a friend of mine is travelling The Artist’s Way.  it’s beautiful to see her blossoming as she takes this path, and every time she mentions the progress she is making, it warms my heart.  from what i’ve read, the path wouldn’t suit me, but there are aspects of it that have caught my attention.  specifically, the morning pages.  whilst looking for a little more information on The Morning pages, i stumbled across  the fact that there is a follow up to The Artist’s Way, called The Right To Write.  interesting and, on the surface, at least, much more up my alley.  but the morning pages.  the morning pages.  oh, these interest me a very great deal.  one of my little quirks is a fetish for stationery.  all stationery.  even a packet of cheap-ass ballpoint pens, half of which don’t work and the other half get ink everywhere and when you write with them they scratch the paper in an unpleasant manner, even they can give me a small thrill under the right circumstances.  so the thought of a daily activity where one gets to write longhand about any old nonsense (but that is not exactly journalling, since i lead a terribly dull life), is deeply attractive.

but.  but but but.  i suck at mornings,  dragging myself out of bed and on to the bus to work occupies me almost beyond my capabilities most weekdays. at weekends, i revel in the fact that i do not have to get up if i don’t want to.  i find relief in the fact that i get to be a total zombie should i need it. (and it increasingly surprises me how much i need it – i’m beginning to wonder if i should see a doctor, or maybe just buy a new mattess).  i absolutely do not have the spoons for morning pages. But afternoon pages?  evening pages?  maybe.  even then, i think it would quickly wane and become a chore, which would stop it faster than anything else i can think of.  it’s something that may enhance my life, rather than being necessary to my mental and/or physical health (which is the only reason i was able to give up smoking – it was that or lose my teeth). so: how about when-i-have-the-spoons pages? spur-of-the-moment pages?  this sounds more attractive to me; something i can do when i feel the need; a semi-regular no-pressure writing activity in which it genuinely doesn’t matter what you write.  and not in a fancy notebook, either, but in some cheap-ass ones i got from a cheap-ish stationery shop.  also, i have recently resurrected my dad’s old fountain pen which gives me deep pleasure to use.  and i like the idea of a slightly shabby and ordinary-looking exterior concealing my brainjunk.  kinda like me in book form.  and seriously, there will be no pressure to fill up an object of lust and beauty with profound and earth-shattering insights.  the thoughts and creativity can just come as they will which, after all is (i believe) the idea.

i realise to do this properly and to get the full benefit, i ought to buy the book and really read what the author has to say about the morrning pages (and the artist’s date, too), but i think i’ll stick to this for now – the idea suits me and is low-pressure by design.  i know myself better these days, and i know that if i feel pressure to do something that i do not necessarily have to do, then i am far less likely to do it than if it seemed to me to be more a case of “well, whatever – only if you really want to”, spur-of-the-moment.

and i have plausible deniability, since i still deeply fear The Fraud Police.