Older Stuff » Word Magic: Why I Write

Go Ahead—Eat the Ice Cream

A few musings on the writing life (originally an essay for an ebook for Seth Godin’s Triiibes network):

  • Perhaps because I ate too many Snickers Bars as a child, since adolescence I’ve been set upon by bouts of existential dread. It harkens to Sartre’s great work, Nausea, when even everyday objects—the lamp, your keyboard, your wife—appear sinister and threatening. Is it true? Oh, absolutely, everything has its dark side. But you must outwit them: don’t stare the mad dog straight in the eye, but give it a sidelong glance as you skirt its sharp teeth. After a while, the lamp goes back to looking like a lamp. Your wife might be more dicey.
  • I have an inner voice that often tells me I’m a horse’s ass. Though that yoke occasionally fits, much of the time, it’s just the little voice of habit and self-doubt. As most asses need slapping, I’ll step to a mirror, look at the ass looking back at me and say, “You’re just a horse’s ass in the mirror, not my real self. My real self is a combination of Gandalf, Mother Teresa and Eddie Murphy. Begone!”
  • There are a lot of open fields in my neighborhood, where coyotes sometimes roam. I like to think of the mind, with its fears, hesitations and plunges, as a creature—like a coyote. Sometimes I see the coyotes slinking around, cur-like, with a guilty look. Other times I see them racing across the fields, and hear the merry yip-yip-yipping in the evening. I like to think of my coyote mind in this way: when it’s slinking and guilty, it’s but a small turn in perspective to release that mind. Release it to become the version of the Trickster that is both cunning and kind. That coyote brain yips its joy, not its fear.
  • Shakespeare, Faulkner, Austen all had days in which what they wrote was dung. On those days, they went fishing. So, whether in a bassy lake or a lake only of your imagination, drop a long line. Think of nothing. Feel the sun on your hands, the breeze on your forehead. The work will be there waiting for you, so bob that merry line until due time.
  • Laugh often, laugh loud. The world is a preposterous place, of pratfalls and puzzlements, where you go to scratch your nose and put your finger in your eye, where governments bloviate, where your neighbor wears his wife’s bra (not that there’s anything wrong with that), where the day you wax your car for the first time in a year, it rains. You can’t really account for the surreal, the stifling, the boring aspects of life. But this is the life you have—seize it, lick its neck, raise it skyward. The stories about the Other Place in the afterlife are just like filling an inside straight to me: possible, but not likely. So, it’s this world, this NOW, that has so many tears in it—sometimes all you can do is laugh.
  • A writer’s life is a peculiar one, of crooked gratifications and queer slights. So much is interior, subject to the fickle tastes and electrical storms of your own mind, which though you’ve sat in the room with it all your life, remains a mystery. Some days you might sling 1,000 good words over your shoulder, and shrug at its meaninglessness. Some days a single sentence will shine, and that’s enough.
  • The hell with it—once in a while, choose to eat as much ice cream as you want.
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6 thoughts on “Go Ahead—Eat the Ice Cream

  1. I think we decided on the way home that, yes, in fact, we’ll give notice to our landlord, divide everything we own into piles if carry, store, sell, give or trash, and then go. Leap from the plane with a silkworm instead of a parachute.

    There will be ice cream. Oh yes, there will be ice cream. (Although these days I’m eating it made with coconut milk, but, still, it’s ice cream.)

  2. Tom, I too hear the inner voice of habit and self-doubt. I’d say, though, that I have more of a Chimpanzee Mind than a Coyote Mind.

    (And hot damn, Joel. You’re really gonna do it?)

  3. Joel, I admire your sense of risk and adventure, and look forward to reading of the odyssey, and seeing you guys along the way. And maybe sharing (I want my own bowl) some of that ice cream, because I like coconut too.

  4. Annie, if you have room for two inner voices of doubt, I will mail you mine; I’m tired of it. Does your chimp mind have a name? Cheeta? Cheetoh? Fifi? OK, I’ll stop monkeying around now.

  5. Sorry, dear Tom, no room left in this crowded, busy little chimp mind for more tyranny of doubt/self-doubt.

    Perhaps it’s time for the two of us to stage a mutiny against doubt/self-doubt? Send our inner Captain Blighs off in a boat so that we can enjoy the freeing feeling of certainty (or self-acceptance, or…?) in a Tahitian paradise.

    My chimp mind probably would be called Gigi. (Gigi was quite the character in Jane Goodall’s primatology studies.)

    Would Trickster be the name of your coyote mind?

  6. I’m inclined toward Balthazar as my coyote mind’s name: it has a nice rhythm and looks good in purple.

    I’m with you on the mutiny against the tremblings of the self. Gets tiresome listening to the leaky faucet of that inner nag.

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