Adam & Eve / The Scrap Paper Project – Gordon Wiebe

Of course writers through the ages have come up with that same solution – and, being the creative folks they are, have also come up with a gazillion different ways to make it work for them. Thought pots, idea traps, journals, what have you, are very personal, and until you find the one that fits how you work and think – if my experience is anything to go by – you’ll start channeling your inner Goldilocks, hopping from chair to chair to find the best tush cushion.

Me, I tried paper notebooks/journals (I can’t read my writing), desktop diaries (a couple of computer crashes cured me of that one), Evernote and OneNote (too scattered and mixed in with other stuff) and different online organizers (great for remembering stuff, but not for this, for me). And who knows what else… I read a few  writing blogs and just about any suggestion or blogger’s personal solution, I’d try it. Or at least think about it until the urge to throw even more time to the winds moved on.

But, you know – I think I’ve finally hit on the almost perfect system for me. And, best of all, as of today there are 55 posts in my drafts folder, but they have lost their power to frighten me into silence – or, worse, bumbling speech – whenever I think of them.

See, on querying myself (instead of everyone else) I realized that my stuff winds up scattered here, there and everywhere because that’s where I need it to be. Logistically, but creatively as well. What I craved was not a way to corral my thoughts, to get them into some sort of order. I needed a way for them run wild and free, to roam in the wide open spaces and peer into the dark corners, be silly or catty, or to just flop down and lay there watching the carousel of clouds floating across the sky.

Ahem. In other words, I wanted a virtual messy desk, complete with corkboard and somewhere to slap up the sticky notes of scribbled, incomplete ideas that just pop into my head. One that I could take with me everywhere, and access from anywhere. The solution, of course, was so simple , so obvious, that I think it qualifies as yet another “duh!” moment.

Create a blog. A place not so much for writing as for the not yet written – the scribbled, the inane, the half-thought out speck of genius, the better off not said, the anything and everything that might maybe be used one day, sooner or later. A place where posts don’t glare at me in silent rebuke for their undone state, because when they are in this one spot they are supposed to be unfinished!  How perfect is that?

That was a beginning, but I still needed a way to have this repository with me, and have access to it, almost anywhere I was. Simple enough, that, as well.

First, I created the blog using WordPress and set it as private. I named it; that seemed like an important step to me, so that I would know it was just for writing. I use Windows Live Writer for blogging but for catching stray thoughts when I am surfing the web or doing just about anything else on the computer, I needed something different, something separate.

Since I use the Firefox browser, the Firefox add-on Scribefire seemed like it would be a perfect fit; it can be used offline (just save whatever you post as “note”) or online, so that items go directly to the site. The only blog set up on Scribefire is the one for the bits of writing, so that I can just write and not have to think or worry about sending gibberish to the wrong blog when something strikes.

I also have WordPress on my Blackberry, so I can send badly typed notes to the blog from there, ready for deciphering later.

The best part of all this is – what I write to the blog from one place propagates to all the others so that, even if I never visit the site itself, it acts as a sort of central idea station. My disconnected blatherings are all right at my fingertips, so that wherever I am I can scroll through and see if anything yells out that it’s ready to head for the finishing room.

All this lets me send stuff from anywhere and then forget it. No drafts, these – all published posts. Granted, I am the only one that can see them, but it still makes a difference in my puny brain. 

I say my system is almost perfect because I’d like the ability to just visit the front page of the site and have the posts randomized, whenever I reload the page. Like shuffling index cards or something. I’m pretty sure there is a way to do this, and I’ll check that out next. Once I can do that, it’ll still be almost perfect, but at least closer to my ideal.

Anyway, I resisted ebooks for a long time because I could not imagine reading something many thousands of words long on an itty bitty screen, but I’ve come around. Some. While I still prefer paper and ink, there’s nothing like carrying around 50 books in the palm of your hand or having access to more with a click of a button. Mind you, I think my eyes are getting even worse, doing all this reading on said itty bitty Blackberry display, but, oh well. What can you do?

Bound for Canaan: The Underground Railroad and the War for the Soul of America by Fergus M. Bordewich

Already I have been leafing through the extensive bibliography in this book, Bound for Canaan: The Underground Railroad and the War for the Soul of America, by Fergus M. Bordewich, in order to see what’s going to be somewhere next on my list.  A never ending learning process (thank goodness).

