How do you become truly great at something, one of the best in the world? Or at least better than you are?
Many people believe that greatness comes from talent and natural inclination. They believe that great athletes and artists are born, not made, and so what's the point in trying if you're not naturally talented?
I used to believe that, too, but everything changed for me when I discovered practice, the idea that not only can you become great through your own efforts, but that all of the best writers, musicians, painters, and athletes in the world have done the same.
In this guide, we're going to be exploring how you can become a better writer by following the principles of deliberate practice (this is The Write Practice, after all), but generally, how you can improve your skill level in any field.
We'll look at the four components of deliberate practice that will make your practice time actually work. Finally, we'll get a chance to start actually practicing our writing through a creative writing exercise.
Ready to accomplish your writing goals? Let's get started!
Are Great Writers Born or Made? (In Other Words, Does Practice Really Matter?)
Like many people, as a young, aspiring writer, I believed that great writers were talented, that they had an innate ability for writing that all but predisposed them for success.
There was a problem with this mindset, though, because every time I received negative feedback on my writing, it made me question whether I had enough natural ability. Could I succeed at a professional level when people were criticizing my best work?
Sometimes I would get so discouraged I would think I should just quit. But then, just in time, someone would praise my writing and I would go back to believing I was a genius destined for greatness.
And this is the problem with having a fixed mindset in which you are born with a certain amount of natural ability that predetermines your performance. Instead of being able to use feedback to improve your skill level, you become very vulnerable to it.
When I instead adopted a growth mindset, believing that the most important criterion for my success was the amount of effort I put into practice, it changed everything for me.
This mindset helped me to focus on what I could control—my focus, persistence, and the coaches and mentors I surrounded myself with—rather than what was outside of my control, namely whatever innate talent I did or did not have.
It transformed my life so much that I started a whole community around it, The Write Practice, to help others accomplish their writing goals through deliberate practice.
But there is good practice, practice that will help you actually succeed in your writing life, and there is bad practice that will just lead to a lot of hours wasted. What are the components of deliberate practice, and can you make sure you're practicing effectively?
What is Deliberate Practice? Definition of Deliberate Practice
The term deliberate practice was first coined by psychologist K. Anders Ericsson and a team of researchers to describe why some classical musicians achieve elite performance and others don't. In their study, K. A. Ericsson et al stated that those with expert-level performance in music had at least 10,000 hours of practice over the course of their lifetimes.
Malcolm Gladwell then popularized this into the “10,000 hour rule,” or about ten years, in his book Outliers.
As Ericsson says, “This is based on findings from a wide range of domains where research has suggested that a minimum of 10 years of goal-directed, hard work is required for an individual to reach a level of expert proficiency.”
The 4 Components of Deliberate Practice
There are four deliberate practice principles that you must follow if you want to reach expert-level performance. Namely, deliberate practice is structured, effortful, and requires feedback and repetition.
Here are the four things you need to develop an effective writing practice:
1. Deliberate Practice Is Structured
Deliberate practice is a structured activity with the explicit goal to improve current level of performance. For example, if you have the goal of becoming a better basketball player, simply playing a lot of basketball may lead to improvements in performance. However, incorporating drills, exercises, and other structure methods to develop certain aspects of your game will lead to much faster improvements in actual performance.
The same is true for writers. Spending a lot of time writing will certainly help you become a better writer, but having a specific focus when you write will help you improve faster. For example, you could focus on show don't tell one writing session, or when you're editing, you could focus on crafting more realistic dialogue.
Purposeful practice focuses on one aspect, one specific skill, not the entire craft at once.
Also, the exercises must also be tailored to your current level of skill. That means that having a coach or teacher who can direct you to the right focuses for your skill level is helpful.
As Daniel Coyle says in The Little Book of Talent, “There is a place, right on the edge of your ability, where you learn best and fastest.”
How to Apply It To Your Writing:
- Use short, structured writing exercises (like the ones we have daily on The Write Practice) to practice specific writing skills.
- Write several short stories. Short stories have traditionally been the training ground for writers.
- Whatever you do, finish your writing pieces (e.g. novels, essays, nonfiction books, short stories, articles). If you don't finish, you fail to through each phase of the writing process and miss many practicing opportunities.
2. Deliberate Practice Is Effortful
When you hear that you need 10,000 hours to become a top-level performer in a field, whether it's writing, music, athletics, or accounting, you might think that all you have to do is put in the hours and you'll reach all of your goals.
However, Ericsson calls the type of practice that is just about putting in the hours “naive practice” as opposed to deliberate, focused practice. Naive practice, he finds, doesn't lead to superior performance. Instead, it ends with relative mediocrity.
In other words, you can't journal your way to becoming a great writer.
How to Apply It To Your Writing:
- Write a piece you can publish. Journaling in private is cathartic, but extended writing for public consumption forces you to put in the effort required to get better.
- Again, finish your writing pieces. Writing until “The End” takes effort, but it's what's required to get better.
- Join a writing contest like this one.
3. Deliberate Practice Requires Feedback
Without expert feedback, without someone looking over your shoulder to see what's working in your practice and what's not, you simply won't improve.
You can practice for 100,000 hours, but without constant feedback, your skill level will plateau.
