Every person has a narrative to tell, and we expect to enjoy the story of another’s life as a narrative. Even musicians and artists are appreciated more fully in the context of their narrative. The trick, therefore, is to find the right format – a diary, song, poetry, movie, children’s story, novel etc – that exactly suits the creator. Think of C.S. Lewis and Naria, Walsch, Clay/Ali, the Beatles, Daniel Quinn's Ishmael.
What is my story form? That is what I need to discover, for once I do the story will tell itself.
Do I somehow use haiku? Is that the way to go. Because I want no performance art. I can’t dance up on the stage.
My fiction is terrible. Do I avoid the use of words altogether? And yet I love to dabble. Can my particular skill or forte, the appreciation of others’ efforts, itself be appreciated, in which case ought I to write as some sort of critic.
I live my life too quickly and impatiently for me to be able to document it, painstakingly, word by word, event by event or thought by thought. Besides, the end of my story, the best part, still lies in the future, I feel. So how can I anticipate that and plan how best to present it in its best light? Its main feature must, of course, involve the personal philosophy that I am developing. That goes without saying. I wonder if Quinn has beaten me to the punch with his ‘The Story of B’? Has he done my work for me? Do I contact the man?
My Struggle (Mein Kampf)
I have always found it a struggle to write. I feel the pressure of needing to write both meaningfully and well. I never feel as if I’ve found my voice, and as a result I am damning of my work even before the ink’s dry. Let me take a look at that, and try to so something about it, because this can’t go on. I can’t continue in that fashion.
First off, the voice.
Secondly, the message.
And then there’s the ‘writing with a mission’. Not my duty, task . . .
As good as it gets
Let me put my cards on the table.
Miraculously I discover myself here, in this form, in this set of circumstances, encased in this body, positioned between the eyes, right here and now at the centre of the known universe. No doubt this is very special – I mean, what are the odds? Judging from appearances, the way in which the bulk of humanity lead their lives, I’m unique or at the very least unusual.
So I’ve got something they don’t got. I am able to exist at a depth that most others don’t plumb. I’ve always known it, explored it, questioned it and felt that missing filling with my tongue.
I don’t believe that I’ve a duty to do something about that. I’ve never felt the need to enlighten my fellow being, just peel the onion of myself. I’d say, at this stage, that I’m qualified, yet I do not in any wise feel called upon to convert or proselytize. (I could if I would, but I won’t so I don’t.)
But I got to do something. Something’s got to be done. I believe that each one of us does, to the best of their ability, the thing that they do best. You do what it suits you to do. That’s where you derive the greatest pleasure. Authenticity would seem to be the answer.
So as I say, I possess the knowledge, which I’m happy just to share but not push. In fact, the most important thing is to act upon it – to respond to the impact (the unveiling and unfolding) that the knowledge has on me as it as it reveals. This is an ongoing process.
I’ve skills and I’ve deficiencies. I’ve thought about writing a book and giving lectures. I’ve thought about writing a novel, Science Fiction, the premise of which is the knowledge I’ve gained (am steadily gaining) so as, as C. S. Lewis writes, to get by ‘sleeping dragons’. Should I script a movie? I’ve asked myself. No, no and no.
That’s not me. That isn’t who I am. The imagination is there, but not the wherewithal or nouse. I just wouldn’t rest easy making money on the deal. You’ve got to be a businessman or entrepreneur – no way!
So this is what you get: a blog, not even a well-designed website, just as series of random posts no better organized than Tsuratsuragusa (did I get that title right?). Given who I am, this is the best – the only – way in which I know of proceeding.
I’ve spent too many years trying to say what I wish to say ‘just so’. I’ve finally realized that it ain’t gonna happen. Enough wasting time. I can’t afford to worry about the packaging and presentation. This and here is what you get – it’s not going to get any better.
‘As good as it gets’. Hey! That’s catchy! I can see it as the title of a movie.
You&I
What should it be? – a blog i.e. daily, or a web page or an e-book, or a conventional book sold for money (but want to make it accessible for as many as possible [although nothing wrong with making money…]) and how long should it be – how much time do I spend on this (the most important thing in my life…)
It starts as if I am broadcasting a search for a person
but that person has amnesia
but also, the person can not be described – he or she could look like anyone, anywhere, anytime
I describe the characteristics of the person (have you ever identified with a movie character etc)
[How about using bits & pieces from ‘A Sane Man is Nowhere’?]
