As I work my way through the text of my putative book on the creative process, you might like to read the rest of the text so far here. Also, the rest of my meditations on the process here.

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Chapter Three: Task Avoidance

 

The sure conviction that we could if we wanted to is the reason so many good minds are idle. —GCL, K.27

A parable: He always wears spurs but never rides. —GCL, J.127

Cras melior est. —motto of The Lichtenbergian Society

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The core value of Lichtenbergianism is procrastination, not doing All The Things.

 

  ^[1]

 

Procrastination is generally supposed to be a bad thing. “Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today” is the sturdy, Puritanical maxim. Clean that house, compose that song, write that chapter, update that website—and do it now! After all, won’t you feel better when it’s done?

Well, yes, of course you’ll feel better when it’s done, but first you have to do it. Ugh.

To a Lichtenbergian, though, procrastination is a core principle. Avoiding that symphony, that second draft, that new series of photographs… That’s a lot more comfortable. Cras melior est. Tomorrow is better.

Avoid that task.

But why is TASK AVOIDANCE considered to be a critical Precept of Lichtenbergianism?

Part of the joke is that we think that the world be better served if artists of all stripes thought twice before releasing their works on an unsuspecting public. It’s a matter of quality control, really. It’s one thing to crank out the ABORTIVE ATTEMPTS; it’s quite another to assemble them and release them as your band’s CD. Or book of poetry. Or Southern gothic novel.^[4]

We call it the “Better as a T-Shirt Rule,” e.g., a Cafe Press t-shirt vs. the permanence of a snarky tattoo. Don’t commit to permanence when there’s still SUCCESSIVE APPROXIMATION to be done. You can always take a t-shirt off; you can always go back to an unpublished poem and take another look at it. Not so much with an hastily-considered tattoo, nor with a published collection of unrevised diary entries posing as poetry.

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It is good when young people are in certain years attacked by the poetic infection, only one must, for Heaven’s sake, not neglect to inoculate them against it. GCL, L.69

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Let’s face it: 90% of everything is pure dreck. Dreck is fine—see “The Bad Penny” in the previous chapter—because without people having the courage to put their dreck out there, we’d never get the 10% that’s actually worth something.  God bless all the lesser but nevertheless competent composers that dotted the musical landscape of the Age of Enlightenment, as Professor Peter Schickele called them—without them, Mozart wouldn’t have had a market for his perfection.^[5]

But if we, as creators, can hold back our dreck until it’s worth at least as much as the bottom 90%, then let’s do that. Cras melior est!

I want to make it clear that I am not telling you not to write bad poetry. On the contrary: you should write bad poetry, the more the better. You should write execrable death metal music. You should make uninspired pottery. That’s the whole purpose of Lichtenbergianism.

But, I hear you ask, how do we get from “create a lot of bad dreck, but put off finishing or publishing it for the love of humankind” to “create successful dreck by putting off finishing or publishing it”?

Here is the secret to successful TASK AVOIDANCE: because you are an artist, you have more than one Task to Avoid, each one nagging for your attention. The trick is to play them off against each other, avoiding one by working on another.

This very book (at least at the time of writing this sentence) is being written to avoid the pain of writing music.^[6] Not only that, but in the process of writing every section of this book, every other section proved a suitable distraction. Stuck on the AUDIENCE chapter? Jot down that note in your head on GESTALT that has been doing its best to distract you.

The very first full year of the Lichtenbergian Society I failed to achieve a single goal, mainly because I got distracted and built a labyrinth in my back yard instead:

In fact, often the Lichtenbergians will find that although we didn’t achieve what we said we wanted to achieve in any given year, we have done something else of value while avoiding our actual goals.

This is what John Perry calls “structured procrastination” in his charming and perfect The Art of Procrastination. I would say that Dr. Perry had beaten me to the draw on the concept, but as I said in Chapter One, none of this is new— he himself quotes a 1930 Robert Benchley column as defining the concept even earlier: “Anyone can do any amount of work, provided it isn’t the work he is supposed to be doing at that moment.”

As Dr. Perry puts it, “The key idea is that procrastinating does not mean doing absolutely nothing… The procrastinator can be motivated to do difficult, timely, and important tasks… as long as these tasks are a way of not doing something more important.”^[7]

In 2003, for example, I was given permission by poet Nancy Willard to set her Newbery Award winning A Visit to William Blake’s Inn to music. Since there was some interest in performing this piece as part of an international sister city thing, you would think that I would have gotten right down to it.

Instead, I spent 2004 writing a children’s opera for a competition in Germany—which needless to say I did not win.

The good news is that I went on to finish William Blake’s Inn with an increased confidence in my abilities to orchestrate, and the final result is still my proudest achievement.^[8]

Tomorrow: Task Avoidance, part 2

—————

^[1] This is one of those “memes” you’ve heard tell about. I will be using lots of similar pop culture allusion. I may be old (spoiler alert:^[2] I’m old) but I try to stay aware of all internet traditions.^[3]

^[2] That’s another meme.

^[3] So is that.

