I woke up this morning with a crick in my neck.
As I was getting out of bed, my neck was straining from the weight of my own head. Even thinking made my neck hurt.
So, today, I haven’t so much as turned my neck as I have turned my whole body, like I’m Michael Keaton’s Batman. His Batman may have been one of the best Batmans onscreen, but he moved like he had a neck brace on. I wish I had a neck brace on. So it goes.
For the month of December, I am going to write an hour for myself everyday. That includes 30 minutes of anything related to personal writing projects—could be writing blog posts, editing blog posts, figuring out how to use Squarespace, writing to-do lists, reading past works and making comments—and the other 30 minutes are for my Morning Pages.
If you don’t know what Morning Pages are, they’re three handwritten pages written in a notebook. I take about 30 minutes to complete the three pages. The practice was coined by Julia Cameron in her book, The Artist’s Way. The Morning Pages are for writing down anything—worries, ideas, streams of consciousness, or simply writing “I’ve got nothing to write” until something else sparks onto the page. She says that writing the Morning Pages puts all the stuff that’s inside your head onto the page, and thus you’re less likely to think about those things when you need to sit down and actually do your art (in my case, writing). I can’t say for sure I’m not worrying about stuff when I’m creating, but maybe I’m less so since I’ve started. I’ve only missed one day of the Morning Pages since starting them in July. So that’s a big accomplishment I’d say.
You, the reader, might not be seeing posts everyday, but I’m tinkering away on a daily basis.
This is my tentative plan, which I’ve flexibly followed this week:
645AM: Wakeup | 700-745AM: Work out | 745AM-815AM: Breakfast | 815AM-825AM: Shower | 830-900AM: Morning Pages | 900-930AM: Writing
There isn’t really any idling in this schedule. The YouTuber I’ve been watching might refer to the Breakfast or Shower times as “Active Rest.” I’m not doing anything per se, but I am engaging my mind and body.
An hour a day to myself—that’s what I’m aiming for creatively.
I was on the phone with my dad and told him I got a new job on a well-respected preschool show. To reassure him that his son is moving on up, I told him that it’s good for my future.
He didn’t immediately respond. I could hear him thinking for a moment. I was hoping he’d congratulate me, but what a fool I was to think that. He asked me, “What is…your future?” That “….” said so much. He only said four words but it had the impact of a manifesto. In one question, he asked me:
Are you sure this is good for your future?
What is exactly are your plans?
What is the path to your future? Because I’m not quite sure. Are you?
I couldn’t help but laugh. He’s so good at flipping my words and self-expectations but in a challenging and inquisitive way. He puts it on me to think things through as opposed to telling me what to do, so in turn I feel like I’ve made my own decisions. Quite the parenting technique. He essentially Jedi mind-tricked me.
(I’m still feeling out what I’d like to call these moments: tiny wins? small joys? little triumphs? I like categorizing topics, and this feels like a topic I’d like to keep coming back to.)
My sink was clogged for about two weeks. I could’ve called the super to fix it, but I wanted to give it a go. I also didn’t want him to think less of me for not being able to fix such a simple thing. “You called me for this?!” he’d say as he judges my helplessness.
So while my fiancee watched the American Music Awards, I decided it was finally time to do something about the clog. I researched videos on YouTube to see if there was a DIY method without having to use a snake. No such luck. The one video that did help was instructions on how to remove the stopper. Other than that, I was on my own.
I opened up the sink cabinet, flashing my light into the cavernous depths of the underbelly of the porcelain bowl. I moved away the tampons, the pantry of shampoo and conditioner, and the assortment of bathroom cleaners. As the video instructed, I unscrewed the stopper and removed the plunger. The plunger was covered in a black sludge, reminiscent of Venom. I dared not examine closer or smell it. I simply wiped it away with toilet paper.