This was the biggest game changer for me in my writing. As I mentioned, I used to view negative feedback as a threat to my talent.
Once I adopted a practicing mindset, though, feedback became my greatest resource.
How do you get feedback? In the writing field feedback comes from three places: expert feedback from editors and other professionals, peer feedback from other writers, and audience feedback from readers. All are incredibly helpful and can lead to lasting change, but expert and peer level feedback should be prioritized.
Most of all, take all feedback graciously, accepting what you can learn and letting go of what isn't helpful for you in that moment. Remember that consistently negative feedback doesn't mean you're a bad writer or, even more, that you never will be a great writer. It just means that you need more practice!
How to Apply It To Your Writing:
- Share your practice and your finished writing pieces with other writers, for example, in the Write Practice workshopping community.
- Hire a developmental editor to give you feedback on your first book.
- Get beta readers to receive audience feedback.
- After you write something, don't hide it in a drawer. Publish it! What can you learn from the feedback you receive?
4. Deliberate Practice Requires Repetition
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
We get better through consistent practice, by repeating the above steps hundreds, even thousands of times.
Stephen King famously wrote hundreds of short stories that were rejected by editors before his first one was published. He would put a nail through rejection letters until he had a stack of them almost as long as the nail. Then he would start the next story.
In the same way, to develop your creative skill, you need regular practice. Writing one story, one book, one blog post, one essay isn't enough. Instead, once you're finished with one book, start the next one.
There is something freeing about this. So many people treat their writing as this thing that must be perfect, and it freezes them up, causing writer's block and a host of other problems.
What if your writing doesn't have to be perfect? What if it could just be practice? How could that change your mindset, helping you to write more and become a better writer faster?
How to Apply It To Your Writing:
- Practice consistently! That's why we post one new writing exercise every day, to give you the chance to practice. Subscribe here.
- Join the 100 Day Book program and finish a book through a proven process. Then, when you're finished, write another book using the same process!
Intrinsic vs. Extrinsic Motivation
This is also where intrinsic motivation comes in. If you are running off only extrinsic motivation, external rewards, you will quit. You won't have enough driving you to keep showing up when the work gets hard.
No, the people who succeed are intrinsically motivated. They have the grit and persistence to keep going because they are driven by the work itself.
I love this quote from Robert Green, which I think speaks to this level of commitment. He says,
“Engaged in the creative process we feel more alive than ever, because we are making something and not merely consuming, masters of the small reality we create. In doing this work, we are in fact creating ourselves.”
Do you have this level of motivation for your practice? Could you develop it?
How The Write Practice Can Help You Become a Better Writer
How do you practice writing?
At The Write Practice, we truly believe that everyone can become a great writer through deliberate practice.
Over the last ten years, we've published thousands of lessons, created hundreds of hours of videos and trainings, and led dozens of writing courses.
In that time, we've helped millions of people learn new writing techniques, write books, get published, and accomplish their writing goals.
We'd love to help you too.
Every day, we post a new writing lesson and exercise, giving you the chance to learn something new and put it to practice immediately.
If you'd like to practice with us, sign up for our writing community or consider starting your first practice exercise below.
Happy practicing!
So how about you? Are you willing to put in your 10,000 hours? Are you willing to practice writing deliberately? If you are, then you've come to the write place . . . oops, sorry, bad habit!
PRACTICE
Today, we're going to deliberately practice writing description. Pick an object in the room. Then write about it for five minutes. Does that seem like a long time? It will surprise you how long it will take just to describe one small detail, but if you still have time left over, try thinking about a memory that involves the object.
After your five minutes are up, start a new paragraph and describe it AGAIN for five minutes.
Once you're finished with your second description, describe your object one more time, so that you've written three descriptions total.
Which one is the best? Which one is the most creative? Which one best captures the object?
When you’re finished, share your work in The Write Practice’s Practice Workshop here (and if you’re not a member yet, you can join here).
Take 1.
It is a table, painted black but the edges are worn tan, the grain of the wood revealed by time and friction. It sits in the middle of our living room and on its surface are drippings of what looks like wax but on closer inspection is just paint or some unknown thing. Whimsy, the dog, puts his head on it in a huff.
Take 2
The coffee table that sits in the middle of our living room is black but worn by time so that the edges have been cleared of paint and the grain of the wood reveals itself. Dust motes rest on it and books and journals. A magazine is open and the pages are creased. The table is well loved, well used.
Take 3
It is a coffee table. It is stacked with books, journals and magazines like a family table should be. We sit around it in the evenings and talk about our days. I put my feet on it. Its edges are worn so that the wood grain reveals itself from under the plain wash of paint. It is a simple table but well loved. It sits in the middle of our living room and the other furniture faces it as if the table is an actor on some stage. Or perhaps it is the stage, the stage upon which life, our life, happens daily. A purple orchid in a green pot rests on it. The flowers fall on the table and whiten dry on its black surface.
Just found this blog today, so I may end up posting several practices today or during the upcoming week. This seemed like a good one to start on. Love the blog so far.
