Month: January 2018

I have trained a habit of writing every day. I face questions about this.They come from inside me as well as from people around me. They sound like:
◦ Am I a writer?
◦ May I call me a writer?
◦ Who may call him or her a writer?
◦ When do I go from being a writer to being an author?
These questions puzzle me. There seem to be guilt games moving around in the bushes. They sound like:
◦ I know this, you need to have done this or that before it is legitimate for you to call yourself a writer or an author!
I think the use of the ”title” of being a writer or author has nothing to do with what it is all about. You may allow yourself to play the role of a writer or author. It may help you to grow an attitude adequate for writing. Thus writing this title on your business card is legitimate.

What is it all about?
To release my creativity when writing, I must work with my way to handle personal obstacles. It is a terrible challenge to anyone. Individuals of the human species have one dominant characteristic. They tend to continue doing what the have done. Unfortunately, this happens even if external circumstances have changed significantly. If I did not write earlier in life, I need to face the issue of learning it. What does this mean, being a grownup and in retirement? I have to change my concepts of learning, unlearning habits, attitudes, values. It does also include challenges to my way of thinking and reacting. It challenges my idea of identity. Am I the man to do this? Or have I used my experiences to create me a jail built with questions that have no answer.
But, for me, the core of writing has been to build myself a need for doing it and with doing it with authenticity. After a few months of practical experience, I concluded that my first step was to train myself to respect a space inside me that was not occupied. The intruders were my habits, values, and my way of thinking. At times I felt as if my identity was challenged. About 33 years ago, the conscious part of my mind registered this concept for the first time. Being conscious has in my case not been enough to change my behaviour. How come?

I believe that when I approach an empty space, I suffer from intense and troublesome feelings. During my years of living, I have established a reliable defense system protecting me from sensing these feelings. I must say this defense is working well. I do not detect any horror when approaching an empty space. But, when I look in the back mirror on my behavior, I conclude that something is there. I act as if there is a horror controlling me. I find this emotion must live in my unconscious.

The hard thing has been that my whole mind and body objected to the task of writing at least 500 words a day. But I decided to give it a try. After all, they told me I did only need to deliver 30 days of pure hard discipline to do it. So I did gave it a try. Out of this practical experience lust and desire to write emerged. My lust concerned the joy of putting one word after another and to observe, with curiosity, where they went. I watched the words flow and saw me saying things I would not dream of saying. In some cases statements that were essential to my life. Many times, I asked my self:
◦ Did I think or say this myself or where did I get these fresh ideas and thoughts?

Since I started, I have written near to a million words. The quality of my writing improves. I think my authenticity, focus, and coherence improves. I have received feedback telling me this. I feel proud. Later my words flow even regarding what I want to say. I interpret this as if I am beginning to say what I can say and need to say. I hope my use of words have abandoned my old style of writing. I think my use has become more earthbound. My words concerns this moment, my immediate surroundings, and me. In other words less of immolating words on a virtual altar of ambitions and achievements.
So I return to the title: ”Me, a writer?” I chose not to answer this question. One million words ago I was no writer. My way to write improves and will continue to do so in mysterious ways. After all, with no previous practical experience in writing, I would not be able to know my way forward.

In conclusion:
◦ Am I a writer now?
◦ Maybe. Maybe not. Do I care? I enjoy writing.

Göran Stille

 

(755 words)
Today I have assigned myself to write about my most significant and most pertinent fears. I mean the ones that strike the most, in intensity as well as frequency. And then write a paragraph or two for each, asking myself what would happen if that fear came true. I managed to find some of my fears but was not able to say anything about what would happen if that fear came true

Which of my fears is Number 1? I suspect that my top fear is a devious one. I do not have any direct sense of it. But, in my way of living, I identify elements that are possible consequences of intense fear. Behind my way to act, there might be a fear of rejection and to be abandoned. In a strict sense I can do nothing but speculating about it, which in turn is a risky business. I cannot give myself a solid proof of it. The whole thing may be nothing but a ghost of the mind. That is fear Number 2

How do I react to what I say above? All through my living, I have been a somewhat conscientious character. I am reading people near to me. I read sub-tones in their voices, facial expressions, attitudes and bodily posture. I do my best to adjust and avoid conflicts. On occasions, I jump out of this and take steps I call brave. They are rare, and I cannot interpret them as signs of me having a bold and outgoing personality.