^[4] We call these premature releases Corroborative Evidence and we shake our heads sympathetically—there but for the grace of Apollo—as we consign them to the flames. [see RITUAL]

^[5] Peter Schickele. The definitive biography of P. D. Q. Bach, p.23.

^[6] The opera Seven Dreams of Falling.

^[7] John Perry, The Art of Procrastination, p. 3

^[8] And if you’re looking for a world premiere piece for your organization, call me.

Before I start posting the next chapters of Lichtenbergianism: procrastination as a creative strategy, I have some pondering to do.

I’m fairly happy with the first two chapters, “Introduction to Lichtenbergianism” and “Framework,” but the chapters on the Nine Precepts are still not making me completely happy.  I know, one’s writing never makes one completely happy, but I’m not sure I’m saying what I want to say the way I want to say it.

For example, I think I need more anecdotes from my fellow Lichtenbergians about how the Precept has functioned in their work.  At this point, a book supposedly about a group of creative men is merely about me and I think that creates an uncomfortable disjuncture between the reader and the text.  Certainly, it was the participation and sharing of the assembled Lichtenbergians at the GHP seminar that made the topic so fascinating and inspired me to think that it was worth a book.

In Chapter 3, “TASK AVOIDANCE,” I wonder if I get bogged down with procrastination management.  There doesn’t seem to be a conclusion to the chapter yet.  Have I made the point effectively?  Is it funny enough?

So here’s what we’re going to do.  I’m going to brush up the chapter as best as I can and go ahead and post it in pieces.  That’s what this experiment is all about, isn’t it?  Sharing, beta-testing, audience engagement?  (see SUCCESSIVE APPROXIMATION, Chapter 5; and AUDIENCE,  Chapter 10.)

Any place I feel that there’s a gap in the texture, I will leave an XXX to indicate that someday I may write something to fill that gap.

In turn, you will comment helpfully to let me know what you think is missing.  (see GESTALT, Chapter 9.)

See you tomorrow!

Hey, we’ve made it up to p. 13 of The Essential Guide to Getting Your Book Published [EGGYBP]. The authors ask Why would anyone buy your book?

Fair question.

Beyond the usual suspects of family, friends, and former students, I think that most people would buy Lichtenbergianism: procrastination as a creative strategy because the hankering to Make the Thing That Is Not is pretty strong in humans.  As Ellen Dissanayake posits in Art & Intimacy and Homo Æstheticus, the creative spirit is evolutionary, i.e., not only is it genetic, it exists because it helped us survive and prevail.  The creative spirit is universally human.  And as I’ve already written, there is no shortage of books which will help you develop and improve your creative skills in every area of human endeavor.

Likewise, there is no shortage of books which will help you deal with your tendency to procrastinate.  Why, just yesterday I was contacted by a writer who is writing his own meditation on the subject and who felt compelled to get in touch with the Chair of the Lichtenbergian Society in order to find out more about us—just as I was editing the chapter on TASK AVOIDANCE.^[1] Ironic, isn’t it, that I got to put off editing that chapter in order to chat with and befriend my newest competitor?^[2]

However, Lichtenbergianism won’t scold you like most of the books on procrastination will, nor will it offer you tons of prescriptive exercises to free your creativity, which you will not do and then feel bad about.

No, a reader who buys my book will be soothed to find out that we do not expect him or her to flog themselves into creative genius or even to eat their creative vegetables.  Instead, we will offer him the soft, comfy chair of Lichtenbergianism, which gently teases him into greater productivity through the haphazard application of Nine (easy) Precepts.^[3]

Plus, it will have a cool cover.  What’s not to like?

—————

^[1] Coming soon to a blog near you.

^[2] He even may or may not be joining the Lichtenbergian Society in a couple of weeks.  He may out himself in comments if he likes.

^[3]  Sure, easy.  Creativity is always easy, right? We’ll go with that.

In today’s adventures in publishing, I was prepared to write an extended comic piece about dealing with Penguin UK in trying to contact Frances Hollingdale, representative of R. J. Hollingdale’s estate.  I had emailed her at an address I had hoped was correct, but assiduity is the better part of something or other, and so I sent out feelers to the original publisher.

The first person who responded directed me to the actual permissions department, which responded with an automated email with a form attached, along with a stern warning not to bother without a publishing date.  Since I knew that I was not asking Penguin UK for permission for anything but just trying to locate Frances, this was verkakte.  I went back to the first human respondent, who then directed me to Penguin USA, which I knew was wrong since they were in no way involved in the publication of The Waste Books.  (I will note that everyone has been very kind and trying to be very helpful in all of this.)  Mercy.

Anyway, it is a moot email chain,—and no comedy for you—since yesterday evening I heard from Frances Hollingdale herself, cheering me on in that polite British way and offering a very do-able fee for the 21 aphorisms I’d like to use.  The deal also includes my sending her two copies of Lichtenbergianism: procrastination as a creative strategy, one for her and one for her brother.  I think that’s sweet.

So that’s the major permission-getting done.  Yes, I could have translated the things myself if need be, but why bother when R. J. Hollingdale has done such a nice job already?