1
The jacket hangs on a hook between March and October, waiting for the weather to cool down again so I can wear it. It’s olive green and a material that is more military than winter comfort. The shoulders have five little loops on each side, presumably for ammunition shells; but most likely for pens when I’m feeling bored. The pockets are all torn open from years of use. This has caused most everything I ever put into to them to slide into the rear fabric of the jacket. If I reach inside and fumble my hand around the back it’s not uncommon to find lighters, empty cigarette packs, receipts and even a few dollars’ worth of change.
2
I have a jacket that I always forget to put away in the summer. It hangs near the door, forgotten until the weather breaks in the fall and I remember it’s there. It’s olive color doesn’t help it’s case, coolly dropping it into the background of the room. It’s well worn, the arms fringed at the ends with bits of fabric hanging like strings. It looks heavy and feels heavier. The shoulders boast several cylindrical loops, implying one might place ammunition inside. It’s just for style, of course. The coat is old; the pockets long since ripped open to reveal passageways into the inner lining of the jacket. Many secrets lay within this fabric walls; receipts, old cigarettes, coins and maybe even a love letter I forgot to send.
3
The jacket hung heavy on its hook; forgotten in the heat of summer. It’s dark, olive green made it look like a shadow against the morning light. It was, in a way, the hummer of coat wear. It boasted several faux military ammunition loops on its shoulders and was stitched of a fabric not unlike what a soldier might wear. Functionally, it was simply a coat to keep you warm in early fall, but certainly not in late winter. By now the years had worn it pretty thin. Patches of fabric hung loose around the arms and the area around the buttons had faded to a yellowish white from years of pressing and opening. The pockets were useless, having busted open sometime in the last few years, revealing passages into the inner lining where it stole from its owners. The jacket ate up items like a hungry pet; receipts, candy, cigarettes and anything else that one placed inside were gobbled up quickly and sent packing into the back of the coat.
I actually like the second one the best. You’re just describing a jacket, but it’s interesting. I want to know WHY you’re describing it. It raises all kinds of questions. Cool!
“The shoulders have five little loops on each side, presumably for ammunition shells; but most likely for pens when I’m feeling bored.” That’s funny.
1.
The hat hangs on the end of a clothes rack. In the dark it sleeps, waiting to be used. Of course it has been used before, quite heavily in fact, as is evidenced by the slight discoloration where there used to be a glued on label. A typical fedora, with all of the typical fedora dents and designing. It also has dents of its own however. Dents that prove of years of being owned and traveling to and fro. Dents from being squashed, stepped on, and thrown about.
2.
Silently, the fedora sits on the end of a clothes rack. It sleeps, waiting to be used once again. Full of the dents and marks of a long life, its blue with white stripe coloring slightly faded in places of wear. A large tag that once showed its Converse brand is now gone, lost to the abyss of the room, or to a far off garbage wasteland. All that remains is a bit of glue that once held the rather large square in place. It sleeps on it rack, looking downward, waiting to be used.
3.
In the darkness of the room, the fedora sleeps, waiting for its next prey. While some would say that it is blue with white stripes, this is false. In reality, it is white with rather large blue stripes. Once the greatest of head hunters, this prized fighter is beginning to show its age. Bruised, battered, and dented; it is clear that the warrior has had a rough life full of battles. His name ripped from him, he hides in the shadows as a nameless hunter, with only a slight residue of who he originally was.
I liked how you personify the hat more and more so that by #3, “it” became “he.” It’s funny to think of a hat as a “person.” Kind of like that movie, The Brave Little Toaster. What if you wrote a story about a day in the life a fedora. Almost like Toy Story for hats.
1.
The hat hangs on the end of a clothes rack. In the dark it sleeps, waiting to be used. Of course it has been used before, quite heavily in fact, as is evidenced by the slight discoloration where there used to be a glued on label. A typical fedora, with all of the typical fedora dents and designing. It also has dents of its own however. Dents that prove of years of being owned and traveling to and fro. Dents from being squashed, stepped on, and thrown about.
2.
Silently, the fedora sits on the end of a clothes rack. It sleeps, waiting to be used once again. Full of the dents and marks of a long life, its blue with white stripe coloring slightly faded in places of wear. A large tag that once showed its Converse brand is now gone, lost to the abyss of the room, or to a far off garbage wasteland. All that remains is a bit of glue that once held the rather large square in place. It sleeps on it rack, looking downward, waiting to be used.
3.
In the darkness of the room, the fedora sleeps, waiting for its next prey. While some would say that it is blue with white stripes, this is false. In reality, it is white with rather large blue stripes. Once the greatest of head hunters, this prized fighter is beginning to show its age. Bruised, battered, and dented; it is clear that the warrior has had a rough life full of battles. His name ripped from him, he hides in the shadows as a nameless hunter, with only a slight residue of who he originally was.
I liked how you personify the hat more and more so that by #3, “it” became “he.” It’s funny to think of a hat as a “person.” Kind of like that movie, The Brave Little Toaster. What if you wrote a story about a day in the life a fedora. Almost like Toy Story for hats.
Joe, have you seen the work of Cal Newport? He’s been blogging a lot about deliberate practice lately.
This is his intro post to the meta-series of sorts: http://calnewport.com/blog/2010/01/06/the-grandmaster-in-the-corner-office-what-the-study-of-chess-experts-teaches-us-about-building-a-remarkable-life/
This is a great post on applying deliberate practice to music students: http://calnewport.com/blog/2011/11/11/if-youre-busy-youre-doing-something-wrong-the-surprisingly-relaxed-lives-of-elite-achievers/
I’d check out more of his recent posts if you have time.