Since an early age, I have reflected on myself and my behaviours. I have interlocked the use of words, concepts and thinking with these concerns. This act helped me to stay on track and do what I think I was supposed to do. I have used this action extensively. This practice has formed my way of using words. In puberty, this practice moved over to writing in a black notebook. This book served as a type of wastebasket. I did not apply any retrieval operations to what I wrote. Later on, a lot of early warning signals must have gone the same way. At this moment I have done this for more than half a century.
During the last three years, I have engaged myself in writing of at least 500 words a day. I have done ”free writing”. That is to leave editing and correction of my text to a later moment. My experience from writing in my notebook became an easy way to fill this request for 500 words a day. Presently the quality of my writing has become irritating to me. I continue writing in a self-reflective style. I feel trapped in my words and thoughts. In other words, my ”free writing” is not free at all when I look at about what I am writing. It is as if I have built me a lovely looking castle using mental bricks. I fear this castle is turning back on me. I feel jailed by it.

But what is happening at this point in this text? My words flow nicely, as do sentences and my story. Do they assist my writing in closing in on my fear? Or do they distract the reader and me from the core of the story? Do they make it disappear into a nearby forest? Is this my uttermost fear? To use words in a way that assures me walking astray and thus causing a rejection? (Fear Number 3).
I do not feel physically rejected. When growing up, I received adequate care on physical and practical levels. Later on, I have been able to support myself in the same sense. It is merely my soul, spirit and ability to play that longs for support. Maybe that is not a bad thing after all. If only I could accept this state of affairs, all the way
Fear Number 4 might exist slumbering behind my defence lines. I call it fear of playing. I avoid coming in contact with this fear by acting far too severe for my good. But, one game I have played. That is the role of playing the victim. I have used minor glitches of malfunction in a decent upbringing as motivations. This game is no fun anymore. I am bored to a standstill. I better switch over and do something crazy and utterly useless.

Fear Number 5 is that I fear not being able to know what I need to know to take care of myself.

 

(441 words)

Do I struggle with fear in general or with fear for writing in particular? Do I sense fear or do I just speculate if there is an emotion of fear behind what I do and not do? Or am I too ingenious in avoiding the issue, that I do not feel it? I may consume a lot of my energy in this strategy of avoidance. I must fear something as I plough up this pile of questions before me.
I fear that my questions will not reveal anything. As long as I proceed analytically, I will not explain a thing. I cannot answer these questions. Instead, I believe my obstacles to writing reside in my unconscious. Scratching the surface will do nothing but making them harder and more elusive.
Yesterday, I was processing my text about what has happened in my writing during last week. I noticed one new perspective. I saw my active interest in nuances of my expressions, words and statements. I suspect that this attention to details might make me blind to far more critical issues. Like: “what story do I tell” and “how do I build that story or argument”?

Did I find any other fear worth mentioning when I was brainstorming about it? Maybe I saw a fear that I have taken comprehensive measures to hide. This issue about attending too much to details seems to reflect back on me profoundly.
When brainstorming about fears, I found fourteen samples of possible fears. Do I fear to select one primary fear? My associations jump to the question: ”Do I act this way in fear that there will be ”no second chance.” I have to be right the first time. Thus I end up making an inventory of alternatives. At the same time, I make it impossible for me to make any analysis and decision. I fear I will not receive a second chance. I suspect this is a thing with some odd ends in my personality. It does influence whatever I do. Not just writing. It might be a thing of rejection, once and for all, whatever I do. In fact, this fear increases when I feel I have done something that is ”good”. Then I tend to be extremely sensitive to early warning signs of rejection to come. The sad thing is that I tend to interpret that these signs exist where they do not exist.

This last reasoning is meandering. Maybe you got lost on the way. None the less I think I have stepped on something essential here. Perhaps it will become more evident in the days to come.

 

Too much water, sand and clay and no visible nuggets.

I have been free writing for a significant number of days. Old habits in my way to write have taken too large a grip on the content of my free writing. I long for old habits to withdraw and new ones to emerge. I became interested in following the prompts given by James Prescott. He distributes them to you if you subscribe to a group on Facebook named ”Writers Together.”

