Ahoy, folksies. I have a new idea! And it stems from my perceived inability to write tension without a threat of violence. But before I get all ahead of myself, let’s take a breath and explain. Athletes need to warm up (well, not according to Tallahassee from Zombieland, but whatever) and writers do, too. Because time—our most valuable yet most infuriatingly difficult to use resource–is limited, one might as well make the warm-up also developmentally worthwhile. I mean, want to get that swole writer bod? Then never spend a word willy-nilly.…
When I meet a new writer, musician, artist, or any other creative type, the foremost question that intrigues me is: “how do you keep yourself on track?”
When someone asks for “description,” do you answer with “leave nothing to the imagination?”
Well, as you may know, this isn’t too classy, and although some folks may enjoy that, most probably don’t.
I’d like to borrow a tired chiché from my music education experience, which is that the “practice makes perfect” mantra is misleading. Practice makes permanent is more often true. Only perfect practice makes perfect. Which raises the question: how does one practice writing?
It’s snowing again in Northern Virginia. There’s not much accumulation, mind you, but a friend of mine pointed out how oddly we Northern Virginians react to snow. As he says, we know that it’s going to snow every year, and yet it still manages to catch us off guard.
In order to avoid betraying my utter ignorance, I’ll speak in vague generalities: if you’re walking or running efficiently, your body works a bit like a pendulum, swinging (not forcing) itself forward. I feel that I could run or walk for hours and never get tired when I’m running or walking in that ‘groove’. One long hill later and I have a different idea, but let’s not focus on that right now.