Nice! Thanks Ryan!
Joe, have you seen the work of Cal Newport? He’s been blogging a lot about deliberate practice lately.
This is his intro post to the meta-series of sorts: http://calnewport.com/blog/2010/01/06/the-grandmaster-in-the-corner-office-what-the-study-of-chess-experts-teaches-us-about-building-a-remarkable-life/
This is a great post on applying deliberate practice to music students: http://calnewport.com/blog/2011/11/11/if-youre-busy-youre-doing-something-wrong-the-surprisingly-relaxed-lives-of-elite-achievers/
I’d check out more of his recent posts if you have time.
Nice! Thanks Ryan!
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I.
A lone intricate design on the jute bag is all that breaks its monotonous brownish body. The two black straps that jut out of it at the top hang on a nail expertly stuck into the cream-colored wall. The bag is one of the only family heirloom that has survived the ages.
II.
A butterfly having greenish white wings sits calmly on the flower sucking at the rich nectar that lies dormant within. You almost want it to be real but the unmoving wings confirm your fears. The beautiful image on the jute bag is one of the only things I need to turn to on my worst days. My father tells me that my grandfather’s mother wove it with her very own hands. Its rawness and expertise are something that hold me in awe even to this day. I guess beauty is timeless.
III.
My childhood curiosity always led me to ask Dad why we never used “that” bag that hung on the wall. He would smile mysteriously and tell me that the bag meant a lot to him. I mean, sure, it was beautiful but why never use it, right? One day, when I’d grown tall enough to extricate the jute bag from the nail on the wall I did just that and started playing with it. The spanking that followed has kept me from doing so again ever since. As I grew up I understood that it was a family heirloom but that wasn’t what stopped me from tearing it off the wall. It was its beauty. The placidity of the scene strikes a chord in my heart every time I look at it. Many a times, when my friends come over to my house they too are enchanted by its grace. It’s simplicity, as they say, is almost fantastical. With every passing day I get more attached to it for some incredibly undecipherable reason. I guess it is true that a thing of beauty is a joy forever.
I.
A lone intricate design on the jute bag is all that breaks its monotonous brownish body. The two black straps that jut out of it at the top hang on a nail expertly stuck into the cream-colored wall. The bag is one of the only family heirloom that has survived the ages.
II.
A butterfly having greenish white wings sits calmly on the flower sucking at the rich nectar that lies dormant within. You almost want it to be real but the unmoving wings confirm your fears. The beautiful image on the jute bag is one of the only things I need to turn to on my worst days. My father tells me that my grandfather’s mother wove it with her very own hands. Its rawness and expertise are something that hold me in awe even to this day. I guess beauty is timeless.
III.
My childhood curiosity always led me to ask Dad why we never used “that” bag that hung on the wall. He would smile mysteriously and tell me that the bag meant a lot to him. I mean, sure, it was beautiful but why never use it, right? One day, when I’d grown tall enough to extricate the jute bag from the nail on the wall I did just that and started playing with it. The spanking that followed has kept me from doing so again ever since. As I grew up I understood that it was a family heirloom but that wasn’t what stopped me from tearing it off the wall. It was its beauty. The placidity of the scene strikes a chord in my heart every time I look at it. Many a times, when my friends come over to my house they too are enchanted by its grace. It’s simplicity, as they say, is almost fantastical. With every passing day I get more attached to it for some incredibly undecipherable reason. I guess it is true that a thing of beauty is a joy forever.
1. The screen of my computer sheds its blue light on me and my keyboard. it hasn’t been dusted in months and though most of the screen is white i can still see the sticky drops from where i spilled grapefruit on it. It has been mine for years now but it was not until recently that I put it to use. I didn’t have the right computer to go with it. the thin screen need something to compliment it. the blue light from the power button in the bottom left corner matches the light in my keyboard perfectly.
2. The computer screen is covered in dust. It’s been months since someone cleaned it. White light emanates from the screen, blinding the tender eyes of anyone who would look at it in the darkness. The screen is flat with its own stereo speakers built into either side of it. “Asus” stands out in silver at the bottom of the screen on a grey background. next to it are the buttons: Headphones, volume down, menu, and volume up. The last button is the power button, glowing blue in the dark.
3. Dust covers the screen in front of me. It’s isn’t one of those paperthin modern screens but it isn’t one of the old grey boxes either. it’s black and grey and it says “Asus” on the bottom part of the screen. Stickers are still attached to it from when I pulled it out of its box. A small windows sticker in the bottom left corner is advertising for Vista. In the top right corner is its exact opposite: an enormous sticker telling me of the computer screen’s functions and sound system and what not. I don’t think I have ever studied the stickers until now.
1. The screen of my computer sheds its blue light on me and my keyboard. it hasn’t been dusted in months and though most of the screen is white i can still see the sticky drops from where i spilled grapefruit on it. It has been mine for years now but it was not until recently that I put it to use. I didn’t have the right computer to go with it. the thin screen need something to compliment it. the blue light from the power button in the bottom left corner matches the light in my keyboard perfectly.
