This block, though… not going away. Thought yesterday while on the corner of Lake and Funston, then started walking on Lake toward 12th, that I write a set of writing rules for self, not really anyone else of for some limp purpose of composing a ‘hot-to’ of writing’, but just for me and something I reference when feeling, well, like this. This morning.
First, write where you are and what you’re doing. Focus on singularity. One thing, or person, word or scenic ingredient.
Then, write freely. The only type of writing is freewriting. Some might assert that all writing needs structure, and I simply respond with two motions—1, what is “structure”? And 2, “What if it doesn’t, then what?”
I’m seeing more and more the more I attempt to have my writing be a certain way or present itself with certain attributes on page, the less it’s me. Them ore insincere it is. Not that I only want to relay what’s happening—the who, what, why, where, when, how and whatever else like a journalist or tech writer—but be fully present. Like now, in the office. I notice the mood shedding as I’m moving, doing what I want to be doing in my office, working, sharing observations and self-instruction that I’m convinced will, or could, help someone else.
One from other department walking into building, saying with congealed, slow-moving emphasis good morning, and then not saying anything. Not many calls coming in, for that department. Not much heard other than my typing. Honestly the loudest thing on the floor at present.