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  • Keyboard Reps

    Creativity is kind of a muscle. 

    I drove the kid to the community recreation centre this evening and, if only because I pulled a muscle in my back and need to rest it, I brought my computer instead of my own gym gear.

    Usually I come to this building to literally work out my body. I run on the track or do some cycling training on the bike, or do a few sets on the weight machines. I’m not claiming to be a gym nut of any kind, but I do a lot of thinking (and even writing) about the work it takes to keep your body—lungs, heart, muscles, and all of it—in shape.

    Tonight, I’m sitting here with my computer doing some writing.

    I just dropped another five hundred words into my work-in-progress novel.

    Now I’m writing this little ditty. 

    I’m working out my creativity tonight, doing reps on the keyboard, which is arguably an important part of keeping that kind-of but-not-really a muscle in shape.

    I won’t claim to be breaking much of a sweat, but it’s hard work and dedication just the same.

  • Slow Down Cowboy

    I spent nearly three hours this morning working on recording audio for my project and the end result of all that work is what probably amounts to only about three minutes of usable audio.

    Let me back up.

    I am working on a new novel, and a side-project part of that effort has me attempting to translate it from the written word stuck inside a word processor on my computer into an audiobook-style production with some bespoke tunes and sound effects.

    I have a solid microphone setup with a pre-amp, hardware digital recorder, digital synths, effects pedals and wires going in twelve different directions.

    But it turns out after all the work I did to write a story and set up a technology jungle to set my voice into sound waves in file on my hard drive, what I needed most was practice reading at a practiced pace suitable for storytelling.

    Who would have thought, huh?

    When I figured out how to read slowly, enunciating each word, the results were oh so much better.

  • Drive-by Storytelling

    My kid, who is technically an adult studying theatre and literature at University, was chatting over the weekend about story design.

    “I don’t ever know when to start a story.” She said. “Like, do you write from the beginning or jump into the action, or—”

    Look, I’m no expert but I can tell you that such things are a combination a lot of other things: two of the big ones being personal style and confidence in the reader.

    I write my stories in a way that I usually think of as drive by storytelling.

    The reader doesn’t go to the story, listen to the whole tale, then drive away when it’s finished.

    Rather, they drive by: the story is happening and they hear a piece of it as they “drive by” and then keep going while the story keeps happening in the rearview mirror. 

    To clarify, I do focus on writing the important nuggets of the tale being told and not random, meaningless chunks.

    But by working in this model I tend to write in a way that focuses my personal style on having confidence that the reader will understand enough of what happened before they got there and enough of what will continue to go on after they pass by.

  • Musical Motif

    One of the ideas I have about my most recent writing project is that the end goal is not (merely) a novel.

    I want to make an audio story.

    Back as far a my university days I had it in my mind to try to make an audio drama in the style of H2G2 or Ruby.  

    I went about it completely backwards, of course, trying to improv a script while learning all the audio tools. I would get five minutes of groovy sound effects wrapped around a nothing script and then quit because I had never done any planning. I was using borrowed sounds and music in free software I had very little knowledge of how to use and making up a science fiction story on the fly. It was a recipe to accomplish nothing—except maybe learn from my mistakes.

    So I’ve been working on a story first.

    But also…

    In the last couple years I have built on the knowledge I had around music theory and audio software and have started to learn the basics of music production. I have been acquiring the tools—mics, synths, mixers, recorders, and recently an effects pedal—to produce my own soundscapes. 

    And? This week I actually wrote a song. Well… actually the technical term is called a leitmotif. It is the basic building block of a recurring musical theme tied to a character, place, group, or whatever. And… I wrote one.

  • Dabbling

    The risk when taking on any new project is that it might all too quickly become another notch on one’s chalkboard of failed projects. The risk of dabbling is that often, ultimately, boredom sets in and you find yourself moving on to something else new.

    If being a dabbler bothers you, how does one stop dabbling and start honing and refining—especially if one is inclined to be more of a dabbler than a deep diver?

    I admit, I am a bit of a shiny object guy when it comes to my hobbies. I see something new and interesting and yeah, admittedly I often do dive deeply into it for a while—that is, usually, until I’ve learned enough about said shiny object that learning about it becomes less interesting than it was at the beginning. And then often, said shiny object goes on the shelf, forgotten.

    Dabbling done… next.

    To fight through and beyond the honeymoon period for any new project my personal tactic has generally been to use goals or public accountability or external commitments. It’s neither complex nor especially obscure. Signing up for a language class for group accountability… or telling everyone you meet your running goal race… or planning a trip to sketch in another country. All are examples of great counter-dabbling tools.

    These sorts of external motivators create a kind of reward system to overcome the raw dopamine drop when the innate rewards of dabbling fade. 

    Or… just don’t do any of that. Dabbling in countless interesting hobbies to sample what life has to offer, well, that’s fine, too.