2. The computer screen is covered in dust. It’s been months since someone cleaned it. White light emanates from the screen, blinding the tender eyes of anyone who would look at it in the darkness. The screen is flat with its own stereo speakers built into either side of it. “Asus” stands out in silver at the bottom of the screen on a grey background. next to it are the buttons: Headphones, volume down, menu, and volume up. The last button is the power button, glowing blue in the dark.
3. Dust covers the screen in front of me. It’s isn’t one of those paperthin modern screens but it isn’t one of the old grey boxes either. it’s black and grey and it says “Asus” on the bottom part of the screen. Stickers are still attached to it from when I pulled it out of its box. A small windows sticker in the bottom left corner is advertising for Vista. In the top right corner is its exact opposite: an enormous sticker telling me of the computer screen’s functions and sound system and what not. I don’t think I have ever studied the stickers until now.
my small cute candle,resting so calmly on my dusty wooden desk, your delightful warm soothing humble vanilla smell dances so freely and happily not a care in the world around my room as i sit and write,your charming timid fragile glow draws me in as you light up my room,so much so that even when the light is on you are the first to catch my eye because i am always in pursuit. Your Petit flame brings so much warmth and comfort to this big lonely room, you make me feel cozy,content and rested,oddly you put me at ease? Your flame of fire brings me peace and serenity. Your so soft and silent and dont stand out but always guarantees to be there with a spark of a match. On my worst days when my heart is oh so heavy i know i can come home and light you up while i sink into my bed and dive in to a book. you but me at ease i never leave unless i make you.when all ese fails like electricity,heating or even hope you there, glimmering/shining hope. For centuries beyond centuries you have been a reliable friend to many. You have served the rich and the poor, the bad and the good,the light and the dark, my small candle.
I
It’s long red handle has a kind of shine to it, is topped off with a plastic end, with a loop on it for hanging from a wall. At the bottom before it breaks into a wider piece with black bristles there is a dust pan attached. It’s been used and is coated with a light layer of dust. The bristles are mostly still aimed in their original direction, but many around the edges of the group have been frayed and pushed into unique positions. The dust pan has a rubber edge to it which helps pick up smaller particles.
II
The broom is leaning in the corner over the box and pile of books. I just used it a few minuted before I sat down to practice writing. It was a necessary tool to make room on the floor, so I can place the boxes on the futon there, to make room for my butt. This room is one of the staging areas for packing our house to move out. That red broom, with attached dust pan, will be called on, over and over, to finish up jobs, or to just keep them moving. I bought it for my wife when the last one was used to sweep up something nasty out in the garage.
III
Twirly is in the corner, leaning casually against the gold painted wall. That’s what my youngest daughter called it when she would grab the tall red broom and and dance with it in the kitchen. It was her husband, Twirly, she would say, and then dance as though they were in a fancy ballroom. This was when she was four years old.
She’s seven now, and I have to ask her to grab it and sweep up this or that. She doesn’t call it Twirly anymore, but I think it stands there just as cool and debonair as if it still remembered how much more thought of it was back then. Now, it’s just a broom, tall thin red metal, with a black bristled base, but don’t tell Twirly that.
1. Every girl needs a purse. My purse is brown. It’s one of those manmade products. I don’t know what the material is made of or called. It would take a long time to manufacture on a desert island…if you could figure out how. As every good purse should, this one has several pockets or compartments that neatly contain their contents with zippers. The sippers and the rings that attach the straps to the purse are bronze looking…though definitely not bronze. It is not a large purse, but it bigger than a clutch. I wanted one I could carry a book and a notebook in, with room for extra papers and an umbrella. It is perfect for traveling because of its muted brown color (doesn’t show dirt) and perfect to be seen with because of its subdued brown color.
2. It seemed strange. I unzipped my purse and realized the lining had come completely away from the outside! How did that happen? I’m not rough on purses, though I expect life to be hard on them. Which is why I usually select purses in colors that wear well, unlike white or yellow. Brown is a very good color for hiding dirt and wear, while being subdued enough to be classy. But what is this? Not only has the lining torn, the inner zipper pocket has torn! Obviously I choose cheap purses. Though this one looked so nice! Must be it’s squared style with the bronze color trimmings. It is not too big, which also makes it so nice looking. A tiny purse looks out of place, a large one is like another person in the room. But this purse complements the fact that I own it.
3. Looking about the room my eyes rest on my calm, brown purse. It looks so ready! Ready to go quietly to church and sit at my feet. Ready to hang on my shoulder and browse the mall, looking down on all the purses sitting on the shelves ownerless-ly. Ready to be swung about wildly while clutched tight to me, careening around turns, banging into things and enjoying the wear of life. It sure has been places. But it is always so nicely behaved, it always fits in. It’s gone to weddings with me and braved the sticky gum of amusement parks. Many embarrassing situations have been gotten out of with the help of looking through all the bronze zippered pockets for things it may or may not have contained. I can always count on being able to stuff a book and umbrella into this purse.
