Another day. Another morning pages. Another method. I’ve been attempting to regulate my morning pages routine better. (For those unfamiliar, read up on The Artist’s Way.) So much of what makes Julia Cameron’s creativity-unleashing process work is routine or ritual. (I’d like to study the difference between routine and ritual more in writing. I don’t know what format that particular writing may take. Play? Poem? Song? I’m adding this as a parenthetical in the hopes that the paren will draw my attention on a re-read and maybe spark an interest to complete the thought.) My last time I attempted The Artist’s Way (just a few months ago. Contextual parens, not for idea sparking. Maybe I should use brackets for ideas moving forward.) I mixed up my writing techniques.
I mixed up the writing techniques for many reasons:
Experimentation. Rebellion. Exploration.
Cameron insists on hand-writing morning pages. After my first experience, I agree with this, despite this piece of evidence to the contrary. In that regard, I suppose that this isn’t a true Morning Pages entry, as if the truth matters in this moment. A TRUE morning pages entry, as I understand it would include several elements. First, it ought to be done before anything else (except coffee, because we aren’t animals). Second, it must not have an intended audience. (I could write a lot about intended audience. For instance, if I had written this particular string of consicousness (and yes, I know it’s STREAM and not STRING. I just liked the typo and kept it. Maybe I’ll use it in a line of a story.) (And yes, I know I misspelled consciousness. The red line told me. But part of the morning pages is to not edit, therefor stet.) Anyhow, if I had written this particular string of consciousness immediately out of bed and after a glass of cold brew coffeee, I would write it by hand in a spiral notebook that I’ve designated specifically for that purpose. That is not the case this morning. That spiral bound notebook as a little bit sacred, if there is such a thing. I keep it near me at nearly all times. And if it’s not near me, it’s behind locked doors. And even if it is on me in public, it’s discreet enough to not attract attention, though its possible theft does worry me. And therefore, even with the sacrosanctity of the Morning Pages Notebook, there’s an editor deep in my mind that is writing for more than just myself, my higher self, my spirit guides, my angels and God theirself; I’m also writing with the knowledge that some dirty thief stranger may be reading my words without my consent. So my words are never TRULY unguarded.
In this particular writing, I’m aware that one of the handful of people I’ve invited to this blog may read it. There’s the possibility that someone may stumble upon this page somehow – maybe while searching for others taking The Artist’s Way on Google – and they may get to read this product of my brain. I’m aware that there are several people behind me in the coffee shop – which is my third place. I’m aware that the employees know me and may be curious about my work. I’m aware they COULD easily look over my shoulder. However, I’m confident they won’t. They’re better than that, which is why this particular coffee shop is officially my third place. If you know, you know.
I’m aware of the strangers behind me having their little meetings. A couple of old ladies are discussing spirituality and racism and Jesus. I gave up my table in exchange for a bar seat to a trio of young women discussing relationship advice. The third table – two men discussing work projects – has left. I wonder who gets that table next. I hope it’s someone cool, and not someone who might snoop over my shoulder – as if someone would be that conspicuous in public.
BACK TO MY TRAIN OF THOUGHT – A TRUE morning page would be confident in its privacy. Even the writer of the pages ought not review them for at least two months, per Cameron’s instructions.
Third, TRUE Morning Pages – and by truth, I mean holding true to the instructions – must be written by hand. I resisted this so much, but Cameron waxed poetic in a way that won me over on the topic. Do we wax anything else? Do we wax iconic? Maybe this is the year I start waxing iconic.
Stray thoughts are important to morning pages.
As is hand writing, which is where I was. The physical act of writing is slower than typing requires more focus. It forces the writer to slow down and sit with their thoughts and sculpt them better than if they were allowed to clickityclack out of my unbridled fingers. The physical act also draws me back to the writing technique of my youth. The pain of the pencil because of my inability to hold the utensil correctly. There’s an aside available here that I choose to skip for the moment. There’s also something about engaging in the physical rather than the electronic.
My last round of morning pages, I chose, after a few weeks, to bridge the physical and electronic worlds with the use of a 90s-era electric typewriter, which has its own story and its own aside for another time. I found that not having an editor insta-correcting my mistakes like a word processing program does was as freeing as freehand. Sure, it gave me a little beep when it thought I was spelling something wrong, but what’s it gonna do about it? Nothing. It’s not a smart machine. I’ll misspell all I want. It also is more effort to backspace and choose exactly where the machine uses corrective tape, taking away most of the inscentive to backspace that I would have on a computer. Incentive. Why do word processors autocorrect the words that they do so blithely and incorrectly while letting “incentive” stand. And of course, this time, it did not let I-n-s-c-e-n-t-i-v-e stand. If autocorrect is a preview into AI help, I want no part of it.
My morning Facebook post was about smart devices’ stupidity. It must be a theme. Is it sychrnonicity? I doubt it.
Have I rambled on for three pages? Hard to tell on a computer screen in a web app. I’m typing directly into the page editor, so… whatever. I’m done.