If I really plan on writing effectively, say for an email or a song I want to write, the first thing I do is read a bit of a classic novel. Something about reading the work of expert wordsmiths and web weavers reminds me of how to communicate with depth of meaning and easy pacing. I didn't do that this morning (so don't expect a great read
); this morning I went to Starbucks to have some cold coffee & write the daily pages. Every morning I write 3 pages of whatever flows from the top of my head, an early exercise from the book The Artists Way. The point is to allow creative thought to flow from me without judging, freeing myself from the grim critic watching my every move.
Its 11am. I throw on a large blue Henly collar shirt, black fatigue pants, and flip flops. No shower. Unshaven. Out the door. Fuck the world. I live about 100m from Starbucks on Holywood & Western, and of course the cafe is overcrowded with hobos and tourists and writers. The three young highschool girls ahead of me in line steal glances at me while we're waiting which is a good sign, I didn't suddenly become too ugly to sport the "post-college slump" look. When I sit down to write I'm very much interested in doing my duty which is great. I've been too lazy for too long, letting my cowardice be mistaken for apathy or whatever else excuse allows me to continue acting in bad faith toward my abilities. I want to be a better writer so I write these pages in the morning as a due diligence. In the same way I must approach women...I must AT LEAST speak to them. I've been silent for too long and I no longer have anyone to blame. So for many reasons when I'm out I must approach women I'm attracted to as a due diligence.
Regardless I'm very busy spilling the acridly sweetened cold coffee all over my journal when a cutie walks in. Maybe 5'5 in a fashionable white shirt, white jeans rolled to a cuff above her ankles exposed over her black simple leather shoes. Long black hair. Raised nose. Soft eyes & lips. She looked Italian; she was obviously foreign. Too short to be a model, she must be an actress.
I'm sitting at a bar table where they hand out the drinks, she'll walk by eventually, and depending on how she acts I'll know what's up (or so I figure while I'm writing). I'm sitting on ice not really throwing any attention at her until she walks right by my table & stops while waiting for her drink. Now this for me is the point of great trial. I already knew what I was going to say ("Hey are you foreign/American?") and I knew that the conditions were good enough to approach, but a small vestige of fear crept into my view saying 'Oh that black girl in front of me will be pissed if I pick-up this white girl i front of her. She's already on some other shit it too late.' eventually my thoughts turned toward 'There is no "perfect scenario". this is plenty good & its fun. You'll like yourself for trying, failure doesn't hurt, remember?'
She turns as though looking out the window at 3 o'clock.
770: "Hey, are you American?" HB looks at me and gives a body signal I can't decipher, but I assume it to be yes. "Yes you are?"
HB: "No. I'm from Mexico." she says somewhat timidly, I can't tell if she was checking her appearance or simply wasn't ready for a conversation.
770: "Mexico.." a little surprised given her metropolitan dress. "Like Mexico City?" I couldn't hear her answer. Aside from the fact that I can't hear shit this morning I'm not nervous enough to show it, in fact her coy & preoccupied smile give me some confidence. "So you're an actress?"
HB: "Yeah but not really. I just started taking classes."
770: "Oh? I've been interested in those; I'm not an actor but I've heard through friends that they're very freeing, they allow you to express freely. Do you think they're freeing?" Mid way through my sentence her drink came up and her attention was split into three. She gave a genuine coy smile and gave some excuse about being in a hurry. I let her go and kept writing.
CHAT