write no longer corners us with black-mail, guilt, and fear like some lion prowling outside our door... When our creative Rally Cry really becomes MORE LIFE! our love of writing is transfigured from a devouring monster back into a needy kitty-cat purring in the sunshine on our lap.

What do we/I love? Joy-chase it. And while chasing, write.

thanks for listening,

- Ryan

Advice from Merlyn from Confucius

In the wonderfully moving sequel to The Once and Future King, The Book of Merlyn, near the end, Merlyn quotes Confucius:

"In order to propagate virtue in the world, one must first rule

one's country.

In order to rule one's country, one must first rule one's family.

In order to rule one's family, one must first regulate one's 

body by moral training.

In order to regulate one's body, one must first regulate one's 

mind.

In order to regulate one's mind, one must first be sincere in

one's intentions.

In order to be sincere in one's intentions, one must first

increase one's knowledge."

A lot of the times, living in here in Missouri really leaves me with nothing but time to write. That might sound romantic, but it's not so much. I have this tick about always having to be doing something important, something meaningful. I'm nearly always aware of it. It's something in me which wakes when I do, and probably stays up long after I've finally gone back to sleep again. Outside, the world is filled with puddles of melting snow and chilly wind. The land is bleak and bare. It is February. There is nothing going on in town and there is no where to go. Whatever you do or have must be done by you alone, or with a few friends. Often times, with jobs how they are - most everyone's schedules don't match up too well. This means you have time alone... alone with the Nuisance. That persistent feeling that you have to - must - be doing something.

So I write. I wonder if I just down enough words between gasps of intermittent boredom I can bleed out some of the impatience. I feel listless, grey like the land here. Grey, gray, grey. It's a funny word. I like using it in my stories, because again, it evokes some sort of mystique. But that's story telling for you. In the living world, grey days and times appear just so. I will be off work in about an hour and then I will drive home in my rusty white Ford Contour and probably sit back down into my usual spot on the couch and binge-watch more Netflix, or play more video games. I like and don't like doing it. I like it because it's familiar and occasionally enjoyable. I don't like it because I feel like I'm hiding from life and because of the Nuisance. Later, if I don't get side-tracked and I feel more or less up for it, I write. I always write fantasy. I've tried writing other things, but it always ends up as a fantasy. I'm not sure why. I dream about places and lands that never were. My house is usually empty since my wife often works late (she works too much).

Sometimes I catch myself thinking about how this is just where a fantasy story might begin. In the Grey Days... in the nothing and the piles of old slush.

Right now I'm writing about two Wizards and a Nameless Girl. They live in a far-away land with no name full of islands and magic. There's often so much magic there, that wonder is hard to find. But that's only a concept I've recently realized exists. In my stories there is usually a personal quest people are on. I feel like I have to figure out how to make it special. I have to figure out why it matters. It's important. But I don't know if I can figure it out. I want to rush through the story to the end... I want Christmas to hurry up and happen so I can know what I got. I feel that way about here, too. I want life to hurry up. What does that mean? Will anybody like it? Do I want people to like me? I act like there's an invisible stage I'm always on. Sometimes I get tired of my current story-lines and I wonder about other lands and lives far away.

I read somewhere that artists are miserable people. I don't know how I feel about that. It seems like it's the sort of thing an artist would say to make themselves feel better. I don't know if I trust it. But when Steph, my wife, says it we laugh and we mean our laughter. How can you just change something with only a few words? The right sentiment from the right person... the right relationship with the right gritty bonds can transform something from dubious to lovely.

I wonder if I write enough I will change. I wonder if I wait long enough, the blase will fade away. I remember remembering a better way. I wonder why I stay here. My parents are always overtly trying to pressure me back to New Mexico. I feel like moving back would be admitting defeat. I value my freedom and individuality too much to move back - even for culture, even for family, even for better opportunities. But I also think it's not just for me that I stay. I think that somehow I'm supposed to be here. As dumb as it is. As drear as it is. I don't understand why. Maybe when someone stakes their claim willfully, the strength of their resolve makes for a firmer ground for others to stand, too. I hope so. I hope there's meaning to all this. And not general meaning - not pie-in-the-sky meaning- but real meaning. Something that makes sense and can be understood.