Anyway, this isn’t a review, it’s more part of the research I am doing in preparation for writing my own book.  I don’t have the knowledge to review it, really, anyway.  I mean, I can say that the writing is engaging and holds my interest – although I am having a little trouble following some of the events and timelines, as he dovetails a lot – and that it is informative and all that. And it is. However, as it’s the first book I’ve read on this subject (amazing, huh?), I am not in a position to compare the information to anything beyond the Black History Month celebrations of Harriet Tubman. Whose life and contributions, it turns out, is only part of a vast, rich story, peopled with heroes and villians big and small, Black and white, that spanned almost a century (not, in the beginning, called the “underground railroad”, of course, as railroads themselves hadn’t been invented at the time). This in no way subtracts from her accomplishments, by the way, just brings others who have been forgotten to the fore a bit.

Also, I haven’t finished the book, another reason this isn’t a review. More of a page in a notebook where I plan to, in this and subsequent posts, jot my (mostly disconnected) thoughts down about different sections and events that I want to keep handy. As I can’t mark up the book itself (it belongs to the library and they don’t take kindly to that type of stuff), where I can I’ll just link to the place or at least the chapter or page in the Google books version. Which is limited preview, so there are parts where that won’t work, but still.

One thing impressed upon me while reading this book is the fact that almost nowhere in the US was safe for black people, free or slave. At any time, in almost any place, they could be snatched up and either returned back to wherever they had escaped from, or be stolen from their lives as free persons and sold into slavery. In fact, in some cases it was safer to travel as a slave with papers than as a free person, because while kidnapping, assault, rape,  and forcible captivity of a free Black person (even small children) was perfectly fine – to do the same to one claimed by another was theft – and greatly frowned upon.

For instance, New York, in the 1800′s, depended on the South for it’s prosperity as the city was part of what was called the Cotton Triangle. Not only did the trade in cotton and other goods to and from the South, moving through the NY ports, make some New Yorkers rich, the city was also host to second homes for many wealthy Southerners. New York law allowed them to maintain their households, slaves included (even though slavery itself was illegal in NY) for up to nine months, but no one bothered them if they stayed longer.

At the same time, NY state’s constitution “unfairly applied property qualifications to disqualify all but a handful of black voters. African Americans were almost completely excluded from colleges and public schools, and segregated in theaters, eating places, and accomodations.”

For all that getting to “the North” was the goal of many escapees, in some areas life was not very much better. New York was one of them. The city itself was virulently racist and the authorities were friendly to slavery – professional slave hunters, city constables, local lawyers and more comprised an informal ring that the abolitionists dubbed the “New York Kidnapping Club”.

One of the most poignant passages for me is this:

“It was not an uncommon sight for recaptured slaves to be seen being marched down Broadway in chains to a waiting steamer bound for the South. Seven-year-old Henry Scott, for instance, was physically snatched from his classroom by a city policeman and a Virginia planter who claimed him as his slave.”

I’ve been to NYC and if I ever get back there I’ll never look at Broadway the same way again.

Also, I can’t help but apply the imagery to events in the present day, with the ICE raids of past years and the rounding up of Latinos as “illegal immigrants”, the tearing apart of families, the incarceration of children and more atrocities besides. It’s not, of course, exactly the same but it requires, I believe, the same sort of um… beliefs and attitudes regarding the humanity (or lack of it) of another person.

I need to get to other parts of the book and other notes, but it will have to wait for another day.

“Sufficient unto the day… ”

I think, although I am not going to look it up, that the entire phrase is from the Christian and/or Jewish religious writings and it goes something like “sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof”, but my mind has not been supplying the fullness of the quote because “the evil thereof” is not material to whatever idea is trying to make its way out of my head. I don’t think.

I am not Christian or Jewish, for the record.

So what is the meaning it holds for me, if any? I am not sure, so why not talk it out and see what comes up?

Did you know the NYTimes had bloggers? I mean, other than the political and cultural/arts ones? I didn’t. Until yesterday. This may seem like a digression (from what, you ask, since you’ve not said anything yet?), but it’s not, exactly. See, I clicked on a link to a blogger who was headed off to a Zen Buddhist retreat and from there to another blogger who was a Zen Buddhist priest who’d recently returned from a Buddhist retreat, where he officiated (if that is the right word). The title of his post caught my eye. “For the time being”.

I am not Buddhist, for the record.

One of the ideas I have in draft – or, actually, a few because it’s a series – is about the life lessons learned from playing Spider Solitaire. Does that sound silly? It sort of does to me, even, though the desire to write them probably has more to do with making the wasted time mean something than that I have any great insights.