How did this first week go with prompts from James? I start answering this question by beginning in the other end. This morning, and in my local newspaper, I read about being creative. The argument was that if you make different parts of your brain to cooperate, then you will become creative. To me, this statement is of low, almost no value. It is easy to formulate it and to pretend that it is that missing piece of essential information. But it has limited value as compared to the efforts, skills and stamina I need to make my brain act that way.

I think of this as an example of a way to threat knowledge that is destructive. Unfortunately, I often handle knowledge this way myself. But, I would prefer if it happened less frequent. Maybe it is a cultural thing. In the culture I live in, the underlying code is that being conscious is of high value. We teach the coming generation that so it is. But we make it a one-sided teaching. We avoid all the negative consequences of this attitude and this mode of education. We blind ourselves to the limits of the brand of learning that is the consequence. We become blind to the fact that remembering knowledge does not influence our actions. Not to any great extent. In fact, a set of different parameters controls the way we act. They do not include that of conscious memory of knowledge.

What does control what happens? The widespread and conscious knowledge is not always in control. Humans have experienced many examples when this is not the case. Some are historical. Some are going on in the world just now. Obscure and individually carried agendas have their say.

But stop here. I am slipping away from what I started to write. What does the above statement have to do with answering the call? I think that the questions given do influence me to respond analytically. That is to tickle nothing but one side of my brain. And that has little to do with doing the same the other half. And with making my halves cooperate.

So I feel forced to answer the question above through acting and acting only. So what am I to do? I observe my words and thoughts. I conclude they run along old tracks. I need to take a firm grip on what I think of valuable habits and elements of my identity. I need to jump straight out into the wilderness. I need to disconnect from seeing or remembering a thing. I need to detach from any idea of what I am about to do. This concept would scare my old self. Scare it stiff. But trying to play the role of an author means to do this.

Talking about or action? Now?……

Once upon a time. He sat in a decent chair writing his daily chunk of words. He scratched his right chin. He sensed that there was a minimal inflammation at the root of one of this teethes. A minor disturbance that stayed stable through the last three years, at least.

Outside the morning was cold. A mist had clouded his view for the last hour. Now, the sun started to show who is in charge of this day in January. His responsibility this day, was to take care of the dog of his son. The son and his family visited a beautiful place in the south of Europe called Cap Verde. The dog was at rest warming his feet.

Now is a moment when everything is okay. No agenda, plan, rules or regulations are stealing the show. Moments like this one has been rare to him ever since he was born. Now he slipp into these moments at increased frequency.

His style of writing did annoy him. Its was adequate long time ago but not today. He had to find another form, a new and more rewarding one. All sorts of ambitions were waiting in the bushes. They could make him terminated his efforts before he even got started. So he decided not to take any notice of them. Not in the stage of free writing. He considered editing as the phase to take care of them.

I feel that my writing runs in a new way using James´ prompts. But I believe this change is not that much dependent on the articulation of these prompts. I think the reason is that some change has happened to me, to the author to come. I read these prompts in a new manner. I run along writing in a way that is more free. So my gain from 1200 days of free writing is due to something I cannot describe. I do not have words for it. At least I do not want to put words to it.

Although, one specific thing is worth mentioning. During this last week, I have published my writing on a blog. I lock back on these entries and conclude that it was far easier to summarize seven days of writing. I have had the ambition to approach the outcome of my 1200 days of writing. But that was impossible. Too much water, sand and clay and no visible nuggets.

(483 words)

As told by my present master in writing, I did take a walk instead of my morning writing. A few odd ideas arrived while doing it.

One concerned beliefs, ideas, plans, goals, agreements, and rules. I considered them all having the same quality. I use them to rescue myself from encountering contact with that big space inside that is housing endless of possibilities. It sounds almost religious, but in my case, it is not. I connect it to what they talk about in Buddism. And what you sometimes meet in Japan: the concept of ”MA” = emptiness in space and time.

One of these days this MA will be a reality in my life. Not just hovering around in the neurons of my brain. I ought to train myself to step outside, sit down on a stone near the moors and stare myself empty. Establish a space inside me that is not occupied by anything. It is hard work these days. Ideas and associative jumps do happen to me all the time. Getting older does not make it easier. Neither does living in a modern digital environment.

