Tyler Weaver's Blog, page 13

Misplaced Confidence / Endo-bound

Working to mentally shift my text+sharing to this morning post, as opposed to throughout the day (dog pictures and other stuff will continue as is). Things like yesterday’s “Though I always say that I can���t tell if a writing day was a good one until the next, I���m reasonably confident that this morning���s work will pass muster” would’ve been better had I waited until this morning to add “and yet, my confidence was misplaced.”

As spring and summer shift into gear and my time becomes more devoted to the needs of others, I have to keep reminding myself that I wrote my first book on a tight deadline, delivering 300 pages in five months, writing two hours every morning (I was, and I do, think about The Work at hand every waking hour of my 18-hour waking day; the actual writing time being the processing time for those accumulated day thoughts); the second book, of just under thirty pages, took me a year, as I attempted to add more writing time and, in so doing be “more productive.”

Lesson: fuck productivity.

Six-month endocrinologist appointment today. A long drive up there, catch up on some pods. Hopeful of this news that the next Apple Watch will add blood glucose monitoring, that unicorn of the last several years, though I’m not clear how they’ll pull it off (it has to be subcutaneous, no?) and/or if it will be a better option than the Freestyle Libre, my current implantable bluetooth device.

P.S. Don’t waste your time on WITHOUT REMORSE: it’s a disappointment, made even more so by what should have been a perfect combo of Jordan’s acting talents and Taylor Sheridan’s scriptwriting pedigree.

Proof of Existence, 26apr-01may2021

A Kirby snores at my feet and these are the week’s spaces of existence.

On DEADWOOD: THE MOVIE (Spoilers, probably), 26apr2021.

RED DESERT / CP1 Paces / Time, 27apr2021.

THE SOCIALIZED RECLUSE, Ep0004 - Wallace Stroby, 28apr2021.

The Day After, Podmonth Edition, 29apr2021.

Rebuilding, Ad Infinitum, 30apr2021.

Wrist-Cyborg Returneth (and Other Adventures), 01may2021.

See you tomorrow.

Wrist-Cyborg Returneth (and Other Adventures)

For a bit, for a spell, forever, IDK. Handy with puppy reminders (FEED), timers (WORKDAMNYOU), and using Drafts on the day’s run so I don’t destroy another memo book in the space of a mile and a half. A slight reduction in inboxes, combining already-extant Drafts box with the memo pad. Ordered a tactical wristband/case for added puppy-teeth protection and not having to change the band from running to life and accidentally dialing 911 again.

The Jorkie and The Kirby are on their morning steeple chase. And so begins the day.

Rebuilding, Ad Inifinitum

Thinking this morning of my time in music school, particularly of when and why I left. The why is simple: I realized that I made a mistake in path - though it got me to the point of realizing my actual (apparently) path, so I suppose it wasn’t a mistake so much as a costly fork in the road, a path decided upon by a fortuitous intersection of need to escape and momentary talent ��� a talent enough to get me to that next step, though two steps below the landing.

The when:

It was with that landing in sight - but with no way of reaching it, let alone the top of the stairs - that I left, broken down, an open wound - as is the wont of institutional creative educations - with rebuilding a distant pipe dream: my process of rebuilding being to leave, to rebuild myself how I saw fit, with whatever Jekyll and Hyde healing concoctions I could scrounge together, towards a new creative identity.

Because that is, for me - and for better or for worse -, my identity.

And I suppose that that’s what I’m doing still, day in, day out, a decade and a half on, spackling the cracks but leaving - on the good days - just enough space for, as Mr. Cohen would say, the light to get in.

RED DESERT / CP1 Paces / Time

Took almost two months - not a knock on the quality at all, but on my time - but I finished Antonioni’s RED DESERT last night and, while my Criterion Channel- infused Antonioni devotion is nowhere near Bergman levels, I do love his work. Think I prefer LA NOTTE to RED DESERT (both featuring superb performances from Monica Vitti), but I can’t help but admire the artistry of the latter, Antonioni’s use of color in his first color film reminding me of Fritz Lang’s use of sound in his first talkie, M.

New and beloved Lamy CP1 performed admirably in its first morning of full-tilt use. Nib-switch working like a dream. Hand still has to get used to the thinner size of the pen, but the weight and balance are perfect.

Timeblocking modifications continue: recognizing that writing these Informalities is writing - just as my journal writing is before the Main Work: bookends to the writing morning. Begin by hand, end in type.

No Informality tomorrow as the fourth episode of THE SOCIALIZED RECLUSE, featuring my conversation with HEAVEN’S A LIE author Wallace Stroby, arrives. THE GROUND LOOP returns next Wednesday. Time to read.

On DEADWOOD: THE MOVIE (Spoilers, probably)

Finally decided it was time to say goodbye to the denizens of DEADWOOD, nearly six months after finishing season three. Aside from the lamentable absences of Richardson and Cy (thanks, Death), of Jack Langrishe and his troupe, and of Silas Adams (thanks, BOSCH); the ten in-story years since we last saw Bullock, et. al, being - according to the aging makeup - nothing if not rough; and the lack of resolute, on-screen justice against George Hearst’s evil - DEADWOOD: THE MOVIE made for a worthwhile and perfectly serviceable return and farewell, a fitting - if occasionally frustrating - coda to a symphony stopped too soon.

