Brains are sneaky things. Mine has gotten wise to the idea that I will write first thing in the morning. In fact, it really only took about three days for it to work out the new routine and put plans into motion that would undermine the spontaneity of the whole process. See the first three days, in particular, turned out like out takes from something Lewis Carol might have written. They were strange and dreamlike and half remembered explosions of partially conscious creativity. I would write them and then forget them. And when I returned to them later on I would see them with conscious eyes for the esoteric hints of weird and wonderful that they were.
But then my brain started to feel left out. I didn’t sleep very well on the fourth night, which no doubt didn’t help. My mind turned ideas over and over and some of it was to do with Book Three and other bits were to do with what I’m calling As-Yet-Undecided-If-I’m-Even-Going-To-Write-This and then there were still more bits that were partial dream states and whatnot. And what happened was that I started to preempt the morning writing. I started to plan what I might write without even really intending to.
Thus, day four turned out to be a little more like a journal than anything else – and frankly, journaling is nowhere near as enjoyable as the awkward creative spurts that I’d enjoyed for the three previous days.
I say more like journaling quite specifically because it wasn’t really journaling in the sense of commenting on some experience I’d had the day before, or documenting my life. It was more like a snapshot of my mindset. But it had lost the madness of the earlier morning writing sessions that I kind of enjoyed – that daguerreotype of my subconscious.
To make matters worse, as the days have progressed further, the process has become even more convoluted with my insolent consciousness. It is determined to get in the way – to shape and direct the proceedings. This wouldn’t be all bad if it didn’t cost the morning blathering their authenticity. What was happening was that I was stopping the moment I could feel myself waking up enough to edit what I was writing. Now, I’m prepared enough that the writing has already been edited before I put it down and then my attention-seeking consciousness is clamoring to stamp his two cents on the whole expression as well.
It’s a disaster.
Sort of.
I like the idea of a snapshot of my mental state. I like it because journaling in its traditional form – documenting a daily experience or event – has never really worked for me. I would get frustrated by my inability to effectively grasp the experience clearly with my limited vocabulary and then I would grow distraught that my poor rendering of whatever-it-was has actually changed my experience enough so that rather than remembering the true moment I was then remembering the poor cover-band version of it.
This feels more authentic than that. I am slapping the pawing hands of my waking mind away from the words as much as I can and they’re still coming out in a rush of partial unknowns. In truth, it’s a little touch-and-go in terms of this live-editing process. Sometimes my brain begins to put things together while I’m sleeping and I wake up already knowing what is going to be written. That’s when I just let in flow outwards and I try to keep my hands off the rudder. Other times, my brain plans but doesn’t tell me and it’s all kind of a surprise. And then there are the ones, occasional though they seem to be, where there is still a direct link between my subconscious state and the pen I’m using to document.
Still learning.
