Spiraling In: A Moebius Model for Creativity

                                     
                                     

            Writing creatively is a process of spiraling deeper and deeper into what’s essential and universal. It is helpful to envision this process as riding a Moebius Strip.  A Moebius Strip, as pictured above, is, according to Wiki, “a surface with only one side and only one boundary.”  Simply, take a strip of paper, give it a half twist, and connect the ends.  (A counter-clock half-twist will give you another effect.)  If a crab starts crawling along its surface, it will find no stopping pointing, as it would on a flat airstrip.  It will ride infinitely along the same surface.   Wiki adds, “A line drawn starting from the seam down the middle meets back at the seam, but at the other side. If continued, the line meets the starting point, and is double the length of the original strip.”

            When I consider what it means for me to write, let’s say, a poem, I find that I enter Alice’s Wonderland through the rabbit hole of a Moebius strip.  The levels through which I pass are described in the following “Model for Spiraling In.”  Imagine these words on a strip of paper with a clockwise half-twist meeting the ends in a Moebius Strip:

_________________________________________________________________________________

A Model of Spiraling In

by Susanna Rich

(Connect the ends to Create a Moebius Strip)

EXTERNAL-SAFETY

Social

Not Writing

Concerns about external reception: grades, publication, revealing secrets that might offend others, money; Procrastination, Giving Up, Fascination with Writer’s Block, Self-pity, Speed up, Excuses

Blaming the Reader

Taking all or none of others’ responses, instructing the reader how to interpret the poem as a part of the poem, struggle w/ readers’ judgment.

Mental

Verbal Resistances

Clichés, Vagueness, Hallmark Card Generalities, Philosophizing, Intellectualizing, Forced rhyme, Conceits (writing for the sake of the metaphor), Loading adjectives, Summarizing, Wordiness, Polemics, Didactics, Archaic Language, Cleverness for its own sake, Overcrafting, “Forced” uniqueness, Sentimentality, Boredom

_____

THE PORTAL

INTERNAL-WORK, RISK

Physical

Moving In

Chanting, Play, Repetition, Ritual, Slowing Down, Senses, Centering and Focusing, Immediacy, Dreams, Memories, Meditations, Experiments, Risks, Listening to the Music of Language, Seeing the Poem on the Page, The Immediacy of the local-particular-specific, Myth, Magic, Kaleidoscopic vison, Faith in the writing process, Synchronicities, Magic, Wonder, Patience, Commitment

Writing

Imagination, Imagery, Sound, Rhythm, Dialog, Action, Patterns, Genres, Voice

Spiritual

Insight

Paradoxes, ambiguities, Awareness of synchronicities, Imagination, Leaps, Being the Aeolian Harp, Humor, Spontaneity, Archetypes

_____

UNIVERSAL

Spiritual

Silence

The Universal, Awe

____________________________________________________________________

            

            As we can see, I start on the EXTERNAL level, with concerns about others’ anticipated responses.  At this stage, I am silent, procrastinating, facing a blank screen or page (or avoiding it altogether). I rely on stale ideas, conventional imagery, and clichés.  Since all these concerns are social and external, I have no authentic investment in the work.  If I can produce anything, I will soon abandon it as unimportant.

            We will consider THE PORTAL in greater depth, in another post.  For now, we see, in the physical practices, the many ways the writers and other in-depth artists leave behind the world of dull repetition and been-there writing to and their vast internal resources. The INTERNAL, Risk-Taking level is a process of returning to the place of humanity—our bodies and the physical world; imagination and wonder.

            What happens in THE UNIVERSAL level is that, having created a new way of engaging with our inner and outer world, we are left with the experience of merging with all that there is.  The silence we experience at this level may seem like the crab returning to the same place—but it is a place never touched before.

             The Fiddler Crab endlessly looping around our introductory Moebius Strip is an apt metaphor for the creative process—for, truly, creativity, by nature, is “fiddling around.”  And as all crabs do, the Fiddler moves sideways—creativity often happens not by moving ahead in a conventional linear pattern, but by moving sideways, in unexpected directions.  What makes a beginning writer different from a seasoned writer? The seasoned writer will move more quickly through the process, and trust it. And, if by talent, perseverance, or luck, the writer might even enter the next dimension, one that, using the Moebius Strip as metaphor, would be one in which the sides are turned upward to create the Klein Bottle. 

