First, the habit of noting odd ideas or phrases is an old one; many of these would normally have gone into my lyric notebook (and, perhaps unsurprisingly, I have written in there less since starting this). When I was writing more prose, these might have found their way into background descriptions.
Third, I notice that I actively look for phrases to include as I go through my day. As when I joined friends for collaborative poetry projects—a sonnet line exchange, a haiku notebook passed back and forth—the world seems to come alive with details and words. This I love: the reminder that the ability to notice is, more than anything else, a choice. (And whew, does that remind me of the sheer number of chaotic, abandoned writing experiments with which my past is littered.)
I also quite enjoy the way juxtaposition creates new rhythms and ideas as the notes accrete and spread across the wall. As a rule, it's best not to think too much about the origins of a phrase—it should work in its new context without relying on that background information—but I love knowing that mean, in the note at right, was an adjective when I wrote it down and became a verb as soon as it was next to another note. I don't entirely have control over that, and I suspect that the lack of control is good for me. The next step is probably to hand all the notes over to the band and see what new combinations emerge. |
Postscript: I just read the NYT piece on creativity, and the footer recommended this one, with its photo of a Post-It wall, from 2014. I don't know what that juxtaposition means either.