deleting, starting over, deleting...

[Black13]

The roulette wheel is the only sure thing to bet on; so long as you're sure your in a family establishment, you can bet the lowest at the table and quit when you're ahead. Once.

And that is why roulette is lame.

 

[hmmnmm]

As a musician that never plans to make a dime off of his passion, I have been in exactly that situation. You write something and think it's the best thing in the world, but by the time you're done you're sick of it and have had ample time to contemplate the flaws of your masterpiece. As you review it in your mind for a while, one day it dawns on you: "What the fuck was I thinking?" You are embarrassed and you want to distance yourself from that shlock. The only way to banish it from your conscience is to physically get rid of it. Done that a few times myself, but I have since stopped.
Why? Would you ever throw out your baby pictures? Or the footage of your 5th birthday where you hid frightened under the tree every time a plane flew by (yes, I did)? Or that horrible show choir you were in in high school? Not at all! This is your life, this is how you got here. You know why you think your old work sucks? Cause you've gotten better. Each thing you make teaches you how to make it better. These are your baby pictures... might not want the whole world to see them, but a few good people might appreciate them.

Hey this is great. I'm thinking it correlates with what became clearer a few days ago. I think it might be boiled down to: relaxing more, being ok with seeing what you're working on as a rough draft or sketch, so that loosens things up a bit more to throw down whatever comes to mind and resist that impulse to retreat because it looks and smells more than a little unpleasant - because it's only in the early stages.

Well I wasn't sure about it so I decided to try it just to see, because it was hard to see how things could be much worse. However, the ah-ha came just a few days before we were to go out of town, so I didn't have much time to practice/work with it. So we got back and I went to see how what I'd started on looked after being absent from it a few days. First reaction was one big Yuck. A little downcast because the excitement had risen very high. But that's nothing new. But then as I began to walk back to the kitchen to try and figure out what to do, I remembered: wait a minute. That was the first rough sketchy draft. I think I began a second. Came back and checked it out. Ah! Better. Much better. Not there yet. Still plenty to go. But I could see really clear the difference.

So I'm thinking each poem or story, or any work, could be thought of in a similar light as what you described about a person. Maybe it boils down to an appreciation for the rewrite. And I wonder if someone (myself for instance) can develop a bad habit of sending the works out into the world before they're ready. Forget that just because they begin to develop features of adulthood, they're really still very adolescent.

Maybe. ?

 

[hmmnmm]

Another little flash of insight excitement happened at the out-of-town destination because it was like a confirmation of that blessed ah-ha.

We were there last year when their main season was at its height. Streets were so dense with people and lights and music and smells.... especially in the night. But we got there this time and the season hadn't kicked in yet, but beginning to get ready for it. The difference was stark. Almost eerily so. Took several double-takes: this is where we waited for.... that's where we had a couple beers? Ohhh, yeah now I recognize it... sort of. And our room overlooked some of the streets that last year were so busy and now were so empty: that street? That's the one that took so long to walk because of all the people? And the buildings that lined those streets were so simple and quiet. But they're used every year. Same buildings. Same simple buildings. See them now: blah. Walk by them: blah. Oh but add people, lights, music, sounds, smells.... but without those simple, quiet, reusable buildings, the people and activity and lights and music don't have anyplace to go.

So that's something I'm chewing on and will be chewing on for a long time and hope to see where it can apply, and then really experiment with applying, just to see how things turn out.

 

[Black13]

Hey this is great. I'm thinking it correlates with what became clearer a few days ago. I think it might be boiled down to: relaxing more, being ok with seeing what you're working on as a rough draft or sketch, so that loosens things up a bit more to throw down whatever comes to mind and resist that impulse to retreat because it looks and smells more than a little unpleasant - because it's only in the early stages.

Well I wasn't sure about it so I decided to try it just to see, because it was hard to see how things could be much worse. However, the ah-ha came just a few days before we were to go out of town, so I didn't have much time to practice/work with it. So we got back and I went to see how what I'd started on looked after being absent from it a few days. First reaction was one big Yuck. A little downcast because the excitement had risen very high. But that's nothing new. But then as I began to walk back to the kitchen to try and figure out what to do, I remembered: wait a minute. That was the first rough sketchy draft. I think I began a second. Came back and checked it out. Ah! Better. Much better. Not there yet. Still plenty to go. But I could see really clear the difference.

So I'm thinking each poem or story, or any work, could be thought of in a similar light as what you described about a person. Maybe it boils down to an appreciation for the rewrite. And I wonder if someone (myself for instance) can develop a bad habit of sending the works out into the world before they're ready. Forget that just because they begin to develop features of adulthood, they're really still very adolescent.

Maybe. ?

I try not to rewrite too much. I'll give an idea one or two good thorough revisions as need. If I'm not satisfied at the end of the second one, the idea goes in the "pile." I have a collection of failed, incomplete, or kind of embarassing ideas that sit in a pile of shuffled up staff paper in the corner of my room. Gone, but not forgotten. Every now and then I have an incomplete idea and I rummage through the bad idea stack and find something that works perfectly with it.

You'll have thousands of ideas. Of every ten, you'll understand one; of every ten of those, you'll write down one; of every ten you write down, you'll complete one; of every ten you complete, you'll love one. It's a freakin miracle to finish an endeavor, and if you at any point garnered satisfaction from it, there's a joy in the work that the world needs to experience, and someone out there will be able to relate to it. If you're happy with what it is at the moment that it's finished, send it out. If you wait, you will change and so will your mind, and then nothing gets out. If it comes back to haunt you, remember how good you felt about it when it was done.

With that, I'm gonna post some pictures of muh cack.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

And that is why roulette is lame.

One person's lame is another person's cab fare.

 

[Black13]

Or breakfast

 

[Tzara]

I have a collection of failed, incomplete, or kind of embarassing ideas that sit in a pile of shuffled up staff paper in the corner of my room.

I have mine on various hard drives. Every few years the drive crashes and poof I have a whole lot fewer bad poems to fret about anymore.

 

[bogusagain]

I have mine on various hard drives. Every few years the drive crashes and poof I have a whole lot fewer bad poems to fret about anymore.

I have so many half remembered good bits of bad poems I have lost, it's frustrating. Though I know I would have never got round to doing anything with them, it's still frustrating. A bit like an ex-girl friend. You know there are plenty of reasons why she's an ex-girlfriend but the thought of revisiting the scene of the crime is always foolishly enticing.

 

[Tzara]

I have so many half remembered good bits of bad poems I have lost, it's frustrating. Though I know I would have never got round to doing anything with them, it's still frustrating. A bit like an ex-girl friend. You know there are plenty of reasons why she's an ex-girlfriend but the thought of revisiting the scene of the crime is always foolishly enticing.

I've lost a few poems that I'd kind of like to read again, but I suspect that in not being able to read them my memory kind of polishes up how good they were. Rather like your analogy--I have to remind myself that the girl I remember was 19 at the time and is nearly 60 now. Not to say she isn't still attractive, but she's no longer the person I remember.

Nor, for that matter, am I.