           

   
                          

The Klein Bottle, much like the Caterpillar’s hookah, in Alice in Wonderland, is a source of inspiration, and another level of creative dragons to challenge us—a topic for another post. 

            Which level do you frequent in the creative process?  How do you find and enter The Portal?

Works Cited:

Cover Art: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Fiddler_crab_mobius_strip.gif

End Art: http://imergint.org/klein-bottle-acoustics/

Flintstoning: Where Does It Start?

            Fred Flintstone dives into his car and spins his pins—the car lurches back—and only then is he on his Ya Ba Da Ba Doo way.  While he is in his car revving up his engine—himself—he’s getting nowhere.  And before he can move forward, he must recoil, like a cat, to get the purchase he needs to catapult forward.

            This is also true of any piece of writing in process.  We Ha Ya Cato (see “Chew Upon This) into the screen or page that is the vehicle for our thoughts.  Then we spin our pins—vroom vroom from our everyday banal lives into the promise and adventure of writing. We recoil from the task ahead, entertain doubts, try this and that.  Then the magic happens—we are anchored in some image or new idea—and we launch into our journey of discovery.

            Too often, though—all that spinning of the proverbial wheels—is left in.  And that’s sad, because we can lose our readers.  At best, our ideas will be diluted.  To use another metaphor, builders and window washers erect scaffolding to do their work.  They remove that scaffolding before they consider the work.  So much of an expected thing this is, that, as artists do, the architects of the Centre George Pompidou in Paris designed a building to celebrate scaffolding:

                     

            In my writing workshops, one of the first questions we ask of a draft is “Where does it start?”  What we are looking for is that moment when the piece of writing catapults.  Let’s look at some examples:

                        The tragedy of Timon of Athens has many of the human conditions

            we find in our every day lives. Things like greed, generosity, vengeance,

            loyalty, betrayal are some of the features and emotions found in this

            Shakespearean play…

This paper continues in this vein, summarizing, listing, spinning a variety of ideas around for 2-1/2 pages and then we read this:

                        In Timon of Athens, Timon the profligate and Flavius the parsimonious

seem to be opposed personalities—one giving too much and the other holding back.

But, on delving more deeply into the text, we can see they are the same.

That’s where the paper starts—it has landed the helicopter (see Landing the Helicopter) and offered the reader a clear focus.  We know that from hereon in, we will learn something new and unexpected.

            Here’s a poem addressed to my husband.  Where does it start?

                        My father was a difficult man.

                        He was a homophobic, racist anti-Semite.             

                        He even denied that the Holocaust happened.

                        He cared more for his ideas, that he did for me.

                        My father wouldn’t lead me down the aisle—

                        you are Jew, and hadn’t asked him—

                        clinking cognac glasses for my hand…

            As you write, whether it be poems, essays, memoirs, plays, or any other form, identify that moment when the piece leaps forward.  And then be very brave—cross out that first Flintstoning line, paragraph, or ten pages.  Otherwise, in this day of Instagram and Tweets, you will lose your readers—and if it’s a teacher, your hope for a promising grade. 

More importantly, don’t clutter your mind—don’t blur your ideas with mere scaffolding and revving up.  Starting your work where it starts will inspire you to write in greater depth and length.

            And when you read, don’t tolerate Flintstoning, either—scan down the page and look for that moment of take-off.  Then read from there.  And if it doesn’t come, then the writer has not finished her/his process. In another post, we will consider the question of “Where does it end?”

Offer us an example of your own Flintstoning and where your piece actually started.

"Chew Upon This": Digesting Your Quotes

                           

                       

Ever watch people who, as the expression goes, “inhale their food”?  They ram in the forkful, let’s say, of mac-and-cheese, and swallow it all in one big gulp.  Often, there are sound effects—glub, ugh, doink. Their plate is clean and they’re pushing back from the table by the time the tips of your tines tickle your lips. These folks get indigestion, bloated bellies, and constipation. They overeat and are still malnourished, as they never enjoy the pleasure of savoring a morsel. They don’t do what you need to do—chew, mash, lubricate the food in your mouth.

