You could say that Vladimir Nobokov is a literary genius and you wouldn't hear much in the way of arguments or objections. But if you asked him what his passion was, what it was that made his soul sing, he'd say it was butterflies. Lepidoptera to be more specific. He devoted himself to them completely. Efforts spent on illustrations and descriptions. Untold miles of expeditions and their untold expenses. He said what he hoped to find in art he found in nature, in the study of these insects. He was never given any credence by entomologists. And yet all of that care, that attention, that wonder, that enchantment was imprinted on everything he had ever written.. Would you call that resistance? Laziness? Distraction? Was he procrastinating? Or had he simply found a deeper form of creative connection?
Yeah I think it's contextual. If that was Nabokov's passion then I'd say no, he was not. Essays happen to not be mine, so these were just my feelings yesterday, observations about time spent and what it meant to me. Still don't think it was bad to have written the piece. Just a little prick of conscience to refocus on my main thing.
Great points. More than fair enough. It's a matter of ones own personal rubrics isn't it? A series of subjective measurements. I'm not a fiction writer. I'm not talented enough. But, I do think that everything feeds everything. I do think that creativity comes down the connections we find between divergent things. But, as often is the case, I'm speaking out of turn, out of my depth, and above my pay grade. Haha! I really enjoyed the piece!
A) Talent only gets you so far. If you wanted to write fiction, you could learn. Read my earliest short stories versus new ones or my novel last year versus the forthcoming one. Talent is real but practice is better. Both, well, game over (in the best way).
B) Yes, everything does feed everything. It's still writing practice but kind of tangential. There are things that are honed by how I wrote yesterday but there are things specific to storycraft which are neglected. It's not like anything terrible how I spent the time yesterday. Just not how I want to spend everyday.
Exactly! There are few things I believe in more than practice, more than ritual, more routine. I believe in the permanent tabernacling of beta mode.
On my best days, I'm a middling essayist. On other days...well...I'm at least literate. I'm fine with being a part of that nonfiction lineage, as mediocre of a member as I might be. And just like that we're back to practice and the ways we organize our days. The time put in to be a better version of mediocre than I've been before.
In some ways I suppose that's what success is, designing how you want your time spent, and then finding a way to spend it that way. Anything that helps you do that, anything that help you get there, I suppose you could call succesful too.
If nothing else, this entire conversation makes me grateful for how you chose to spend yesterday.
You could say that Vladimir Nobokov is a literary genius and you wouldn't hear much in the way of arguments or objections. But if you asked him what his passion was, what it was that made his soul sing, he'd say it was butterflies. Lepidoptera to be more specific. He devoted himself to them completely. Efforts spent on illustrations and descriptions. Untold miles of expeditions and their untold expenses. He said what he hoped to find in art he found in nature, in the study of these insects. He was never given any credence by entomologists. And yet all of that care, that attention, that wonder, that enchantment was imprinted on everything he had ever written.. Would you call that resistance? Laziness? Distraction? Was he procrastinating? Or had he simply found a deeper form of creative connection?
Yeah I think it's contextual. If that was Nabokov's passion then I'd say no, he was not. Essays happen to not be mine, so these were just my feelings yesterday, observations about time spent and what it meant to me. Still don't think it was bad to have written the piece. Just a little prick of conscience to refocus on my main thing.
Great points. More than fair enough. It's a matter of ones own personal rubrics isn't it? A series of subjective measurements. I'm not a fiction writer. I'm not talented enough. But, I do think that everything feeds everything. I do think that creativity comes down the connections we find between divergent things. But, as often is the case, I'm speaking out of turn, out of my depth, and above my pay grade. Haha! I really enjoyed the piece!
A) Talent only gets you so far. If you wanted to write fiction, you could learn. Read my earliest short stories versus new ones or my novel last year versus the forthcoming one. Talent is real but practice is better. Both, well, game over (in the best way).
B) Yes, everything does feed everything. It's still writing practice but kind of tangential. There are things that are honed by how I wrote yesterday but there are things specific to storycraft which are neglected. It's not like anything terrible how I spent the time yesterday. Just not how I want to spend everyday.
Exactly! There are few things I believe in more than practice, more than ritual, more routine. I believe in the permanent tabernacling of beta mode.
On my best days, I'm a middling essayist. On other days...well...I'm at least literate. I'm fine with being a part of that nonfiction lineage, as mediocre of a member as I might be. And just like that we're back to practice and the ways we organize our days. The time put in to be a better version of mediocre than I've been before.
In some ways I suppose that's what success is, designing how you want your time spent, and then finding a way to spend it that way. Anything that helps you do that, anything that help you get there, I suppose you could call succesful too.
If nothing else, this entire conversation makes me grateful for how you chose to spend yesterday.
Felt.
🤝