Then I give a rundown of the person’s philosophy
Ah yes, but how does the writer/seeker know so much
It becomes apparent that the writer is seeking him/herself as a future reincarnation
Finally it transpires that, because of the writer’s philosophical belief system, that the reader – every reader in fact – fits the bill. And that he is searching for them, sort of.
The side effect, of course, is that everything is blown away in terms of religion (organized) and the conventions of right and wrong etc. Wow, what a boon!
It is then just a question of how much they then concur or not or lives their lives in accordance with tolerance, keeping their ‘windows’ clean, and whether or not they want to make contact with the writer – they will need to do a little digging to uncover his persona – within the constraints for the limits that the writer accepts being contacted – but it shouldn’t matter because ANYONE contacted is the same…possibly have people contacting each other …hmmm
Don’t think I need to make this fit the novel/short story/conventional format.
Try to be myself as much as possible without apology, a real person, like the author of ‘A Curious Incident…
b1ography.4nonymou5
This is to be my working document – no literary aspirations or illusions – the sum total of all that I am & all I have written – a ready, reckoning reference
There’s no use my waiting to produce a definitive ‘magnum opus’. There’ll never be a point at which I am able to say, I’m enlightened now, complete, so from here on in I have the absolute and guaranteed ability to pontificate and preach. That ain’t going to happen, I warrant. In my experience, change is the order of the day, and therefore growth and perpetual becoming … I’ll never reach a rock on which to stand drip-free. It’s no use my putting off putting pen to paper; instead I feel it’s best to throw it all – grist – into the mill without striving for that literary whole, a rounded tome, a plot with beginning and end. A start simply has to be made.
I’ll write formlessly, scattily, chattily, but sensibly. And regularly. Without (many) literary or philosophical pretensions. I’ll bring it all on. And so, without further ado (much ado about nothing?) herewith.
On the way out of the library an issue of Mojo magazine (music) caught my eye. A ranked listing put together by musicians in the know of the Beatles’ best 101. A paragraph or more about each song by the person/people who selected it. Amazing to read how the music resonated with each person often in the same way that it does with me. A Hard Day’s Night, She’s So Heavy, Across the Universe, While My Guitar Gently Weeps, A Day in the Life … Someone says that this album is the best, another says that one, this style was the epitome, that period was the Fab Four’s peak. I can see where each one is coming from, and I can relate to every individual (as well as to the Boys themselves). This is enough to convince me that we’re all of us human.
We speak of life’s meaning, and I realize that spirituality (call it self growth or whatever) is the only pursuit that has depth. Because all activity, absolutely everything, boils down simply to just mucking about. You do ‘good’ for others, but why? So that they can live longer lives which they then use for further mucking about? That’s about the size of it. Yeah, just as Science means knowledge, Spirituality represents depth.
Holus Bolus Magnum Opus
No, the above is not the title of a song by the Pop group, Focus. Instead, these words indicate the modus operandi of the text I mean to write. Everyone, they say, has a book inside of them. I feel that to be true of me as well – the trick is how to get that grand design out. In plain old English (not Latin or Greek) let me explain how I’ll set about that little exercise.
First, I’ll take my time. Second, I refuse to stress. What I’ll do is write without a plan or plot. I won’t have an overall structure in mind, at least not at the outset. I’m not going to approach this task linearly, but piecemeal rather. Scattered even, you could say, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call it haphazard.
I’m going to take the organic view: my body of work is to be a growing entity (shades of ‘The Sane Man is Nowhere’), a living document – worked on, developed and refined, not ad nauseum, I hope, but certainly until the die that I die (whoo . . . scary sound effects here).
My book, as yet untitled – although the other day I did like the sound of ‘The Most You Can Hope For’ – is going to mirror life, my life anyway, my world and welcome to it, my reality, in the sense of there’s no such thing as a finished product (Art is never completed, only abandoned). There ain’t no such beast as perfection. But I’m getting off track; let’s stick to the mechanics of how I intent to put pen to paper (fingertips to the keyboard) for now.
Right then, I’m going to throw this gauntlet down in the guise of a blog. I’ve a good idea that I can manipulate and exploit that form to suit my need. It’s the means to mould my message methinks.
