There is no art to it. You do it and you do it relentlessly; the more artless the better. I’ve had to decipher scrawl on paper seemingly deposited by a drunken Shaolin monk. My night writing can go awry.
It’s in the consistent capture — the ever-noting — that surprise arises. It is in (always) noting what the mind deems significant that a creative life is assembled.
The only art, if there be one, is in the right tools.
What are they?
Pen and paper — accessible, always. Nothing more.
If it’s inaccessible then it’s useless.
Some go digital. I still find too much lag and not enough hand in it. For others, digital may work. For me accessibility in that very moment is all important.
There is nothing else save doing it every little time a notion beckons through the fog of the mundane . . . .
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