It’s been a week for writing, for reading and writing, for tapping and typing and I can’t turn it off even when my fingers aren’t on a keyboard. Is it useful? Useless? Avoidance Therapy?
I even took an hour to actually enjoy the web, buzzing with all manner of pleasurable and intriguing vibes. I read about how Stone Fox was outed. I grinned when Sarah at Momalom played a happy song, and I wandered my housebound head space, returning to Lindsey’s ruminations on (among other things) what feeds the imagination.
I spent time at a variety of other sites pondering everything from institutions that have disappointed me to people that have done the same – and those that haven’t. And I thought about writing, which never disappoints — the act of writing, the energy of writing, the full force of writing as it reinterprets recollection and teases the senses. Writing is friend, family, lover, counselor. Writing is my co-conspirator in mischief-making, my didactic dealer in discovery.
Then I considered Natalie Goldberg, and Writing Down the Bones, a book given to me by a painter friend years ago. Goldberg, and her lessons on specificity. On the necessity of writing practice.
And it hit me.
It’s just another day
In my mind it is morning. I am standing in Starbucks, leaning against a glass barrier, counting down the minutes until doors will be unlocked so I may enter the adjoining bookstore. I’m eyeing an older gentleman at a seemingly simple task: he lingers at the counter after picking up his coffee, fiddling with the cap. This is the spot that is covered in crumbs and spills, where we rarely register the standard choices of whole milk or Half and Half, Splenda or Sweet ‘N Low, spices, stirrers, raw sugar, refined sugar.
The man can’t decide between the shaker of chocolate or cinnamon. He picks up each, one at a time, sprinkles a bit, then stirs, then sips. He hesitates next over the two sorts of milk as if that decision is a significant chore, labors to pour from the closest pitcher, then stirs and sips.
And he begins the routine again.
His air is placid. A broad, irregular scar fans out across his forehead. Whatever caused it, the wound is recent; it is only partially scabbed. He’s seventy if he’s a day, and he appears unfazed as he goes through a third round of the very same set of steps. I wonder if he fell and hit his head, if he is working through the aftermath of a medical procedure, if he needs a hand, a reminder, a kind word. Yet he seems unbothered by those who come and go. He’s nodding and smiling as he repeats the cycle of sprinkling, tasting, stirring, and pouring.
He wears a wedding ring. Someone, somewhere, loves him. And all the while, I’m watching. I’m making mental notes. I’m writing in my head.
The writer in the corner
I see the woman in the corner in my peripheral vision. She looks up, then down, then types a little.
What if the woman in the corner is watching me just as I’m watching someone else? What if she is tapping out her commentary on the disheveled little woman staring rudely at the old man? Is she observing the observer? Writing about the writer?
What if another writer at the far table is now describing her, as she in turn practices her daily act of writing? Is this the age-old conundrum of two mirrors, and the strange effects of the reflection perpetually bent back on itself? Is it nothing more than navel gazing ad nauseum, or is this an exercise – or imagery – worthy of mention?
- If all is fair in love and war, what about writing?
- Is writing on writing always self-indulgent?
- Is any observation potentially of interest?
- What about “Blog not, lest ye be blogged?”
I have no answers; I only know there is a line and also a wide berth. My boundaries will not be your boundaries. My wonderment will not be your wonderment.
Lindsey’s question returns: What feeds the imagination, anyway?
I am keenly aware of my need for observation, participation, participation in observation. Equally, I hunger for thinking, feeling, and thinking about feelings. When I can, I live more fully through adventuring in other languages, other selves, other places. And all of it teases and pleads to be captured on the page so I may better retain the lessons of our two-way mirrors – watchers, doers, thinkers, writers.
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In my first writing class, my professor told us that we should always observe others and listen for snippets of speech. No problem there because it turns out that I’ve been doing that my whole life. I do believe that one of the characteristics of being a writer is that, unfortunately, you observe things more than participate sometimes, and once you start blogging, forget about it! Everything is a blog post!
When I work on my book (memoir) it’s amazing to me how much I was even doing this as a kid and how many scenes from my childhood I remember verbatim.
Just recently, I was talking to my mom, who clearly wasn’t listening. She said she was already thinking about the scrapbook (her hobby) that she’d put together of the event. I laughed and told her I get it; I’m often drafting blog posts in my head!
Okay, so you know my post this morning about the ability to describe physical attributes being the Holy Grail of writers? Your description of the guy at Starbucks preparing his coffee? You’ve got it, BLW, the Holy Grail!
Kristen, you make me laugh! (Interesting synergy of posts, though.)
Actually, last night I was thinking about Goldberg’s book, and the need to constantly observe, and to “practice” write, and also, the importance of details. The incident at Starbucks occurred just a few days ago, and I was literally imprinting the man into my brain, right down to shape and nature of the wound on his forehead, his thinning hair, and the fascinating rhythm of his sipping and shaking ritual.
As with everything, practice. And a tremendous amount of craft. I’m so many years away from all of that. Echoes of a “once.” But I thank you for the compliment.
I’m totally a gawker when I’m out in public. I study faces and tics and mannerisms. People are freakshows!
Like Kristen, I loved the description of Starbucks guy.
I do this too, write in my head … and often I find myself anxious that I’ll forget a particular phrase or image. I also write things on a pad of paper by my bed in the middle of the night, often in the dark, when I wake up with a thought.
I’ve never really stopped to think about what other people might be writing, when they observe me, as I do when I see them. Fascinating.
YOU feed my imagination! Thank you.
Oh yes! An assortment of paper, pens, little notebooks and scraps everywhere. To catch those words when they float in, lest they dare attempt to float away.
I have been found, waiting at a table for a dinner date and a piece of paper out writing on it. I wrote a whole blog post sitting at a restaurant in my home town this past summer. I take notes on my cell phone or my mp3 player when I am running. Always looking. Always writing or noting.
goldberg is my standby! i have all my classes do her writing practice…because it works for the teacher, too.
I love love love this post! I adore Natalie Goldberg. HannahJustBreathe recommended her book to me a couple of months ago and I inhaled. I am inspired to do this exercise again.
Goldberg has been my go-to-guide whenever I’ve been blocked. For more than a decade. And she never fails to deliver. I so agree with you, Rebecca!
I’m with Kristen on your description of Starbucks guy. Made me smile… picturing him testing and trying, testing and trying. I think I go through that too!
I am the queen of people watching. Or as my husband points out, “staring”. I try not to, but I am so curious. I have so many stories in my head as I observe, wondering what they are thinking, where they are going, why they look sad, happy, excited, deep in thought. It’s the marketer in me… always trying to figure out what makes someone tick.
And all of these observations are DEFINITELY fodder for my blogs. Without it, I’d have a blank page most days.
I loved this post. It captured what I think daily. People really are a great study and I often wonder if people look and study me as I sometimes look and study them. I can totally picture the gentleman in Starbucks. Thank you for this post.
Shoot. If this post is true, my kids will one day blog about me. I guess that’s what I get! : )