Laying across my office table is a compact grey fan with a black center. It is almost square in shape and stands on a base that makes it look like a photo frame. Its blade can be tilted in any direction; thus giving you the freedom to direct its’ breeze where you see convenient. Its noise is hardly noticeable. It can easily blend in the background of all the other office noises; keyboard typing and mouse clicks. The air it directs is cool and not too directed. It is dispersed so that you can feel the breeze without the annoying feeling you get from air being blown directly on your face. This is the kind of fan I could picture in a sheriff’s office on a hot day. A sheriffs haven.
1
The pile of books before me is enormous. Sometimes, I look at them and wonder whether I have the time to finish them all; whether I will gain anything from reading them. They are all unopened – except for those few moments where I open the first pages, sniff their new-book scent and imagine what experience will lie ahead. Dickens, Melville. What household names. I shan’t ever be as good as them. But I don’t mind. I shan’t write – it’s good enough for me to just read. They are blocks of colour, red, brown, yellow, dizzying and beautiful in their great multiplicity, their spectrum.
2
I touch a single book and marvel at its girth. I run my finger along the spine, teasing the first page open, though not enough to be able to peek inside. It’s got a funny cover – three men riding a great horse-driven carriage, and the expression of the one of the left means something naughty, and probably hilarious, is going to happen soon. It’s the Dickens. Will it be like Great Expectations, I wonder?
3
I see a volume of Hardy – trouble ahead, I imagine. I am fearful of picking up the book. It could devastate my heart, for the author does those things well. The dark colours of the cover peek out at me from among the mild cream of the other books in the pile. They are a shadow, I think, of what lies a head. But I can’t know. I can never really know, for the future is as unpredictable as turning the page of a great book. It is also frozen in time, and has no mercy on me.
I wrote these three about my Teavana teapot that my girlfriend got for me. I like the third one best, although I think I should add the Teavana detail somewhere…
1. Clear, chic, and innovative is this Teavana kettle. Or is it
called a pot? It’s so high-tech that it doesn’t even need to make its own tea
or even demand a filter change. At its bottom sits the tea leaves, waiting for
the boiling water to fill it. The first leaves it ever made were Jasmine leaves
that Brittany gave me after she bought the kettle for me. As the boiling water
poured in and filled the kettle, the leaves scattered, shooting for the
surface, and over time were unfurled into a new piece of art. Then the art
dissolved as the Jasmine-infused water was drained through the bottom of the
kettle.
2. It was the most advanced pot of tea that I have ever seen.
In that way, it reminds me of Brittany. She’s one of the most sophisticated
people I know. She took advantage of my new love for Jasmine tea by using its
leaves as the first to bless the clear, chic container. I got to watch the balls
of tea leaves scatter for the surface as the boiling water was poured in, and
then unfurl into its own reusable ecosystem. Then, quite unlike a normal pot of
tea, it was set on top of a cup which tripped the filter drain and allowed the
tea to fall into the cup in a steady stream.
3. It’s the most innovative tea pot I’ve ever seen, and
Brittany bought it for me. This clear, plastic teapot is so sophisticated that
tea isn’t poured out of the top—it’s filtered through the bottom directly into
the cup sitting under the pot. I remember watching the balls of Jasmine tea
leaves scatter for the surface as the boiling water was poured in. She and I
watched as the leaves unfurled and saturated the water with its calming flavor.
The teapot had become its own ecosystem. When the time was right, we sat the
teapot on a cup so that the tea flowed in a single, tranquil stream without any
help from us. It always reminds me of her sophistication and the day I
discovered my love for Jasmine tea.
Okay, here goes – my first attempt at one of your Practice assignments:
I. In the corner of the room sits a Buddha statue. It is a cream color, and the Buddha is comfortably resting his head on his hands, which rest on his right knee. He almost looks like he is daydreaming. Unfortunately, there is a 1.5-inch crack at his hairline. I do not know how it got there; my friend Darlene might have some insight into that, since she gave it to me. Mr. Buddha looks peaceful, calm. One could say there’s a very slight smile to him, but it’s hard to see from this angle. He reminds me of an angel, or a cherub. Why? I’m not sure. I guess the peaceful look on his face.
II. The Buddha statue, which overlooks our family room, watches as life unfolds here. I imagine he is pretty happy with what he sees and hears (most of the time), as our lives have really begun to mesh with each other. The Buddha surveys his domain, sending peaceful, positive thoughts to each of us. This has the added benefit of sending positive vibes through each of our spirits. I imagine the Buddha is comfortable in our abode, as there is a minimal amount of animosity, arguments, and the like here. I like to think we make him proud.
III. The peaceful Buddha statue sits on his perch, pleasantly watching the goings-on in our apartment. His cream color contrasts just enough with our apartment-building beige walls to be discernible. I look at him often, more lately than ever. He instills a sense of calm, peace, serenity, priority, and whimsy in me – things I often struggle with. I wonder what my roommates think of him? Do they look at him and see the same calmness that I see? Are they inspired by him? Do they even notice him anymore?
