Webster defines resolution as a formal expression of opinion, will, or intent: the act of answering or solving. A New Year's Resolution, according to Wikipedia, is the “reforming of a habit, often a lifestyle change that is generally interpreted as advantageous. The name comes from the fact that these commitments normally go into effect on New Year's Day and remain until fulfilled or abandoned.”
To the best of my knowledge, I have never made a New Year's Resolution, and according to most sources, the odds are against me. More than likely, anything I resolve to do will go unfulfilled or abandoned in the upcoming months, but for some reason this year, I'm putting it in writing. Maybe it is because I turned thirty and the grim reaper is suddenly saying “howdy” in the form of crinkles around my eyes and mouth. I prefer “crinkles” to “wrinkles” because “wrinkle” sounds so permanent, like something that can only be removed with a boiling hot iron and steam.
Maybe it is because the kids are currently very preoccupied with playing together and I am finding a wonderful few moments of precious time on my hands, even though it is time I could be scrubbing my baseboards or removing greasy fingerprints from shiny places. Maybe it is because I am slightly bored with TV and current events, and I sometimes question why I spent so much time in school, only to be under appreciated by toddlers who don't care much about iambic pentameter or the perfect contrasting balance of chiaroscuro or sfumato.
I recently finished editing and illustrating a project for my grandmother, which provided a lovely creative break from my normal daily routine. We were able to print the stories from her 1940's childhood; stories that only someone who went through a great depression in a coal-mining town without a father can tell. Even though I've heard the stories a hundred times, I can't help being impressed all over again by the optimistic strength of their spirit, and a faith in the God of a future where food is already on tables and shoes are already on feet.
I also walk away slightly discouraged with my own poor memory. How can my grandma remember her first day of kindergarten at age 78? If it weren't for pictures, I doubt I would remember the color of my first bedroom. (It was Pepto-Bismol pink with a Holly Hobby border in case you were wondering). I envy the ability to store mental pictures and words down to the smallest detail. I am convinced that one of the most important characteristics of a great non-fiction writer is the ability to remember—not just the things we do, but the way the air smelled and the song that was playing in the background. The tiny details.
Flannery O'Connor said that anyone who survived childhood has enough material to write for the rest of his or her life. I believe this is true; especially if Paris Hilton was able to fill 192 pages with words and semi-complete sentences. Certainly I should be able to write a few pages in a blog at least every other week, even without the help of an assistant or 20 editors. So, along with other resolutions in this new year, including cutting back on coffee and ice cream, etc., I am vowing to read and write more.
When I was 21, I googled Annie Dillard, my favorite writer and arguably the best creative non-fiction author of our time, and sent an email to what turned out to be a legitimate address. She not only took the time to send me a page-long personal response, but her general advice on life, specifically writing, impacted the way I think about creativity tremendously. Annie, I can call her that because we are friends now, stressed the importance of not only writing daily, but reading any and all books, no matter what the genre. She talked about the intertwining of the many worlds of art, saying that most writers are artists—whether or not they ever put paint on a canvas, and vice versa. I lost the soft copy of her email or I would paste it here, but in the meantime I will suggest reading at least one Annie Dillard book this year. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, the 1975 Pulitzer Prize winner, or if you really want to be blown away by her power of recollection, try An American Childhood. (http://www.amazon.com/American-Childhood-Annie-Dillard/dp/0060915188)
According to Annie, “A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time.” I love the illustration and I know that it's true, but I also have trouble with this creative paradox; in order to become a writer I must schedule time in the day to consistently do it, whether or not I am feeling particularly inspired or imaginative. Most if not all great writers have talked about the importance of writing, writing in a way that treats it like work, until it becomes natural, and in spite of the fact that it will never be effortless.
