On the Virtues of Loafing

It is 1:08 PM. I am sitting on the bed, unwashed, unshaven, wearing only the clothes I wore to take the dog out to pee a few hours ago. Now the dog lies between Louise and me as we while away our lives, enjoying a slow day of loafing.

Running through my head is an old Mormon hymn, now slightly revised: "Have I Done Any Good?" Text and music by Will L. Johnson (1847-1909). Verse one asks a question: "Have I done any good in the world today?" As if we are not beaten enough with this first line, the Mr. Johnson continues his thrashing:

Have I helped anyone in need? 

Have I cheered up the sad

And made someone feel glad?

If not I have failed indeed. 

It is my belief, without hard evidence, that this single man, Will L. Johnson, with his rotten little verses, has added more depression and neuroses to my religious community than any scripture or sermon could possibly have done. But wait. He wends his way to the last brutal verse, condemning anyone who fails to conform to this nonsense: 

Only he who does something

Is worthy to live, 

The world has no need for a drone.

Well, I'm a loser, Baby, so why don't you kill me? All those artists, writers, composers, who spend half the day sitting in bed dreaming, thinking, stirring up the juices of creativity are not worthy to live? I'm glad Mr. Johnson was not running a camp in Dachau or Matthausen or Auschwitz. 

A different perspective comes from an article by Tom Hodgkinson titled "The Virtue of Idleness" in the British newspaper, The Guardian: "For all modern society's promises of leisure, liberty and doing what you want, most of us are still slaves to a schedule we did not choose."

Mr. Hodgkinson goes on to cite a long list of creative spirits, historians, philosophers, scientists who managed to break the rule of early to bed, early to rise and change the world for the better. I think my favorite is Walt Whitman, who arrived at the office of the newspaper where he worked at 11:30, went to lunch at 12 for a two-hour break, worked another hour and then "hit the town."

Pity, some might say. He might have written more than just The Leaves of Grass. Good riddance, Walt, you weren't worthy to live.

It is now 1:44 PM. Feeling sleepy. 

On Creativity

Painting by Nellie Mae Rowe

This is the second of several blogs on creativity. If you think you are a dullard, an uncreative person, a drone, think again. Stay tuned.

Yesterday Galen left a comment on this blog. "You might find this article interesting," he wrote. Galen then offered this link:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/04/creativity-habits_n_4859769.html

The link is to an article by Carolyn Gregoire in the Huffington Post: "18 Things Highly Creative People Do Differently." I'm going to provide a Reader's Digest version of this article, although I strongly recommend reading it in its entirety. Before my encapsulated version, however, I want to make a statement: Creativity is not a talent. It is a way of thinking, a way of doing things. You may not be a Mozart, I will never be a Shakespeare, but we everyone can all learn to be more creative. So without further stupid blathering, here are the 18 things. Some of these will not make sense. READ THE ARTICLE. 

They daydream.

They observe everything.

They work the hours that work for them.

They take time for solitude.

They turn life's obstacles around.

They seek out new experiences.

They "fail up."

They ask the big questions.

They people-watch.

They take risks.

They view all of life as an opportunity for self-expression.

They follow their true passions.

They get out of their own heads.

They lose track of the time.

They surround themselves with beauty.

They connect the dots.

They constantly shake things up.

They make time for mindfulness.

"I want to write a book someday."

Take your pick: "I want to write a book someday," or "I want to be a painter someday," or "I want to be a dancer someday."

Someday is the loser word. If you want to write a book, paint a picture, dance in Swan Lake, now is the time. Here are the excuses I've heard:
"Oh, I need to spend time with my kids right now."
"I'm so busy at work I just come home and sit."
"I know I'll never be any good at it."
"I have no ambition."
"I'm old."
"I'm losing my mind."
"I want to finish watching House of Cards first.
"I'm constipated."

I'm here to tell you a secret. You can do anything (except maybe dance Swan Lake) at any age. Yes you can. I am not some young punk telling you this. I am 74 years old.

Two years ago, Louise dragged my depressed derriere out of the house. "You're going to art class with me," she said. "The people are lovely and the teacher is just great."

"I haven't drawn anything since second grade." I'm yowling even as she takes me out to the car.

In class I meet Marian, the teacher. Her name has come up before in this blog. It will come up again. Marian hands me a piece of yupo. I don't know what yupo is, so she explains. "Yupo is watercolor paper with a glossy finish. You can wipe off anything you don't like. See?" she says, swishing on some paint and wiping it off. "You can change anything you want on yupo."

Marian points to a rooster that she has painted. It is about 5 feet by 20 feet. At least it feels that way. It has different colors than this one, which she also painted, but you get my drift. It is a damn good rooster.

Well poop. I open up my box of watercolors that Louise bought for me this afternoon and begin. My worst fears are confirmed. I can't draw for squat. After two hours of work, my rooster is done. It doesn't look much like Marian's:

Marian swoops down. "I love that coxcomb. Don't change that coxcomb."

"It looks like a miscarriage," I say.

"Don't change that coxcomb." She pauses. "You might be interested in trying collage," Marian says. "You cut things out and paste them together."

