Rest

Several weeks ago, my wife gave the sermon for our church retreat "Winter Escape." One of the subjects she addressed was the issue of rest. She cited a number of researchers and statistics that discussed how, as a species, we have developed the technology to be the most leisure-based society: the group that rests for the largest percentage of our time. However, the majority of working people tend to feel overworked.

I'm no exception. An eight-hour work day is a light day for me. As I type, I've already been at work (the school I teach at) for eleven hours, and yes I'm sneaking a minute from work to do some blogging- a different job, but still a form of work. 

Overwork and stress are the single biggest enemies to the creative mind. A writer might force themselves to sit at their computer for seven hours a day, but are they writing well?  The important thing isn't even to just get rest, the critical detail for a writer is to have enough to actually daydream. 

I remember a music theory class I took in college, where the teacher insisted the only important thing in one piece we were studying was the rests. In the creative process, the mind needs time to build, to dream. Forcing an overworked mind to pump out information, doesn't lead to better creation, or even necessarily to more creation.

Every time I sit down to write, I try to spend at least a half hour thinking of nothing. I let my mind wander. Perhaps I'll go on a walk, or perhaps I'll meditate. If I don't have time during a busy workday to have this creation time, I still spend at least ten minutes before I sleep allowing my mind to go anywhere. Little by little, the fires of the creative process are fanned, and the creation improves.

What moments of rest work for you?

eBook Heaven

One of my quirks is that I can almost always remember my dreams. Not just one dream a night, but usually three to five distinct dreams.  In the past fifteen years, there have only been a handful of mornings where I've woken up without remembering my dreams.

This morning, I awoke in the middle of a vivid dream. The dream had only just started, when the lovely GET TO WORK NOW sound of my alarm rang through my head, waking me. The dream stuck with me, because I had just been roused from eBook Heaven.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. EBook Heaven?  It sounds like an online bookstore, or perhaps a place eBooks go to die.  In my dream, however, this place was neither. It was a vibrant, living place: a place where the souls of eBooks comminucated and thrived. A place for eBooks written as well as eBooks yet to be born.

This sounds like a joke, but I assure you, dear reader, this dream did happen.  One of my strongest reactions, after waking, was realizing that it had specifically been the Heaven of eBooks.  Not stories, or books in general, but eBooks.  Why eBooks have a separate Heaven is a question for my subconscious. Perhaps the quickly approaching release date of the print version of School of Deaths made me think harder about the eBook out now?  Whatever the reason, in this dream I found myself journeying to eBook Heaven.

I don't remember how I got to eBook Heaven, but I remember the journey had been difficult. I stood there with a purpose, wanting to talk to a specific book. The alarm went off before I found out which book had called me there. Was it mine or someone else's? Perhaps a book not yet written. Whatever the reason for my presence, the image was startling clear.  

I stood amid swirls of floating color, like the Northern Lights. There was no ground or familiar landscape anywhere. Before me, patterns of glowing white vertical lines floated, pulsing. With every pulse, a warmth entered my skin. I also remember smelling cookies or something else baked with a sweet scent. The air jingled with the constant gentle music of wind chimes. This, in my mind, was eBook Heaven.

I had only time to observe the surroundings, nothing else. When I remember a full dream, it might involve full days' worth, or many actions and events, but this was a newly-started dream, cut short by the alarm. This was an image: a powerful image that lingered in my subconscious. It was also a question: what is eBook Heaven?

I had a friend in college who claimed everything, whether it was a person, animal, or inanimate object has a soul. I don't necessarily believe that, but if stories are created from the soul of artists, is it possible that there is a Heaven where stories live?  Perhaps even a separate Heaven for eBooks?