1.
i was at my computer writing when i looked down to find blood on the pinkie knuckle of my right hand. omg is my nose bleeding? did i cut myself while i was making coffee? how could i possibly cut myself making coffee? i turned my hand over to search for the leak. there, in the crease of my ring finger, a slit, not a gash really, but an opening in the flesh there. well, i didn’t think it looked that bad. so i just went back to writing. but then the thoughts began creeping in. am i indifferent because i’m depressed? i hadn’t even washed off the blood. maybe i’d become so used to pain, blood, and the crazy scary thoughts i’d been haunted with over the last few years, that a small cut was truly unremarkable. like i
didn’t deserve
2.
it’s nothing, really. i was writing along, trying out this new thing called deliberate practice when out of the corner of my eye i saw blood.. it wasn’t oozing or running. rather, the blood had found its way into the elephant wrinkles of the dry skin of my pinkie finger knuckle and was nearly dry. the abstract shape brought to mind the subtle suggestion of watercolor. well, that’s a lofty idea. i’m no artist. anyway, i turned my hand over to see
the damage and found a small cut at the fold of my ring finger. seeing it, somehow, for the first time caused immediate pain. ouch, i said, and shook my hand as if i could so easily be rid of the incident
3.
okay now it hurts. i hadn’t noticed the cut at the crease on the ring finger of my right hand when i first sat down. but there it is, deep enough that it stung. i found it puzzling. how could i have cut myself between the time i started making coffee to now? i had poured myself a cup and walked up the stairs to my bedroom, to the desk at the window that gives me a fair view of the street. even in the faint light, i can see the blood clearly. and it’s only a minor everyday kind of wound. how could i have cut myself sufficiently deep to produce this much blood but not feel anything? i guess it’s not so exceptional. but the sight of my red-splotched knuckle surprised me, in any case. i must be bored. i looked it up online this afternoon. it’s called ‘reactive boredom.’ that’s when even your own pain fails to capture your attention.
Dusty is the first thing that comes to mind when I’m describing my laptop. From a distance it looks fairly pristine, even sleek and elegant, all thanks to lenovo’s stellar physical design. But then begins to fall apart once you move in closer. The keys, once a pure sheen of black, have been smudged and disrupted by countless hours of incessant finger tapping. “W”, “A”, “S”, and “D” are the most far gone, with the former key basically having been scraped off long ago.
The screen of my computer is fairly grimy, but only really if inspected closely under a white background. Otherwise, it fades, obscured by my wallpaper and the various apps I have plastered across my homescreen. The keyboard is the same way. Now that I really think about it, I haven’t actually gone through and washed off the screen nor the keyboard to the thing in…Well I don’t even think I can actually remember! Seems kind of insensitive, really. This poor device is more or less my sole source entertainment. I should care for it more.
I think it looks better now…mostly. The screen is now pristine and clear, devoid of the marks and blemishes that it had only had a few minutes before. Likewise, the keys are better too, they still feel a bit slick from the wipes, but it’s actually a more pleasant sensation. My fingers feel like they’re slipping and sliding along as I type out these words. However, they still show some signs of age. I think the “W” key has gotten worse from my cleaning. It’s nearly completely gone now, just the lower left part still in tact.
1. Sitting on my desk, beneath my right computer monitor, is a small sea serpent figurine. I got it many years ago from a stall shop at Scarborough Fair. It is made mostly of pewter. The sea serpent looks like it’s rearing up from a body of water, the “surface” of which is the base of the figurine. It also has pale blue glass beads in its eyes and in the water at the base. It’s tarnished now, with one glass bead missing. The sea serpent is very detailed, with scales, spines, horns, fins, and teeth. It is the only piece of decoration on my desk. I’ve considered getting more decorative figures, maybe of other mythical beasts, but my desk is so cluttered with books, mail, and office supplies that there’d be no place to put them.
2. The silver scales blended in with the stormy water at first. No one noticed the sea serpent until its spines broke the surface, scraping the side of the ship and peeling part of the hull away with a loud crack. Water started flooding below-decks. Several sailors went below with spare timber, hoping to patch the hole, only to find the serpent trying to enter the ship through the hole. Its horns blocked it, and it could only get its snapping maw inside. Its tongue reached out for the leg of one of the sailors, twisted around, and dragged the sailor toward its gnashing teeth.
3. Sunlight glinted off the surface of the figurines available for sale at the pewter stall. I gazed at all the castles, knights, and dragons until my heart settled on a sea serpent. It was one of the more complex pieces, with blue glass beads in the eyes and waves at the base.
“How much for the sea serpent?”
“This one?”
“Yes.”
“Forty dollars.”
I probably looked dejected. As beautiful as it was, I couldn’t justify spending so much money on a figurine.
I turned to Jon, my new boyfriend. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”
He didn’t budge. “Do you really want it?”
The money bank sits on the desk. It’s in the shape of a
cartoon dog with springs for legs and long fluffy ears. We’ve had it for a
while now so the ears have lost a bit of its fluffiness and the paint is
starting to fade a little in places. It’s quite an ugly thing to tell the truth
but we’ve had it for so long that it seems to avoid being thrown away. It’s probably
got over half a dozen coins inside it but it doesn’t get fed much and I can’t
remember the last time I opened it up to have a look inside. I don’t think that
it has any special meaning to either of us and I think we just recycle the cash
that we find inn our pockets, not that we seem to have that much anymore due to
paying for most things by card.