During my walk, I recalled that I may interpret my behaviour as always trying to remain ”on top”. If not directly, so at least mentally. I do not get on top, but I might interpret my tendencies this way. For one thing, I get furious when someone tries to ”be on top of me”. Either by interrupting me or treating me in a top-down manner. From whom did I learn this? Who did always behave as nothing was a fault made by that person?

A third revelation during the walk was that I realized that all my life I have been trying to escape. I collect notes about major and minor faults in my character. I have apologized for their existence through expressing myself conscious of them. I will be ready to demand my share of life when I have taken care of them all. I base today’s statement on the fact that these flaws will remain. Being conscious of them did not do the job. I have plenty of arguments and motivations that they should not stay operative. But they still are. I better face the fact that they will not ever disappear. Be sure of that. I better stop operating in the state of “life comes later when I am ready”. I better start now before life is over. After all my age is 75.

What reality did I observe around me? Not much. Grey even overcast. No sun. Not much wind. Streets dressed in a thin layer of snow from yesterday, about 2-3 inches. Slushy in places where traffic and salt mix. I assure that the stretch of my walk gave me 7000 steps covering 5 km. Hoards of ordinary people hurrying to or from their office. Everything was operating at a non-glamorous level of every day. Same as yesterday. Same tomorrow.

 

(947 words)

Obstacles to finding my voice
Part of being creative is to be courageous. So I have been told. What does that mean to me? In what segment do I need to be courageous? What does limit my ability to think and act in this segment? A first obstacle was that I did not have shielded space inside me to be creative in. Through writing repeatedly, I established that space. In this space I allow myself to do things I know nothing about. An act of courage is to avoid filling it with those actions that I already know of. Sometimes my courage disappears into the woods.

The second obstacle is what do I use this shielded space for? Historically, I have used it for making notes of various thoughts and ideas. Mainly in an attempt to regain access to elements that once created joy and a feeling of being rich. Unfortunately I have used the same scene to escape from irritating events and emotions. I did quickly hide those aspects that disturbe my normal function in education, marriage and my profession. I am sad to admit that this way I blinded myself from seeing some early warning signals in my life.

A third obstacle is to actually hear and take in what other humans say, write or act. I tend to quickly shut them out and continue in my own bubble of concepts, thoughts, style, and values. In this aspect being courageous means to stay open, read and hear what others say, cut it loose it from that individual and apply it to me. In other words, take on the role of the other. Or, expressed in a slightly general way, to play along in the position of being a decent author. I have to put the task of attending to myself at a low priority. After all, some humans state that no such self exist. They say you won’t find any self irrespective of how long and precise you search. Confidence in yourself is a real and desirable quality. Going the way over finding yourself is no good. When reaching a self-confidence, you may allow yourself to take on roles. Which in turn is a prerequisite to being a true author!

My fourth obstacle has to do with following my passion and my dreams. Do I feel a passion for being an author? At my present state, this is an impossible question. After all, I cannot feel passionate about something I have no experience of. Neither do I dream of being an author. My dream is to be considered as a man of substance. I conclude I once did feel passion when I started free writing. But, that passion turned out to be a blind one. I learned English but buried my personality deeper into the old groves of self-reflection.

Summing up
To sum up, I switch over to the subject of finding my voice. The answer is that my writing has not helped me to find that voice. Not yet. But, it has narrowed down the area for my search. I feel confident in taking on the role of being an author. At least one of a decent statue. To me being an author means to deeply engage in the mindsets of those characters that will show up in a future story. This means I need to swiftly shift from one mindset to another. From one role to another. In consequence, this means to abandon my intense cramp on to that one role, the role of being myself. That is to quit my style of writing in a self-reflective fashion.

Action
To find my voice, I better letting out whatever voice I have. Irrespective of what I think it is coming from and what odd shapes it may take. If I do not do this, I will have no practice and thus a significant void in my basic knowledge of what it is all about. Therefore any judgments about myself will most likely be in error. Maybe such judgments will always be a disaster?

