Recipe for a perfect morning
- Tea spiced with flowers and herbs
- A stack of unread short fiction from authors you trust
- A view of humanity from a seat at the little French café around the corner
- A few hundred words of new territory to tap out on my keyboard
- A chill in the air
Blend and enjoy.
Where are you spending your Sunday?
Before private libraries and long before the invention of the search function, people used to copy important passages into notebooks called “commonplace books.” I’m not so old fashioned that I keep a written one, but I do have a tag in my files called commonplace book. I click on it for inspiration, so I thought I’d share some of the quotes with you, in the hopes you’ll be similarly inspired.
I read this quote years ago in The Artists Way by Julia Cameron and it has echoed in my mind ever since. It’s less of an inspiration and more of a challenge. We all carry a vision of our future selves with us, usually one that’s better off than we are today, one with more purpose from day to day, more money, more fulfillment, etc. And somehow the days we live, or are forced to live, never quite seem to add up to that future self, do they?
To me, this quote is about the small heralding of big things. Relationships are nourished and great ambitions are shaped one day, one hour, one minute at a time.
What will you do with the next one?
It’s not often these days that I get to write in places that aren’t my office, but today is one of them. Some deadlines converged unexpectedly and in order to meet them I need to be in a place where my co-workers can’t find me. Since my co-workers are in the habit of opening up the doors of conference rooms where I am working alone, in a corner, in the dark, with headphones on, that means fleeing the office entirely.
New York does many things poorly (square footage, being roach-free, public transit, politeness, smelling good, etc.) but one thing it does well is neat little street level cafés to work in, like Irving Farm Coffee Roasters, where I am alternately typing these words, and gazing out over my screen at the humanity loitering, ambling, stumbling, strutting, and zipping by. Venturing out into the world for my working day keeps me lively in a way that writing in my garret doesn’t.
And if you’re wondering what’s in the mug to the right of my computer, it’s a cup of Earl Gray, naturally.
Note the classic combo of red brick facade and black iron fire escape over my little window.
As somebody who has worked his entire professional life on small screens with inconstant tools, I read with envy this description from “Working Tools,” by Rudyard Kipling:
“Like most men who ply one trade in one place for any while, I always kept certain gadgets on my work table, which was ten feet long from North to South and badly congested. One was a long, lacquer, canoe-shaped pen-tray full of brushes and dead “fountains”; a wooden box held clips and bands; another, a tin one, pins; yet another, a bottle slider, kept all manner of unneeded essentials from emery-paper to small screw drivers; a paper weight, said to have been Warren Hastings’; a tiny, weighted fur-seal and a leather crocodile sat on some of the papers; an inky foot-rule and a Father of Penwipers which a much loved housemaid of ours presented yearly, made up the main-guard of these little fetishes … Left and right of the table were two big globes, on one of which a great airman had once outlined in white paint those air-routes to the East and Australia which were well in use before my death.”
I don’t know what Kipling means by the ominous “before my death,” but the rest of the passage has a delightfully antediluvian feel. It is a vision of a lost world where men could “ply one trade in one place for any while,” the opposite of the digital, big city working life in which we carry our tools with us everywhere as tablets and computers, and we are hurried from desk to desk even in our own offices in the course of a single day.
In my experience, creative types like rituals and privacy. There’s something of the private treehouse about the sort of environment I like to work in best. To transport me to another place, I need to be safe from interruption and sterility, and computers are safe from neither. People accuse me of being cranky or reactionary when I bemoan the endless treadmill of software updates, but to me they are the equivalent of somebody coming in and tidying up a working room without asking and with no warning. The creative part of the mind hates this. It is more like the mind of a child or a dog — it can’t play unless it has consistency and comfort to go back to; it likes its toys and its familiar places.
(image credit, kiwibird: http://njvd.blogspot.com/2015/10/rudyard-kipling-and-batemans-house.html)