That was two years ago. How do I feel about art class? Art class is better than church. Art class is better than the celestial kingdom. Art class is better than sex. Especially at my age.

So what's the secret? What do you have to do to write a book? Learn to dance? Paint a picture?

THIS IS IT FOLKS, THE SIMPLE SOLUTION: TAKE A CLASS OR FIND A TUTOR. YOU'LL THINK YOU'VE DIED AND GONE TO HEAVEN.

If You're Weird and You Know It, Clap Your Hands

Honorable Mention, Statewide Competition

March 7, 2014

What does it take to write a memoir?

"Writing is easy. All you have to do is sit at your desk 

until blood 

spurts out of your forehead."

I have a question for you readers:  Would you benefit from having a writing coach help you with writing your memoir?  If you do, I want to hear from you. My email is tom@tomplummer.com.

I have been coaching several people in writing their memoirs, and from that experience, I can say with some authority that numerous factors go into writing one.

1) Time. Most successful writers, not all, have set aside time, a specified, limited amount of time each day to write. The old complaint, "I plan to write my memoir someday, but I just haven't gotten to it," doesn't wash. A half hour a day, and hour a day writing will kill no one.

2) Even experienced writers are stumped when writing about their lives. Most are confused with what they hope to see as their end product. Most need help in learning to write details, to write in scene, and to balance narrative styles. Some  can do this by taking workshops or classes or by working one-on-one with a trained and seasoned writing coach.  Many find that they are unable to travel or have no idea how to find a writing coach.

3) Courage and training. Many who tackle a memoir have had a rough path in their lives. Teaching memoir for 20 years with Louise at Brigham Young University convinced me that hardships outweigh or certainly balance normal life styles. Writing about family hardships can feel intimidating, embarrassing, shameful, and humiliating. Professional coaching will help. Whether taking a seminar or college class working one-on-one with a writing coach can teach you strategies for writing your stories that are honest and far reaching.

4) Feedback. Most of us need feedback from one person or another about our writing, our style, our grammar, and generally our writing skills. The best feedback will not come from family members, whose memories conflict with yours. A writing coach can help you formulate your memories, not someone else's memories.

I have developed a program for coaching people either locally or long distance. Chat sessions online for an hour each week are proving to help people write with more detail, more confidence, and more purpose for the end result of their efforts.

My question is this. Should I expand my efforts? Do you need help writing your memoir? Would a writing coach help?

If you are interested, you may comment here. Or you may email me at tom@tomplummer.com.  I'll be happy to chat with you about your project and how I might be able to help you get underway.

Do you want a good laugh?

This is it.

Enjoy and pass it on. Compliments of Jonathan.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10152642257355300

Sticking with My Style

I've had a problem. I do not paint realistic pictures, and I when I try, the colors are wrong, the lines are wrong, the shapes are wrong, everything is wrong. I have learned this lesson over and over. Most brutally one evening in art class, when our teacher, Marian, looked over my shoulder as I was trying to paint a straight line or a straight curved line, or something.

And she spoke in a voice that I had only heard when she was arguing with Irwin, another painter. "What are you doing? That's not your style. This is your style." And she took the paintbrush from my hand and splotsched green paint right through the middle of my picture. "That's how you paint," she repeated. I went home and started over. 

And still I struggle. I work from photos, and the photos scream in their squirky voices, "We are photos. We are real." And I fall for those voices every time. The above painting comes from a picture of a young woman whose photo I took in Las Vegas. She was pleasant, charming really, and her face was covered with studs and rings. I liked her from the moment I asked her how she dealt with a cold. She said in a matter-of-fact tone, "I take out the rings and studs." 

So she let me take her picture, and I fell right back into my rut of wanting to paint her in a realistic style. So I was desperate one night before art class and decided I needed to talk with someone who knew something about my messy style. I began a meditation in which I took myself along a colorful path to a dead German expressionist painter, Karl Schmitt-Rottluff.  He was sitting on his porch smoking a pipe. Here's one of his paintings: 

And in my meditating mind, he asked me what I wanted. I said I had a problem. I said I kept trying to paint in a realistic style, and it wasn't working. And he erupted. "Oh, no no no. (He was speaking in German, which would be Ach nein nein nein. It's more brutal than English). You can't paint realistically. You have to screw up the lines and shapes. You have to mess with colors. You have to feel sexy. You have to PAINT SEXY THINGS. What has gotten into you? You have to have fun. Don't go getting all serious."

So I said, "Well, she's a nice young woman, and I don't want to turn her into a nightmare."

And then he said something that astonished me: "Well, then you have to get inside her, you have see the world from her point of view, you have to feel colors like she feels colors. You have to feel the way she feels. You can't just go violate her with your colors."

And that ended the conversation. I knew what I had to do. That night I went to art class and let fly. Most of all, I tried not to use hideous colors. I tried to use softer colors.  I know. I know. She looks grotesque. But I feel kindly toward her, and that's what matters to me. I don't expect you to like it. That's OK. Go ahead and be tasteless. Marian likes it, and that's quite enough for me. I haven't asked Herr Schmitt-Rottluff what he thinks of it. He's dead. Oh, I think I said that.

Who are your mentors, living or dead? Do you have a hard time sticking with your style?