Others have to do with opening doors into the past – into ancestors, forbears, those that came before – that had, by me, been previously kept closed and jealously guarded because, well… the life of now was sufficient unto the day, for the time being.  Don’t look back. That’s always been fairly easy for me, because of my upbringing – moving a lot, new schools, new friends, new neighborhoods all the time – to move forward and not look back, although not without regret. This continued in a way as I got older and began my own somewhat unsettled existence. That’s changing now, because of the internet, which is another idea for a post I have, not even quite in draft form yet. I now have People In My Life. Consistently. The same ones, for years and years. It’s a very strange, though welcome, feeling.

I find I have little else to say and if there is any sort of meaning or sense in what I’ve said already, it’s escaped my notice. Still, I’ve never had a problem with randomly blathering on, so…

I’m think I’m just thinking that, perhaps, the day may not really be sufficient. For the time being.

time in a baby bottle

I do. Have something to say, something to contribute to this vast world of words and conversation.

Not, perhaps, anything profound – although I can do that too, from time to time, but even just little snippets here and there, I do have something to say and a couple of places to say it. At the least.

This is sounding like some sort of self-affirmation, confidence building exercise and I guess it is. Silly to build a site for the express purpose of nattering on about whatever strikes my fancy – and then not natter.  Part of that is my natural tendency towards reticence and, sometimes, silence (I can go for days  without speaking at all, except when necessary, and be quite comfortable with that) but there is also the issue of self doubt. Why should anyone care what I say anyway?

No reason, but that’ s also no reason not to say it. After all, I write reams of stuff in my head – might as well move some of it out to make room for other stuff .

So, in draft and working on – and need to get back to;

Main one calling me is a piece about an ancestor of mine that also dovetails (hopefully) into issues today which relate back to his time. Or something like that. It’s a story that’s been nagging at me for months, for some reason, so, am writing it.

A muse about creativity, trust and dreams.

A phrase I thought I understood, because of who uses it, but found out that I really didn’t – but that my interpretation also fits.

Tokens, specimens and guides – I’d actually forgotten about that one, that I started a while back, but I do want to finish it.

I think that’s all for now – random confessions and stuff, but as they are random it doesn’t really matter when I do them, no? Ahem.

There are actually more, but these will do to begin with. I make my list too long and I’ll get discouraged and do nothing at all

(the picture at the top is from morguefile.com – seemed like the perfect image for how my days are structured, sometimes.)

Anyway, I’m also going to start another series… sort of a Daily Muse type thing, where I take something – a quote, anything, to spark my thought processes and write about that. Whether I want to or not.

Reason – one, to get me writing, of course. Anything and everything. Also, though, to help me tap into a more um… ruminative, reflective type style, which is actually more comfortable for me. Or, it was in the past.

Additionally, I have many ideas and plans for Human Beams, which are sort of on hold at the moment, but which sort of simmer in the back of my mind – by starting to publicly detail some of those, and work through areas where I can do something now and areas where I’ll need help, I think it’ll bring me and the site (HB) closer to being where we need to be to implement some of this stuff.

Flowing out from the latest white feminist blogospheric mess, I have a post tentatively titled “Tokens, Specimens and Guides”. Sort of draws on my own experiences over time (of course, since all this is about me, me, me!), growing up when I did, so on – and the various roles that I have filled or have been placed into.

An idle confession of ignorance about feminist waves – and my place in them, if any.

Tentative title “People Near the Precipice Are Closer Than They Appear” – sort of going over my family falling off the edge of the earth last year (or almost, anyway) and how little it takes sometimes – just one wrong step – for something like that to happen.

The last one is exploring health disparities – sort of. More like speculation and stuff about why some low income women (Latinas, for instance) are often healthier than low income Black women.

I’m not yet sure how to use this site, but as exploring or increasing my writing – about anything and everything that catches my interest – is one of the things, I think the index card thing will be a good addition. Also, if anyone else is looking for a story to do on any given topic, or whatever, they’ll be there. Sometimes just somewhat cryptic notes, other times more of an outline. Comments are always welcome, too.

It would be good if I would commit myself to tackling at least one index card a week, but well… we’ll have to see on that one. I’ll make it a goal, not a promise.

Not that there aren’t obvious class distinctions in various Black communities – I’ve written before about the distinctions within my own family – and I doubt mine is unique.

I really have no idea what “class” I’m in. I guess working class, as I am poor as a churchmouse (mainly due to being a really terrible capitalist and a very big dreamer) and didn’t finish college?

Anyway, just a random questioning ramble of a post, brought on by various discussions around the intertubes. Should I decide to flesh it out, I’ll search out the various posts I’ve seen over the past few months and do the whole link/analysis thing. For now, this just functions as an index card.