In my case, I will take on the role of being a decent author. I will do it prior to having proved that I am such a character. I should allow my author to do his thing. That is the things he has an inner urge to do. It does not matter if he understands what he is doing and why. It does not matter what mode of self-control he operates. Nor does his judgments about the quality of what comes out of him. After all, his version of restraints rests on previous inputs. That is they come from other and earlier areas of life. Many humans have experienced that their voices have been held down and efficiently silenced. In our childish attempt to comply we developed self-control. It stays with us as a sort of necessary software in our minds. This software continues to run, days in and days out, deepening that old model of self-control. We act as if this software is necessary for survival. It becomes almost like a part of our identity. It once was the only sensible thing to do in what we interpreted as a hostile environment. Later on, when growing up, this is seldom the case. So we have to re-erect us from self-suppression. Preferably, we should avoid doing it the hard way. Then we might risk becoming egocentric maniacs. We better do it with our version of an intelligent and balanced approach.

One critical thing is to be somewhat particular on what that inner urge is signaling. Some of those signals call for a high level of trust. In those cases following established habits is the thing to do. In other cases, these messages call for doing something more courageous. Then I believe I am approaching the exciting part of my inner urge.

 

(799 words)

What am I passionate about? – I have been passionate about avoiding people who tell me what to do. Second, I like participating in dialogues. Third, I love experiencing that there is someone present behind words I listen to.

That was looking back on my history. But, what am I passionate about today and tomorrow? So in the subtext of the above question: ” What am I passionate about” is a value statement. I disagree with that statement. I doubt that history is useful in defining the personality of any human. I suspect that the best each of us can do is to follow that track forward. I do not subscribe to the attitude above, it is too conservative. In other words, I express me being passionate about change. But who knows, tomorrow I may change my position and go for no change, stability, or even rigidity.

Passionate about writing
I look back at what I write and how. I find I behave as if I were passionate about reflecting on myself and my conduct. I do it all the time. Day in and day out. Am I excited about myself and my performance? It is nothing of the sort. Am I passionate about reaching the consequence of self-reflection? I regard my question as complicated. What are the implications of writing in this style in a short-term or a long-term perspective? What are the effects on my emotions and my way of thinking? At this moment, I am writing myself into feeling mixed up. I do continue to write in a self-reflective style but what have I achieved and what do I believe I will gain?

When writing self-reflectively, I use words to unload a question, an issue or uncertainty from bothering me. This action makes it possible for me to head back to what I was doing. That was managing my education, my marriage, my profession and my practical problems. It has been an advantage to me to do what I thought I should do. I swept disturbing signals under the carpet before I examined them. I cleaned them out, and they disappeared into oblivion. A severe consequence was that I did not notice them early enough.

I believe that me writing in self-reflective style has negative consequences for me. At last in the long run. By writing this way, I unload the issues irritating me into an empty room. A space that is my own. This space becomes choked and too isolated.

Another perspective is that I am passionate about being sure that I know what I write. So far I have been carrying the concept that the object I know best is myself. I have brought this wrapped in a significant cover of furiosity. But at this specific moment, I hesitate. I recall the possibility that what I think about myself may be in severe error.

For example, I do not know these elements of me that may generate a positive sense of passion! All my life I have taught myself of the ways my personality may carry faults, deficits and guilts. I am an expert on this and on being the victim of all these flaws. But when I now put these words on paper something changes. I realise that this is utterly crazy of me to be passionate about finding faults in myself.

What am I passionately in opposition of?
What am I passionately in oppositions of? The first thing that pops up is anger. I get angry when I am exposed to individuals continuing to use power language on me. That goes for both females or males.

I am disappointed in not having developed any level of street smartness. I engaged in doing scientific research in an academic environment. But at the end, there was no human present to receive my result. Now I know better. There needs to be a human out there that want me to do what I do. I am fed up working towards a system that never shows up and never shows gratefulness.

I have been passionate about those of my feelings that I call anxiety. My attitude changes when writing this. I suspect I should stop calling them anxiety and stop trying to avoid those feelings. After all, I may as well interpret them differently. They may show that I have primary contact with freedom. I have a connection with the emotions involved in being alive and making my decisions!

Finally, there is sorrow and not being notably passionate. There is sorrow over not having found my call yet. Not having seen that thing in what to engage 100%. I suspect I am in charge of a decent chunk of power and capacities but where are my joy and satisfaction. Or am I in complete error on this point?