If it is true that the “best time for planning a book is while you're doing the dishes,” then I should have written at least 1000 essays by now. And as another great writer (Anne Lamott) says, “Start with your childhood. Plug your nose and jump in, and write down all your memories as truthfully as you can.” So here we go, one week into the New Year and I'm already behind. I'm hoping that this tangible goal will somehow keep me accountable in the other abstract areas of my life, and who knows, perhaps 2009 might even be the year of calorie-free-good-for-me ice cream, doctor prescribed coffee, and miracle “crinkle-reducing” face cream. Here's to plugging my nose and jumping into something.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
~Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1850
To the best of my knowledge, I have never made a New Year's Resolution, and according to most sources, the odds are against me. More than likely, anything I resolve to do will go unfulfilled or abandoned in the upcoming months, but for some reason this year, I'm putting it in writing. Maybe it is because I turned thirty and the grim reaper is suddenly saying “howdy” in the form of crinkles around my eyes and mouth. I prefer “crinkles” to “wrinkles” because “wrinkle” sounds so permanent, like something that can only be removed with a boiling hot iron and steam.
Maybe it is because the kids are currently very preoccupied with playing together and I am finding a wonderful few moments of precious time on my hands, even though it is time I could be scrubbing my baseboards or removing greasy fingerprints from shiny places. Maybe it is because I am slightly bored with TV and current events, and I sometimes question why I spent so much time in school, only to be under appreciated by toddlers who don't care much about iambic pentameter or the perfect contrasting balance of chiaroscuro or sfumato.
I recently finished editing and illustrating a project for my grandmother, which provided a lovely creative break from my normal daily routine. We were able to print the stories from her 1940's childhood; stories that only someone who went through a great depression in a coal-mining town without a father can tell. Even though I've heard the stories a hundred times, I can't help being impressed all over again by the optimistic strength of their spirit, and a faith in the God of a future where food is already on tables and shoes are already on feet.
I also walk away slightly discouraged with my own poor memory. How can my grandma remember her first day of kindergarten at age 78? If it weren't for pictures, I doubt I would remember the color of my first bedroom. (It was Pepto-Bismol pink with a Holly Hobby border in case you were wondering). I envy the ability to store mental pictures and words down to the smallest detail. I am convinced that one of the most important characteristics of a great non-fiction writer is the ability to remember—not just the things we do, but the way the air smelled and the song that was playing in the background. The tiny details.
Flannery O'Connor said that anyone who survived childhood has enough material to write for the rest of his or her life. I believe this is true; especially if Paris Hilton was able to fill 192 pages with words and semi-complete sentences. Certainly I should be able to write a few pages in a blog at least every other week, even without the help of an assistant or 20 editors. So, along with other resolutions in this new year, including cutting back on coffee and ice cream, etc., I am vowing to read and write more.
When I was 21, I googled Annie Dillard, my favorite writer and arguably the best creative non-fiction author of our time, and sent an email to what turned out to be a legitimate address. She not only took the time to send me a page-long personal response, but her general advice on life, specifically writing, impacted the way I think about creativity tremendously. Annie, I can call her that because we are friends now, stressed the importance of not only writing daily, but reading any and all books, no matter what the genre. She talked about the intertwining of the many worlds of art, saying that most writers are artists—whether or not they ever put paint on a canvas, and vice versa. I lost the soft copy of her email or I would paste it here, but in the meantime I will suggest reading at least one Annie Dillard book this year. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, the 1975 Pulitzer Prize winner, or if you really want to be blown away by her power of recollection, try An American Childhood. (http://www.amazon.com/American-Childhood-Annie-Dillard/dp/0060915188)
According to Annie, “A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time.” I love the illustration and I know that it's true, but I also have trouble with this creative paradox; in order to become a writer I must schedule time in the day to consistently do it, whether or not I am feeling particularly inspired or imaginative. Most if not all great writers have talked about the importance of writing, writing in a way that treats it like work, until it becomes natural, and in spite of the fact that it will never be effortless.
If it is true that the “best time for planning a book is while you're doing the dishes,” then I should have written at least 1000 essays by now. And as another great writer (Anne Lamott) says, “Start with your childhood. Plug your nose and jump in, and write down all your memories as truthfully as you can.” So here we go, one week into the New Year and I'm already behind. I'm hoping that this tangible goal will somehow keep me accountable in the other abstract areas of my life, and who knows, perhaps 2009 might even be the year of calorie-free-good-for-me ice cream, doctor prescribed coffee, and miracle “crinkle-reducing” face cream. Here's to plugging my nose and jumping into something.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
~Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1850
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