The dog money bank looks almost sad with its large eyes and
vacant expression. It seems easy to attribute feelings to an inanimate object
but we seem to do it all of the time. It looks almost at odds with the bright
orange paint that covers most of the money bank. They’ve tried to give it a
little smile but it doesn’t seem to be working for it. There is a smattering of
dust over its blue feet but the rest of it seems pretty dust free. Could probably
do with a wipe down at some point but we’ll almost certainly get around to it,
there’s too many other things going on to think about wiping down an old money
box.
The more you look at an object, the more you thing about how
it was made: did someone put a lot of effort into it or were they just watching
the clock, ready to get out for the day? How many more of them were made,
hundreds, thousands? And how many of they still survive to this day? I think it’s
done us a pretty good job of keeping our loose change together in one place. I don’t
know how much longer we’ll need to use money boxes with nearly everything you
buy is now done by debit card. I think that there’ll still be a need for them,
even if it’s just to be a collector’s piece or something to give to children to
try and encourage them to start to save. I must have had a few over my years
but I can’t remember any of them.
the sword in the corner was covered in dust. the handle had a mouth like a dragon at the end and was white. the crossbar was gold. the scabbard was a dark red, with a red and black cord attached. the handle was carved like a a dragon; scales covering one side, with a picture of a warrior speaking to a dragon on the other. the mouth was open; not completely open like a shark ready to eat fish, but slightly open, as if it was saying something to someone. the eyes have two red jewels inset to make it look fierce or because the guy making the sword wanted the handle to look ornate. there is stands, waiting to be used or cast aside.
the old sword rested against the corner of the living room. it’s faux ivory handle had a dragon’s head at the end with scales spiraling down the left side. the right had a depiction of an ancient warrior speaking to a dragon. it’s not clear what the warrior wants, perhaps passage through an ancient cavern, or to repay a long forgotten debt. the dragon looks at him as a human looks at an insect before it is crush under the heel of it’s boot. the small golden crossbar is a floral pattern, reminiscent of a twisted tree, it’s branches serving to guard the hand of the wielder. and lastly the scabbard. the wooden scabbard is a deep red, and given a glossy finish.
jarold rested in the corner of the room. long it had waited there, hoping for the day it’s master would return to reclaim him. jarold’s ivory hilt was covered in a fine layer of dust. the maw of the dragon was open slightly, issuing a command to the wielder that only blood would sate its thirst. the rubies that adorned its eyes glowed like embers from a fire nearing the end of its life. the coils were dingy, showing years of neglect. the warrior and dragon depiction of the right side was nearly worn away. the warrior’s hand was all but lost, and much of the dragon had disappeared. the gold crossbar was corroded and dull in appearance.
WOW…..5 minutes passes quickly. I corrected my spelling and that’s it. This is the second of the three tries at the exercise.
The guardian of my office is a terrorist, an over-sized Yorkshire terrorist who has the most beautiful eye’s. Those eyes keep saving his life. Well, the little wagging tail helps too. There’s a leather three-seater couch under the picture window in my office and it is from here where Riley surveys his property. People he knows are welcome to use the sidewalk. People he doesn’t know are severely chastised but never as loudly as those trouble makers who ride two-wheel bikes. According to Riley those machines are a bane in his life. Not only do the bikes
The first sentence is not even a sentence…I need help! I’m missing some words and have bad grammar. I don’t think timed things are good for me.
Sample one
The Seahorse on my screen. It’s not a true physical object; it’s a digital one. It looks as though it was hand-drawn and painted in the watercolor style. I assume it was scanned into the computer. It’s on my screen because seahorses have an alluring quality for me. They represent transformation.
The year 2016 was particularly difficult for me. It was also a quite magical year too. I discovered some devastating news and felt as though I was a prisoner in my own home. Several months later, I met my soul mate. And almost a full year later, I had to put my 14-year old dog down.
I suppose a seahorse could also represent the life’s ups and downs.
Sample two
The seahorse on my screen is a representation of my personal motto for several reasons. It represents transformation. The undulating curves, the graceful movement through water, and the male birthing responsibilities all resonate with me.
The curves represent life’s ups and downs. They can also symbolize the ever-changing directions in which your life flows. I am a true feminist and believe women are equal to men. Men and women should see their roles in child rearing as equal. The seahorse lives in the water, and it is a representation of emotions and flow.
I have realized I am a truly emotional being.
Sample three
A rainbow flash of swirling color stagnates on my computer screen. It is a true joy to view each day. As I think about what it means to mean, I feel connected to the animal. Somehow, we are spirit-animals.
When I was going through a rough time in my life, I notice several seahorse images in various places. I would see them pop-up on the internet, in a conversation, or on TV. Some would call these occurrences synchronicity. I feel seahorse symbol was something my spirit guide or guardian angels was attempting to get me to recognize. I was about to undergo a huge life transformation. My guide was shouting it at me, and I noticed.
The seahorse can represent spirals, which are one of the most ancient symbols. A spiral also represents the Fibonacci Sequence. It relates to ancient geometry occurring in everything. This also means it represents sound. Have you seen how sound manipulates matter into patterns or reactions from the waves passing through it? (I highly recommend you Google it to understand what I’m discussing).
Sound is truly important to me because I am a musician. All this seahorse symbolism is a hint at what I really am, what I believe, and what I’m capable of accomplishing.