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Pressing

There are days when the words don't come easy. 

 

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Mixed Messages / Reflections Day 13

 

September 9

 

Almost a third of the month is gone. Where did it go? We've already burned nearly two weeks, and are not making enough progress, wasting time we can't get back. In a rare breakdown of discipline, I skipped my morning routine. By midday, I will do all that I missed to make up for my blunder. 

 

I'm pressing. I can feel it. Pressing rarely works in the writing process. More often than not, it leads to the predictable, not free flow. It's the equivalent of trying too hard, forcing words onto the page, and insisting that the melodies match. The best writing usually involves stumbling on what's next -- it's emotional not analytical. Such serendipitous discoveries make the best music, which help us to remain alive. That's the whole point, isn't it? 

 

Pressing is related to tension. Some days I'm better at channeling the tension than others. 

 

Pressing is related to desiring a specific outcome. The outcome is supposed to be unknown, the music is supposed be the guide. 

 

Pressing is related to confusing the two parts of creation and trying to do both in unison. Critiquing in real time, while trying to keep an open mind. 

 

Pressing tries to race to the end, missing the joy along the path. 

 

Pressing says that there are more pressing issues to be concerned with, and that the entire project should be put down, and forgotten. 

 

Pressing is a form of fear, asking for an unlimited amount of reassurance, which it won't get.

 

The waves are strong this morning. I hope to be able to move with them by this evening.