Was it as revelatory as the series itself, particularly the first two seasons? Not in the slightest. Were the right chords struck, the right callbacks called? Save for a noteable lack of “cocksucker” (the last line would have been a perfect place to include it) and the lack of Richardson’s antlers (see above), certainly. Did the injustice of the show’s early cancellation impact not only the storytelling - the pace, the threads left hanging - of the film, saddling it with an undue burden, but of its legacy as a whole? Undoubtedly.

Will I nevertheless miss the world and its inhabitants terribly? Most definitely.

Modifying Time(blocks)

While I don’t always agree with what Cal Newport thinks - for instance, I take issue with his assertion that literary fiction authors can spend all day in deep work when, in my experience as an actual practitioner of an approximation thereof, I can report that that is rarely the case (a dream, certainly, but not a reality), as well as his use of the term “winners” - I admire how and that he thinks.

I’ve also found his timeblocking method useful, particularly for the addition of intention throughout the day - especially in my afternoons of the nebulous drift. But, in applying these ideas to my day, I’ve also modified them to suit me a bit better: not necessarily “deep” and “shallow” work, but “solitary” and “open” work.

Blocks for my timed bits of solitude - writing, reading, running, yoga / meditation (yes, I’ve returned; I didn’t like how quick my temper became without it; I require daily training in pausing and space) - and lines for the open times, those times when I’m doing things for or with others - yardcare, housework, admin; I need my walls in the times of solitude, be it bookcases and the darkness of pre-dawn, or vast open swaths of me, myself, and I - but my open times are intentionally that.

The day, being then, the optimal interaction between intentional closed and open times, inhales and exhales - or something like that.

Of Deadlines and the Saving Grace of Puppy Puzzle Toys

Mostly peaceful morning with the new feeding routine, mostly; not without hiccups (literally and figuratively). But it’s better than it has been and I can exhale again when I make my way to my office, a puzzle play toy filled with Kirby food in tow, an expectant puppy likewise, ready to eat and sleep and shit (outside, click) and whatever other puppy things happen as they are wont to do.

And then I write; I will be thanking these puzzle toys in any and all acknowledgement sections.

Thinking also of deadlines this morning - not, necessarily looming ones, but of their import: While they help me wrangle the brain chatter, they also seem to help otherwise uninitiated family members respect the boundaries of work time, the necessity of getting the job done. They add a needed corporeality to the otherwise nebulous and yet completely concrete and existential nature - to the outsiders - of the creative process.

Returning to the Depths, Mostly

Though my perturbation over the four inches of April snow and cold is undeniable, I can’t deny my gratitude for it: it was the only chance I’d have to take a photo of Kirby as a puppy in the snow.

This morning: a joyous return to the Book, to the rhythm to the day in the process of rediscovery and implementation. Shock of shocks: feed the hungry puppy first, then write; reap the benefits, repeat - hopefully.

Taking one of my periodic pauses in my 20+-year meditation practice �����whether it lasts for a day or forever, I don’t know and I don’t particularly care: at present, I’m capable of hearing what’s going on inside my head quite well, thank you very much, and I don’t need to hear more of it, more of the same (shit, different day), at least until it tells me something new. Preferring to write in my journal more often and to take small moments to catch myself throughout the day, bringing myself back to the middle of the braingauge.

Had a go at writing this while I toiled at the Book (thank you, I suppose, cheap Logitech keyboard with bluetooth switch wheel), something to do while I think of the unwritten. But it’s better to be alone with the unwritten; back and forth is one step too far into the drift. Will stick with writing elements/scraps of these either by hand in journal or on legal pad while doing The Work but not drafting on another screen. That remains for this post-breakfast, pre-run interregnum.

Kirby’s currently chasing his tail; the day awaits.

Listening: DRIFT 2 and DRIFT 3, by Hailen Jackson.

Outgrown Collars / Focus

Kirby has outgrown his first collar; tried Marley���s (RIP, buddy) collar, but it was too large, yet. Into land of medium we go.

Worked not on Book work but on prep for tonight’s TSR interview this morning and it bothers me, somewhat, that I’m able to deeply focus on the prep work but not on the novella. Think it’s because non-fic, or at least deadline-based non-fiction, is much easier for me than fiction and the mind, it likes the easy stuff in automatic mode. I prefer deliberate - where fiction and longer form writing resides - but the occasional break to automatic is nice. Should probably try to incorporate this balance a bit more. Rest days v. active days in a yoga practice, only applied to The Work.

April’s newsletter mostly drafted. Releasing Sunday.

Had to update TSR page link because I wrote the slug wrong and then recorded the wrong slug in Ep0003’s intro and outro. Re-recording this afternoon; good soundcheck for 0004’s interview tonight.

Feelings of being behind the times of the times but whatever; time’s always moving so to hell with it.