I know I live in my head too much. Being stuck at home for 5 days is just too much. Sure I was sick but I had to do something. The Nuisance was back again, I guess. I still feel sick. But maybe I'm better now, a little bit. I want to matter. I want to save the day. There's so much saving that needs done here. I don't see no cavalry. I don't see grand miracles. I see little people in faded streets. I see needy and I can't meet all their needs. I see what's left of beautiful slowly drift apart. And I don't... I just don't understand why it must be.

We need Ways, not Directions. We want directions. I want directions. I want do this, this, and then this and bam - there you go. Problem solved. But we don't get that sort of permanency here. Stability. We need Ways. We need to hold on.

Poetry for your Monday

"We bled under a banner to find life as free men 

the wind still blows across those far off glens

where Scottish blood flowed to keep us all free 

What we did not know was, what will be, will be   

We can alter the future by the actions of today 

but yesterday is already set and flown away 

so set your sights on changing tomorrow 

don't dwell on the past and all of the sorrow   

The future can shine as bright as the sun 

Our web of life is still to be spun 

The silken thread that join us together 

all interlinked and entwined  with the heather   

The blood in our veins carries memories of the past 

linking us together from the first to the last 

Wherever you roam you will remember your blood line 

no matter where you are a Scottish heart will always shine   

The freedom we had is still all around 

The heart that is Scotland can never be drowned 

A voice from the past is heard in every true heart 

So stay true to yourself and live free before you depart"

-Leslie Hounsel

Wisdom from Author Ursula K Le Guin:

Ursula K Le Guin,

Multi-Award-Winning Recipient for SciFi & Fantasy writes:

    “In the years since I began to write about Earthsea I’ve changed, of course, and so have the people who read the books. All times are changing times, but ours is one of massive, rapid moral and mental transformation. Archetypes turn into millstones, large simplicities get complicated, chaos becomes elegant, and what everybody knows is true turns out to be what some people used to think.
  
It’s unsettling. For all our delight in the impermanent, the entrancing flicker of electronics, we also long for the unalterable. We cherish the old stories for their changelessness. Arthur dreams eternally in Avalon. Bilbo can go “there and back again,” and “there” is always the beloved familiar Shire. Don Quixote sets out forever to kill a windmill...
  
We may turn to fantasy seeking stability, ancient truths, immutable simplicities; but the realms of Once-upon-a-time are unstable, mutable, complex, and as much a part of human history and thought as the nations in our ever-changing atlases. And in daily life or in imagination, we don’t live as our parents or ancestors did. “Enchantment alters with age, and with the age. We know a dozen different Arthurs now, all of them true. The Shire changed irrevocably even in Bilbo’s lifetime. Don Quixote went riding out to Argentina and met Jorge Luis Borges there.”
  
To this I would add: As the virtual world of electronic communication becomes the world many of us inhabit all the time, in turning to imaginative literature we may not be seeking mere reassurance nor be impelled by mere nostalgia. To enter with heart and mind into the world of the imagination may be to head deliberately and directly toward, or back toward, engagement with the real world.
  
In one of T.S. Elliot’s poems a bird sings, “Mankind cannot bear very much reality.” I’ve always thought that bird was mistaken, or was talking only about some people. I find it amazing how much of the real world most of us can endure. Not only endure, but need, desire, crave. Reality is life. Where we suffocate is in the half-life of unreality, untruth, imitation, fakery, the almost-true that is not true. To be human is to live both within and beyond the narrow band of what-happens-now, in the vast regions of the past and the possible, the known and the imagined: our real world, our true Now.”

- from the afterword of Tales From Earthsea, by Ursula K Le Guin