AUGUST 11, 2019 – Last Monday I posted my 100th story on this blog site. That’s 50,000 words—one-half of an average length novel. So far, so good . . . or maybe not “so” good, but just “okay” good.
If you’ve been reading my posts, I hope you’ve enjoyed them. I’ve certainly enjoyed writing them. At this juncture, I thought I’d share some reflections about the process.
Just as taking photographs sharpens the eye, writing hones observational skills. Adherence to this daily discipline of arranging 500 words—no more—in cogent fashion alters how I look at things. Now, with every encounter, experience, free-thinking opportunity (e.g. waiting for the bus; my daily walking/climbing), I’m on the hunt for ideas and material, just as I was when I took a lot of photographs. This “hunt” produces heightened awareness and purposeful observation.
As to the writing itself, each day I pretend I’m an amateur artist, drawer, illustrator. I imagine that back in April I waltzed into an imaginary, locally-owned coffee shop and asked the proprietor if I could hang my stuff on the bare walls. “I could use an outlet, and your pale green walls are perfect,” I said.
“Sure,” the owner said. “Just don’t make the nail holes too big.”
“Can ya donate some coffee?” I asked.
“Yeah, I guess,” said the proprietor. “House ground daily special?”
“With cream, sugar, and nutmeg?”
“You got it!”
So, each day, I come up with a mental image, an idea. Then I gratefully receive my gratis java and sit down in a corner booth of the imaginary coffee shop. There I throw my thoughts on the page, organize them, slice, dice, and compress. Next, I put a cheap, wooden frame around them and hang the result on the wall.
I derive great satisfaction from this process, for it adds color and nuance to the way I look at life, people, situations . . . the world.
From the corner booth, I’ll pretend I’m watching customers come and go. Some breeze in, place their order, pay, grab and go. Others stroll in, survey the selections, pick one, pay, get distracted by their news feed (the sure sign of distraction is hearing a name called twice), then migrate to a table where they sip coffee and consume a string of email, social media posts or an online newspaper.
But then there’s the occasional customer of my make-believe coffee shop who orders the “house ground daily special”—“for here”—adds a little cream, a little sugar, maybe nutmeg, and wanders over to the pale green wall to look at my latest addition.
And I smile from my corner booth, as someone connects with my sketch or drawing of the day. I then slip out the door, rejoining myself on the daily hunt for another image, another idea.
To those who muse over my stuff hanging on the wall of the coffee shop, I extend my sincere thanks. By giving my posts a look, you give me inspiration to keep drawing, framing, and hanging.
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
1 Comment
Keep ’em coming. Thanks!
Comments are closed.