But wait—there’s more!

I also heard yesterday from Hugo Piet Hein, who responded to my request for permission to use Piet Hein’s grook “Twin Mystery.”  Again, very reasonable fee, and that was my second major permission accomplished.

Why, next thing you know, some agent will be emailing me and inquiring about the availability of this amazing new work.

As we continue our journey through The Essential Guide to Getting Your Book Published—and we’re just on page 9—we’re examining the marketability of Lichtenbergianism: procrastination as a creative strategy.^[1]

The question posed by the authors is Is Your Idea Publicity-Friendly?  The short answer is, “Are you kidding me?  Just watch this!”

First of all, Lichtenbergianism is the antithesis of The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up.  I am the anti-Marie Kondo.  Instead of sternly ordering you to touch everything you love and to scrap everything that you don’t, I give you permission to admit that SLACK is critical to your creative life.  You’ll know when you need to give away that pile of lumber scraps that you thought you might turn into a garden sculpture… one day.  It doesn’t have to be today.  Or tomorrow.

So right away we have a media hook that would intrigue outlets looking for something to separate their content from the current fascination with “tidiness.”  Ride that pendulum, baby!

TED Talk?  Me, talk to an audience and charm them?  Without even trying.  You can book me for your garden club too, if you like.

Articles for blogs/magazines?  You mean like this blog?

Interviews?  I am one of the best subjects you will ever interview—I give good quote.

Now, I imagine that most of the publicity gigs will focus on the first Precept of TASK AVOIDANCE, because that’s the most amusing part of the whole book.  Plus which, time is always limited when one is speaking to the Rotary Club or the American Crafts Council convention, so trying to outline all nine Precepts would be a bit much—why not focus on the oddly counterintuitive first bit, and let them buy the book if they want to know more?

It looks as if my degree in theatre could finally earn me an income after all.

—————

^[1] No, it doesn’t drive me crazy to type these long titles—thank you for asking—because I have set up macros to do it for me.  I use a program called Keyboard Maestro, and it can automate just about anything your Mac can do. I can type Lichtenbergian or Lichtenbergianism or Lichtenbergianism: procrastination as a creative strategy with four keystrokes each: l-l-l-l gives me Lichtenbergian, etc.  Likewise, the footnotes—after seeing how the footnotes from a Word document translate to HTML, I set up macros so that I can do it practically automatically myself.  It’s a magical world.

More fun in international emailing.

In addition to trying Frances Hollingdale’s email—which may or may not be current—I have emailed the permissions department at Penguin Books.  (Note to Penguin: it took me five minutes of clicking through to find anything like a contact email.  Giving us the Underground stops near your three London offices and what the neighborhood used to be like and what it’s like now is… shall we call it quaint instead of twee?  Sure.  I’ll be sure to stop by when I’m on my book tour.)

But there’s more.

Way back in the 70s, I stumbled across an article somewhere about the Danish mathematician Piet Hein.^[1]  It focused on his winning a design contest for a traffic roundabout by using a curve that he called a superellipse. I seem to recall that the article claimed he “invented” the shape, but that is not the case.

The article also mentioned that Hein was a poet, whipping out these aphoristic little poems he called “grooks.”  I do not remember whether this one was in the article; I don’t remember where I came across it.  But it struck me very deeply, to the extent that I memorized it instantly and it has remained one of three poems that I’m sure I will be able to recite flawlessly in the Home.^[2]

At the risk of jeopardizing my standing in requesting permission to include this text in Lichtenbergianism, here it is:

TWIN MYSTERY

To many people artists seem
undisciplined and lawless.
Such laziness, with such great gifts,
seems little short of crime.

One mystery is how they make
the things they make so flawless;
another, what they’re doing with
their energy and time.

(To make up for this transgression, I offer links to go buy all of Piet Hein’s Grooks. Ironically, when I searched online to see if there were an official site I could link to for the poem, one of Google’s offerings was me, in the SHAKESPER listserv way back in 2001, when as a part of some long-forgotten discussion I posted it, targeting Terence Hawkes for some reason.)

Obviously I would like to include this little gem as a sidebar in the chapter on TASK AVOIDANCE, currently under revision.  The official Hein website warns me that there will be a fee involved.  We’ll see if it’s worth it.

While we’re waiting, go check out the Hein website.  Click on the Games & Books section.  I like the Super-Egg, the three-dimensional version of the superellipse.  Be advised: they’re only 1-1/4″ tall, which for the price (plus shipping) is something I’ll have to buy with my lottery winnings.

But also notice the Soma toy.  I had completely forgotten that Hein was the inventor of that one!  I had one, in blue plastic, and it survived long into my adult years.  In fact, it may still be up here in the study somewhere, just buried under the archaeological layers.

At any rate, we have more for our waiting game.

—————

^[1] Maybe Martin Gardner’s reprint of his article in Scientific American, Sep 1965, in Mathematical Carnival, 1977, although that seems late for me to have encountered it.  I thought I remembered the grooks in college; I am very probably wrong.

^[2] The other two are “Jabberwocky” and “Sonnet 18.”