Follow me on my personal FB for all my immediate thoughts and posts xD Here are recent ramblings:

—

Here are some words of writing wisdom from my personal experience that I said to a friend. Though this is for writers, can be applied to any project:

Just take it slowly but committed and you will get things done. In the past, I committed to at least 100-200 words a day and eventually finished it. Nowadays I’m writing almost 1000 per day. Also you can actually be working on the novel while NOT writing, i.e. observing the world and people around, reading as much as you can and absorbing different info you might want to include, going on walks to rejuvenate your creative spirits, thinking about where the novel and characters go etc. with your long term project at the back of your mind, as your current “life goal”. It will literally change your worldview and the way you perceive the world around you everyday. Things begin to connect and fall into place with the framework of the project you’ve designed, and your thoughts are more organized while you see new things you haven’t before. Everything begins to have a purpose and a deeper meaning. Absorb all of it and then aim for that perfect time of day, that perfect place and perfect mood where you can really get the best few paragraphs or sentences down everyday. Keep that up and you’ll have something significant done. Commit. Immerse yourself into it. Make it your life mission. That’s the key.

—

Sometimes seeing my parents with smartphones is troubling. Ever since they got iPhones, I began to see how technology changes lives and social behaviour from an outsider perspective. No wonder they are so concerned with us. I noticed those minutes or hours every now and then in the day or filling up leisure time that are spent on gadgets and social media. Or how topics of conversation are permeated by content shared on the web and amongst diff circles of friends , relatives or the discussion and experience of social media itself etc. we don’t have any more or any less communication irl as a family, we have pretty good communication compared to most family units but rather than whether it’s good or bad, because such experience does give a lot of humor and interesting insight or news to discuss but just the fact that it changes lifestyle, behaviour and interaction quickly and tremendously. That change is scary. Technology just seeps in and moves without the user actually knowing it.

—

I’m considering planning a “studio retreat” trip soon/this summer. Grab a cottage up north in Algonquin Park or so, surround myself with nature and quiet solitude, write my novel and poetry, paint, exercise and breathe in creative inspiration. I’m hoping for a week or a few weeks there, but I’m worried I wouldn’t be used to the pure and total silence/alone-ness so I’m going to try to invite friends who are likeminded and wish to have quiet time to produce creatively. It should be very helpful.

—

Espresso Love is hitting 90,000 words and I’m still trudging onwards, well more like barrelling onwards into the final section of the story, and the ultimate climax. Recently, my conscious/subconsciousness has been connecting dots and revealing new developments to this story that I hadn’t noticed before. I don’t know if it makes the novel off balance and inconsistent but I believe that my style carries it along well enough that it will work out in the end. I’m trying to wrestle with my characters and subconsciousness as we go on, and there are exciting things happening. I really suggest you read my current novel project in progress if you haven’t. If you enjoy deep thinking, philosophies, thrilling questions about the human condition and the society around, or authors like Murakami, George Orwell, Hemingway, Cormac McCarthy, DeLillo etc. I’m, of course, probably not as good as them yet, but they have influenced me significantly, and I believe my work is a conversation with some of these novels and authors, and a greater landscape of humanity and the human collective unconscious.

 

—

 

I’ve uploaded an almost done rock vocal cover I did recently. My singing is improving constantly and will continue to improve. When I look back to months ago, there has been such significant change and alot of hard work, intense training and conditioning of my vocal cords. Rock vocals takes a lot of technique and detailed control. But it’s still nowhere where I think I could be. I look forward to what I can do a year from now!

https://soundcloud.com/steven-takatsu-lee/start-over-cover-wip-nano-ft-my-first-story

On that note, I started teaching guitar and singing along with my usual art classes and English tutoring. I think I have a talent for teaching, for I have grasped many concepts and theories, (even if I cannot apply them myself sometimes) and these skills came from experience through the years and the maturing of the mind. Somehow, with everything I teach, I try to incorporate philosophy and mental training into it, to help people become stronger people, aware of their feelings and in control of their own psychological state of being. Behind everything we do, is the mind. If we let the mind loose or let emotions control our existence, things will fall into chaos. With proper sharpening of the mind, many things are possible. Singing is just one example, where the mind, visualization techniques, relaxation, minute control of the body, where it all just comes together to form the human instrument.

 

—

 

Been re-reading Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami for some inspiration, here are some excerpts to consider:

“The Miner, huh?” Oshima says, apparently searching out a vague memory of the book. “That’s the story of a college student from Tokyo who winds up working in a mine, right? And he goes through all these tough times with the other miners and finally returns to the world outside? A sort of medium-length novel, as I recall. I read it a long time ago. The plot isn’t what you normally expect from Soseki, and the style’s kind of unpolished, too. Not one of his best. What do you like about it?”

I try putting into words my impressions of the novel, but I need Crow’s help–need him to show up from wherever he is, spread his wings wide, and search out the right words for me.

“The main character’s from a rich family,” I say, “but he has an affair that goes sour and he gets depressed and runs away from home. While he’s sort of wandering around, this shady character comes up to him and asks him to work in a mine, and he just tags along after him and finds himself working in the Ashio Mine. He’s way down underground, going through all kinds of experiences he never could have imagined. This innocent rich boy finds himself crawling around in the dregs of society.”

I sip my milk and try to piece together the rest of what I want to say. It takes a while before Crow comes back, but Oshima waits patiently.

