clues at the scene

clues at the scene

Monday, January 12, 2015

Gone Missing

At left, a reliquary courtesy Getty Images as photographed by Max Hutzel in his project to catalog art items in Italy entitled: Foto Arte Minore.

Digital image courtesy of the Getty's Open Content Program.

I think it is pretty nice of the Getty to let these images be used openly.

You notice upon inspection that there is something missing. What could it be? Oh, it's our finger bone of a saint gone missing from the frame.

A friend sent me an open submission call. Looks great. Irreverent guidelines, even.

I'm not ready. I don't have anything ready and to focus on it would take away from the current drive to complete a draft.

I'll say that again.

To Complete.

It's too damn easy to chase the shiny new idea, opportunity, prospect. Too damn easy.

I've volumes of little notebooks filled with ideas and sketches that I barely developed before going on to something new and different and ...

I did that for a good dozen years. The I spent another seven or eight on longer more promising projects that I would abandon before starting another.

Writing for myself, my close friends - it let me have fun. It was all fun.

It lacked the satisfaction of something well made. Clever just isn't enough.

Once upon a time, I devoted the discipline to create things that were well made before running off to feed myself, my family, whatever else I did with the years. Between then and now, I dabbled. I lacked the discipline to produce.

I've worked hard for the last three years to re-engage work habits and the discipline to see things through even when they are sub-optimal. Even when they're just drafts.

It doesn't matter unless the work is finished. I cannot allow the bright and shiny to distract me now that the product of focus is finally paying off. Some of this material is actually quite good.

If I make it good, it will be good. If I dash off after something else, I'll loose the focus I require.

One project, one paragraph, one sentence, one word, one letter at a time. One.

Not two. Not twenty. One.

I'm off to write. It isn't summer any more. I'm not chasing magic lights today.

You shouldn't either.

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