I went to Word Vancouver yesterday and felt on the outside. I watched Arcade Fire on Saturday Night Live and felt on the outside. I read a book and felt on the outside. If you’re an artist (for example, consistently producing art), do you feel on the inside? Do you think you would also like to sell books at a booth to people not really buying them? Do you understand why Arcade Fire members have painted black over their eyes and are dancing so seriously yet so silly? And do you read a book and think, I could do this?
Because I’ve lost the artist in me for a little while now. And going to literary things and watching and reading art don’t help. I am in some real world place and even writing a blog post about it seems futile. I should be working. I should be doing something more real! And I forget that what I valued but one month ago is the importance of art and the importance of me doing it.
That is what it means to write one hour a day. You let art edge itself into your day because eventually, if you wait long enough, days turn into life. So maybe I do something a little more realistic, somewhere between the life of the teacher and the artist. I write for fifteen minutes a day. And then I let the minutes take over until eventually it seems odd I wasn’t writing as a living.