“Those are life-and-death-type experiences he goes through in the mines. Eventually he gets out and goes back to his old life. But nothing in the novel shows he learned anything from these experiences, that his life changed, that he thought deeply now about the meaning of life or started questioning society or anything. You don’t get any sense, either, that he’s matured. You have a strange feeling after you finish the book. It’s like you wonder what Soseki was trying to say. It’s like not really knowing what he’s getting at is the part that stays with you. I can’t explain it very well.”

“So The Miner’s structured very differently from, say, Soseki’s Sanshiro, your typical modern bildungsroman?”

I nod. “I don’t know about that, but you might be right. Sanshiro grows up in the story. Runs into obstacles, ponders things, overcomes difficulties, right? But the hero of The Miner’s different. All he does is watch things happen and accept it all. I mean, occasionally he gives his own opinions, but nothing very deep. Instead, he just broods over his love affair. He comes out of the mine about the same as when he went in. He has no sense that it was something he decided to do himself, or that he had a choice. He’s like totally passive. But I think in real life people are like that. It’s not so easy to make choices on your own.”

“Do you see yourself as sort of like the hero of The Miner?”

I shake my head. “No, I never thought of it that way.”

“But people need to cling to something,” Oshima says. “They have to. You’re doing the same, even though you don’t realize it. It’s like Goethe said: Everything’s a metaphor.”

…

“Schubert?” I ask.

“Good guess,” he replies. His hands at ten-and-two on the steering wheel, he glances over at me. “Do you like Schubert?”

“Not particularly,” I tell him.

“When I drive I like to listen to Schubert’s piano sonatas with the volume turned up. Do you know why?”

“I have no idea.”

“Because playing Schubert’s piano sonatas well is one of the hardest things in the world. Especially this, the Sonata in D Major. It’s a tough piece to master. Some pianists can play one or maybe two of the movements perfectly, but if you listen to all four movements as a unified whole, no one has ever nailed it. A lot of famous pianists have tried to rise to the challenge, but it’s like there’s always something missing. There’s never one where you can say, Yes! He’s got it! Do you know why?”

“No,” I reply.

“Because the sonata itself is imperfect. Robert Schumann understood Schubert’s sonatas well, and he labeled this one ‘Heavenly Tedious.'”

“If the composition’s imperfect, why would so many pianists try to master it?”

“Good question,” Oshima says, and pauses as music fills in the silence. “I have no great explanation for it, but one thing I can say. Works that have a certain imperfection to them have an appeal for that very reason–or at least they appeal to certain types of people. Just like you’re attracted to Soseki’s The Miner. There’s something in it that draws you in, more than more fully realized novels like Kokoro or Sanshiro. You discover something about that work that tugs at your heart–or maybe we should say the work discovers you. Schubert’s Sonata in D Major is sort of the same thing.”

“To get back to the question,” I say, “why do you listen to Schubert’s sonatas? Especially when you’re driving?”

“If you play Schubert’s sonatas, especially this one straight through, it’s not art. Like Schumann pointed out, it’s too long and too pastoral, and technically too simplistic. Play it through the way it is and it’s flat and tasteless, some dusty antique. Which is why every pianist who attempts it adds something of his own, something extra. Like this–hear how he articulates it there? Adding rubato. Adjusting the pace, modulation, whatever. Otherwise they can’t hold it all together. They have to be careful, though, or else all those extra devices destroy the dignity of the piece. Then it’s not Schubert’s music anymore. Every single pianist who’s played this sonata struggles with the same paradox.”

He listens to the music, humming the melody, then continues.

“That’s why I like to listen to Schubert while I’m driving. Like I said, it’s because all the performances are imperfect. A dense, artistic kind of imperfection stimulates your consciousness, keeps you alert. If I listen to some utterly perfect performance of an utterly perfect piece while I’m driving, I might want to close my eyes and die right then and there. But listening to the D major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of–that a certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect. And personally, I find that encouraging. Do you know what I’m getting at?”

—

“I assume you’ve read some of Kafka’s stories?”

I nod. “The Castle, and The Trial, ‘The Metamorphosis,’ plus that weird story about an execution device.”

“‘In the Penal Colony,'” Oshima says. “I love that story. Only Kafka could have written that.”

“That’s my favorite of his short stories.”

“No kidding?”

I nod.

“Why’s that?”

It takes me a while to gather my thoughts. “I think what Kafka does is give a purely mechanical explanation of that complex machine in the story, as sort of a substitute for explaining the situation we’re in. What I mean is…” I have to give it some more thought. “What I mean is, that’s his own device for explaining the kind of lives we lead. Not by talking about our situation, but by talking about the details of the machine.”

“That makes sense,” Oshima says and lays a hand on my shoulder, the gesture natural, and friendly. “I imagine Franz Kafka would agree with you.”

He takes the cordless phone and disappears back into the building. I stay on the veranda for a while, finishing my lunch, drinking my mineral water, watching the birds in the garden. For all I know they’re the same birds from yesterday. The sky’s covered with clouds, not a speck of blue in sight.

Oshima most likely found my explanation of the Kafka story convincing. To some extent at least. But what I really wanted to say didn’t get across. I wasn’t just giving some general theory of Kafka’s fiction, I was talking about something very real. Kafka’s complex, mysterious execution device wasn’t some metaphor or allegory–it’s actually here, all around me. But I don’t think anybody would get that. Not Oshima. Not anybody.

—

Kafka on the Shore – Haruki Murakami