            Similarly, I can tell without reading a word when a paper is bloated and, as it were, constipated.  Long quotes pad the paper.  The short paragraphs that follow have no quote marks to indicate detailed reference to the larger quote.  These papers are mere annotative summaries that don’t honestly reach the page requirements which all students insist on requesting. The problem is that the quotes, of whatever length, are undigested.

            Here is an example from student Danielle’s paper on Shakespeare’s Timon of Athens that does digest its quote. This excerpt starts with these words of the character Apemantus addressing Ladies dressed as Amazons at a costume party:

            They dance? They are madwomen.

            Like madness is the glory of this life

            …

            With poisonous spite and envy.

            Who lives that’s not depraved or depraves? (1.2.132-139)

             First, notice that Danielle does not—and, again, I’m trading on a cliché, “bite off more than she can chew.”  Instead of quoting all seven lines of the portion which she is considering, she places an ellipsis (…) where she has left out three lines.  She has cut a portion of her tofu steak that’s easily chewed.  As writers, it is our responsibility—and dare I use a hyperbole—our glory, to decide for our readers what’s important to consider. 

            Danielle follows her quote with these remarks:

            Notice that Timon says words like “poisonous,” “spite,” and “envy”—these are violent words that characterize the women as vile and dangerous.  He also uses “deprave” and “mad” in two separate contexts.  The word “deprave” derives from “perverse” and “crooked,” speaking about the women as if they were prostitutes.  “Madwomen” and “madness” question literally, their sanity—the cleanliness of their bodies and minds. Apemantus’s word choices all speak to his abrasive personality and his focus on all that is wrong with mankind.  Since these words are insulting, it shows the reader how Apemantus has little concern for others’ feelings when speaking to them.

Even here, I’m not quoting all of Danielle’s paper and commenting “Danielle digests her quotes” and then leaving it up to you to figure out how she does it and how you might emulate her.  I have already pointed out that she limits her quote—partially digests the play for us—to help us to better savor (yes, I’m usually a gustatory word) it.  I’m adding that Danielle contextualizes the quote by telling us several things: who is speaking, Apemantus; who Apemantus is addressing, the Ladies dressed as Amazons; and where Apemantus is speaking, “the costume party.” Danielle also quotes small portions of the quote, and offers us interpretations of the words and how they apply to her point of view on the scene.  In this paragraph, I am also illustrating how to digest quotes.

To recap, this is how to digest quotes:

(1)   Carefully select your quote

(2)   Limit the size of your quote, using ellipses where necessary

(3)   Contextualize the quote and its place in the larger text, including relevant character,

place, and story

(4)   Properly format the quote with line-endings for poetry, preferably indented for easy

reference

(5)    Explicate the quote using a variety close-reading strategies, such as binary

opposition, content analysis, diction, etymology, sound, rhythm, allusions, critical

approach, critical articles

(6)   Quote small portions of the quotation to illustrate your interpretation

Now that I have illustrated and detailed—digested—the process, discern how student Kathy employs these strategies as she compares Biblical Job to Timon of Athens. Kathy has just detailed her interpretation of Biblical Job’s humility, in order to contrast it with Timon’s ambition:

            …When one of Timon’s friends, Ventidius, is imprisoned for a debt, Timon is quick

            to pay it for him by saying,

                        My friend when he must need me

                        …

                        I’ll pay the debt and free him. (1.1.107-109)

             …Timon shows his ambition by making his charitable work all about himself.

            He does this through his use of the words, “My,” “me,” “I’ll”…to make himself

            look and feel dominant.

            To not digest your quotes for your reader is like stuffing them with a bowl of mac-and-cheese or then pouring a bottle of Mountain Dew down their throats.  At best, what you are saying is “Here!  You go back and figure it out!”  That’s not exactly courteous or user friendly to your prospective readers who want to be nourished by your wisdom, who want to relish, as in this case, our great literary masterpieces. And, I know, I know—I just asked you to digest Kathy’s excerpt, but that’s very different.  I’m asking you to digest it, not posturing that I already have.