Since I didn’t have a snake, I took a metal hanger and bent it straight. Using the tiny hooks, I dug around a bit inside the sink, pulling out strands of hair and what looked like a strip of cardboard paper—the culprit of the clog. I nearly gagged at the sight of this decomposing strand that’s been plaguing our sink for nearly 2 weeks.
I attached the plunger back on, screwed on the stopper, and put back all the materials into the sink cabinet. I turned on the water faucet, and the water flowed down. The clog but a memory. I exclaimed victory.
Now whenever I use the sink and see the water go down to the depths of the Brooklyn sewer system, I feel like a conqueror.
Before actually writing for a deadline, I’ve:
Watched three episodes of The Good Place.
Eaten the last bits of Sour Cream and Cheddar chips.
Written this post.
Thought about cleaning the apartment
Eaten lunch while watching The Good Place.
Very productive day so far I’d say.
I realized that writing my Morning Pages takes about 30 minutes, And 30 minutes feels very doable to work on this website. I’ve decided that could include writing, editing a drafted post, or figuring out how to use the website.
Like just today, I figured out how to resize the photos for the blog post landing page (Aren’t I so web-saavy using words like “landing page” and “resize”?!). But then it got me thinking, “Do I need to add photo to every blog post?” I feel annoyed at the idea. This’ll just become one big stock image library search engine for pictures about “writing” and “typing on laptop.”
I used to write all the time when I was performing standup comedy—constantly engaging my mind and jotting down frivolities. That’s what the Morning Pages are for now. This website is a bit more intentional. Less blah and more ahhh. That could make for a good t-shirt.
That is my intention.
I recently discovered his channel, and this dude is hilarious.
Become a pikachu in the latest pokemon rancher franchise. dunk store https://dunkeyscastle.com/
I freakin’ love this guy’s channel.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before! I’m a big believer in “asking the universe,” and verbally putting my dreams out there, thus solidifying my intentions to achieve those dreams. But I could’ve been “asking the Jooniverse” this whole time. In a way, I guess that IS what I’ve been doing.
I’ve been reading The Artist’s Way, written by Julia Cameron. The book has been around for over 25 years and those who’ve read it sing its praises. “It changed my life!” “It made me the artist I am today!” “I used it as kindling, and it saved my life!” People LOVE this book.
Personally, it’s been a reinforcement of what I already practice—asking the universe (or as Julia says to ask the creative God), believing in self-worth, believing in play, and staying away from toxic people who—intentionally or not—knock down my dreams because they feel their dreams have been blocked. I’ve adopted what she calls the Morning Pages, which are three handwritten pages of thoughts put down in a notebook every morning. I am proud to say that I’ve kept my streak since July when I started. The Morning Pages, as she says in the book, have sprung up creativity, desires, and dreams, one of which has led me to start a blog.
To be a writer, I must write.
I’ve been reading pages from my journal to my partner of all my past entries about her—first dates, first time we kissed, going out to clubs, meeting her friends, making dinner together, etc. But the feelings were SO wonderfully raw and fun to read. That’s what I want for this blog—to explore, to reminisce, and to keep writing, so I can eventually find my “voice” and write as I speak but maybe more focused.
Marc Maron credits the time he spent talking about his cat, Monkey, as his way of finding his comedic voice. That was inspiring. Having to talk I think in the talk of mundane everyday, he couldn’t help but find what made him happy, sad, angry, etc, and able to turn that into talk radio. Everything from his mouth became effortless.
Writing will always be a struggle. But I don’t want to dread my first drafts anymore. I want to playfully dig in and write furiously, THEN look back and judge my writing. The biggest hurdle is getting over the feeling that my writing’s not good as I’m doing it. But if it’s my voice, there isn’t any other way to write it, so I may as well try to type as quickly as I think—then go back later to fine-tune it. What comes out of my head, onto my fingertips, to the page is correct at the time it needs to be.
Jooniverse, I beseech thee: Showeth me a path to my “voice!”