(186 word)

(Who inspires me and what does this tell about me)

Are there any individual around me by which I feel inspired? Let us see. Our neighbors close to our summerhouse? They are artists: a well-known painter and a likewise famous author. I am close to them socially, but I know nothing about them as artists. I take part in various groups. Groups of amateur painters, poetry writers, fiction writers, and speaking in the dialogue format. Does anyone of these individuals inspire me? Does any of my brothers inspire me? Schoolmates? Mates at the University? M workplace? Well, to be honest, I can not lift anyone up front and forward him or her as inspiration.

What does this say about me? That I have high thoughts about my superiority? Not a chance. If I have high beliefs about my self, I must have pushed them deep down into my unconscious. Or does it say something about me not daring to even check if I am good at anything? That was a thought I have to rest on for a while.

(388 words)
(What is that stirs up in you, what words, ideas, images, thoughts instinctively come to your mind?)

How do I address the issue of me being creative? I believe I am creative. At least I generate new ideas all the time and look at things from perspectives I do not share with others. A distinguished man of science did once judge me as thinking creatively. Later on, this man became president of several prominent American universities. (Not at the same time.)

During some years I easily created images within my head. I thought they were illustrative of what was going on inside me. They helped me open to my emotions and their servants. That is interpretations of what these images meant to me. For years I have been stuck with these analyses.

During this latest year, these old interpretation have been loosening up their grip on me. I have found that now I may interpret the content of one and same dream differently and in varying perspectives.

One of these dreams shows me laying in the middle of a vast field. It looks like a field in the real world. The ground has been prepared for winter and has received a late autumn ploughing. I lay there, face down, in the mud. I do not know how I got to this place and why. In slow motion, I raise my head and glance over the edge of the nearest ploughed ridge. It is almost pitch dark around me.

While writing the above sentences, I occasionally fall asleep. I feel odd doing that. Last night, I slept many hours, so it is weird that I am tired. Does this way to approach my creativity cause me to feel tired. Does my body play me a trick? And what is to gain from this?

After all, I have difficulties in remembering dreams nowadays. Does this have something to do with what I revealed as possible this morning? All the time I produce many interpretations of what is happening with me. I suspect I use these descriptions as a protective layer, a cocoon. This coating makes it difficult for me to continue going deep with my self-reflection. Possibly, I better respect these signs as a border or limit. I better stop my self-reflections from going further.

(476 words)
(Free write about your creative struggle.)

Earlier today I found something odd about my previous writing. Or I better say my style of writing. My flow of words has been adequate to fill the demands of 500 words a day for near to 1250 days. But, my choice of subject to write about has not been free at all. Neither have the type of thoughts I present. I do hang on to these reflections and thoughts about myself that keep showing up in my head. They fill my head as a wasp of fireflies. They glimmer for a few seconds, land on the surface of my text and disappear. I have followed the motto ”just do it”. I invested a significant chunk of hope in that slogan. A desire that I will get out of my dependence on this style I writing. It has not happened, not yet. And near to a million words have been flowing under my verbal bridges.

This morning one of these fireflies presented herself on the screen of my computer. One of the fireflies started to lecture me by saying:

⁃ For you, the act of using a language and words are to a great extent intermixed with being able to live. At least to your feeling of being alive. This intermix originated when you were young and, for the first time, learned to speak. You involved yourself and your soul in pleasing your mother. You believed she was about to abandon you once more. So she did earlier, and at that time a deep wound was created inside you. At the same time, you began to pronounce words and form sentences. You learned to observe what you were doing. You told your mother what you saw. You watched for signs of dislike in your mothers face. And you adjusted your behaviours accordingly. Your ability to use words to find out and express what your needs were, became hampered.

⁃ You carried your art of reflecting on yourself into puberty. Then you picked up the habit of writing the same reflections and thoughts in a black notebook. You brought this addiction with you all through the years until the present age. At 75 years of age, you still perform a lot of self-reflection. You do it too much to be of use to you any more. And the ability to follow these corrective signals they carry is fading out.

⁃ So a significant struggle along your path towards acting out your creativity is to set aside the content you have mentioned. You ought to reduce the amount of self-reflection in your writing. At least avoid letting it dominate.

In conclusion: my first 900000 words of writing has not been a sign of creativity. It has been nothing but a preparation for the step I face now.