            And now, as Brutus puts it to Cassius in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar,

                                 “Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this…”

Works Cited:

Cover Art: www.kalw.org

Stealth, Override, Ambush, Surprise: Write Now

            In The Pink Panther movies, Inspector Clouseau arrives home from his sleuthing to guerilla attacks by his assistant—Cato.  Cato leaps out of the refrigerator and goes for Clouseau’s throat.  Or Clouseau might be closing his eyes to sleep.  Attack!  Cato pounces on the dark bed—to choke Clouseau.  Clouseau pushes him off, and, having worn his karate karategi with a black belt for pajamas, grapples with Cato—blow for blow, leaping across tables, crashing through windows, upending a cabinet filled with dishes until the phone rings.  Each time, it’s Commissioner Dreyfus.  Cato, as butler, peacefully answers the phone and hands it to Clouseau.  Dreyfus, invariably tells Clouseau that he’s back on some case and must come immediately—effectively stopping the bout.

            So why am I writing about The Pink Panther in a blog about writing and learning?  Because, too often, we need to shake ourselves out of habits of resistance. Like most everyone, in order to maintain my integrity and individuality, I have had to resist parents, bosses, toxic people, teachers, media—anyone or anything with an agenda. What I practice is what I learn is what I practice. Once the honeymoon period with writing ended for me—as much with larger concerns such as choosing it as a career, as with the smaller choices of individual writing projects—I started to resist it.  After all, resist is what I did in other aspects of my life.

            I committed to disciplines that suited my habits of resistance—making unreasonable demands on myself:  too many projects to be done in too little time with overambitious requirements for quality, pressures to publish, and no room for enjoying the process.  This would provide me with ample opportunities to practice my habits of resistance—procrastination, resentment, indecision, and addictions to television, overeating, shopping and distracting people with whom to grapple. I had to learn healthy ways to circumvent my habits of resistance to get to the beloved page.  I thought about the nature of inspiration, and realized that at its core, inspiration is about surprise.  Inspiration is about Cato!

            So, I take myself by surprise—I am the Cato to my resistant Clouseau—the inspector who navigates the world; has to respond to his boss, Dreyfus; who is embroiled with toxic people and the unknown; who is constantly in the way of other people’s problems and agendas.

Faithful Cato shows up for me.  As for example, with this post.  I hadn’t committed to a topic for my weekly post.  So, I ambushed my resistance and sat down to the computer, anyhow—without a plan other than to arrive.  And, faithful Cato was there to energize me—What just happened? Where am I? What am I going to do?  That got my adrenaline going.  With Cato at the ready, I knew I couldn’t escape unless I performed. Cato goes for my throat, each time, squeezes out the blocks, and then comes the inspiration—the breaking up of old shut doors and window; the shattering of old ways of thinking and being.  I decided to write about the element of surprise in initiating the writing process.

            These days, I don’t wait for either inspiration or “the right time” to write. If my husband is dallying when I want to get out for our walk, I sit down to my computer and start a poem.  It’s amazing how much I can accomplish in the five minutes it takes him to change his socks and retie his shoes.  If I feel I’m standing on the supermarket line behind an insistent customer with a credit card that doesn’t take, I text myself some ideas.  I trust that writing itself will create its own inspiration—because it always does.

           

            Prolific poet Anne Sexton once said that the only discipline is to write when the inspiration comes.  So, when I am inspired, I Cato myself—get off the highway and wiggle into a space in a parking lot.  Stealth! Over-ride! Ambush! Surprise!  I Write Now!

           

            Of course, what we do in our lives will determine how we are as writers.  The more I name and detach myself from those activities and people that encourage habits of resistance, the more creative and inspired and in-the-moment I am.  Name what and who makes you practice resistance.  Defang those enemies in your life. Change your habits to make way for creativity.

           

And then be creative.  Ask yourself, “How can I take myself by surprise?  In what unexpected ways can Cato intervene when I’m running a Clouseau day?  How can I stop practicing resistance to practice inspiration, instead?

Just before Clouseau leaves to return to the precinct, he always turns to Cato to compliment him: “Very good workout today!  Every day you’re getting better.” Your inner Cato is lurking in wait for you. Hiya!

Work Cited

The Pink Panther