Prompt: Second Thoughts
It is never too early in a process to have second thoughts. I’m only at Day 8 of NaNoWriMo and I’m already… no, I’m not really having second thoughts about writing a novel in thirty days, no more than I do every November 1 when I sit down at my keyboard and think “What on earth have I committed to?”
The phrase second thoughts implies regret. Sometimes though, second thoughts allow us leeway to stop and think before jumping into the abyss, or an opportunity to withdraw from a regretful situation before it’s too late, like a hunter coming face to face with a vulnerable prey.
“The second thoughts where there’s no going back”. Also known as regrets. I wish I’d had the wisdom and courage when I was much younger to honestly say to myself, “Will I regret this some day?” I might have been braver, less selfish, more bold, because don’t you find that most of our regrets circle like buzzards around the the little bundle of decisions that reflect not what we have done wrong, but what we wish we’d done when we had the chance?
I sincerely like the above cartoon.
Meanwhile, back at NaNoWriMo Day 3, I am almost overwhelmed at the prospect of seriously editing, enhancing, and expanding something I’ve previously written. It is a challenge I did not expect.
In art class, there was the concept of “preciousness”, which was the point at which an artist felt afraid to build on a work they felt was already meaningful and well-executed, if imperfect. This notion can be paralyzing. It is very much the same with writing, but in a much tighter, more immediately recognizable way.
Creative arts are scary and challenging. To be an artist, to find our path and to communicate it in a voice that is uniquely ours, we need to forget superficial rules, trust our instincts, and be alert to the innate sincerity of what we want to say.
Like everything I write, with Nano I want to express what is deep inside, however strange or unconventional or mean or sentimental.
What do you think?
The worst thing about the end of summer is the looming need to wear socks again. Except for those really fluffy ones you wear around the house in winter, socks are designed to prevent fresh, clean air from reaching your toes, and to crush the very soul out of your feet. They are functional and un-stylish, like fascist architecture.
On the subject of style, here are my three favourite cartoons this week:
They think it is some kind of street art. It is art, but not in the way they mean. I am an artist, but my skill is getting away with murder.
When I kill them neatly and bloodlessly, I spray pant the outline of the body. I don’t cheat: however the body falls to the ground is the art, the pose, the beautiful and unique moment. It is like the most exquisite crime scene you have ever witnessed.
And except for the paint, I keep the scenes very clean. I like to be clean. So there are beautiful body outlines in alleys behind restaurants and bars, park paths thick with pine needles, huge parking lots, and bicycle lanes that skirt the city. My art is edgy; people talk about it.
The bodies go to a special place. I don’t leave them on the street. The art is there on the street or in the path. I am grateful for the bodies.