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Tag: eyyyyyyyyyyy sexy brainys

What I Talk About When I Talk About Love

by secretsunday

I hate the letter ‘o’. It’s obnoxious. It’s fat and round. It’s awkward (noodle). But without it, there can be no love.

The subject of all our conversations, the pivotal element of Triple J overplayed pop songs, the silence on our lips, the word on our hips, as a writer you cannot not write about love.

Whatever your task at hand may be, a CV, a report, the last book to finishing a decalogy, it is the act of writing itself that is just fundamentally tender. It is bringing ideas into a tangible existence in a way that would give Dumbledore’s pensieve a run for its galleon. It is professional writing, where you dress your blubbering feelings into a suit and tie, presentable enough for your superior yet still professing that work is a duty that you care about. It is playing God, giving life to people, giving them jobs and then taking their clothes off at the end of the day. These are just some writing things among the many general things that you cannot achieve without love.

If people are your subject then writing is like sex. And just like that, I cannot tell you the one way to love while you write because there are many ways, many people, and far too many variables for love to become a science. But here’s some advice. Love that you are writing, it is your choices and actions that have led you to this moment. You are allowed to stop, but you have chosen to not stop. Love your audience, because you cannot write in a vacuum and even if you do they will tell you if you suck. Lastly love thyself, because sometimes writing just needs to be. And by be I mean you.

Why do I have this peculiar obsession with love? And why do I keep asking you what your love felt like. Because love to me, is the greatest feeling in the world. That when I go back to what it felt like, I get taken away to the top of a mountain that I’ve never been to before. That I feel so impossibly overwhelmed by the sights that I see and that which is hidden. Because I feel the sun is rising and setting at an incredible speed over Alph the river and those caverns measureless.

Even now as I try my hardest, it’s impossible to explain other than to think of a brand new day, and a brand new world starting afresh each morning that I awake. There is a giddiness to my knees, the exhilaration in my lungs and a feeling like my heart is about to burst. 


When to write

by MDY

You need only an instinctive understanding of Circadian rhythms. For the seasoned professional, these will override any other concerns, including peer pressure and the availability of caffeinated beverages. Waking up at 5am works best for me. Usually I will plan what I’m writing the night before, then put myself to bed early so that the ideas simmer and marinate in my brain like a slow-cooked pork shoulder. When I wake, they’re ready to be trimmed and arranged on the page, meaning I can usually serve them up by the time the sun peeks over the foliage-line of my back garden. My friends have trouble comprehending my sleeping habits, but they say the results are delicious.

Going for longer is only beneficial in certain circumstances. I rarely write uninterrupted for more than an hour. Ordinarily, I take a break every fifteen to thirty minutes during which I stretch my arms above my head, drink some water, and (if the sun’s up) eat some fruit, usually an apple. Although the brain is a muscle, writing is less like hypertrophy and more like kung fu. You don’t say “oh, he has a sexy brain, all big and synapsed up”; its attractiveness is judged solely on how effective it is at performing certain tasks, like making people beg for mercy. Marathon runners stop regularly to refuel and excise the waste products from their muscular tissue. Although elite sportspeople tend to prefer bananas, I like apples because of their clean, crispy texture. I like to intersperse long writing sessions with swimming for the same reason, followed by lunch which once in a while includes slow-cooked pork shoulder. When you write, you’re competing on quality of output, not endurance.

Multitasking makes everything take longer. When you write early in the morning, you face few of the distractions which the day brings: news bulletins, the sound of birds, other people. The same goes for late at night, but by that time my energy’s already been spent fending off hours of unwanted stimuli. The pain of pre-dawn sharpens the senses, salts the brain’s interior with a clarity that stings so much your only option is to excise it onto the page. The worst time for working is 11.30am on a Tuesday, especially if you’re perched at the water’s edge surrounded by business meetings and risotto topped off with slow-cooked pork shoulder. I have trouble acclimatising myself to these sorts of situations, but their results are delicious.