Three principles of anti-productivity

  • Post category:Creativity
  • Reading time:4 mins read
Living into the Dark

If you, like me, have felt the allure of endless productivity advice wear thin and grow cold over time, why not try something else? Why not experiment with anti-productivity? Here are two preliminary and interlinked suggestions, accompanied by a third item that expands on the accompanying outlook:

1. ON GOALS

Productivity says: “Always visualize your goals. Articulate them clearly. Start with the end in mind. Know where you’re headed.”

Anti-productivity says: “Embrace ignorance at the outset. Have no idea where the hell you’re headed. Let it reveal itself one step at a time. Welcome the darkness of unknowing.”

2. ON METHODS

Productivity says: “Have a clear, organized plan. Break your work down into manageable units. Arrange them in logical order. Proceed in sequence. Establish priorities. Use techniques to manage your energy (Pomodoro, time-blocking, whatever). Stick to a schedule.”

Anti-productivity says: “Abandon any pretense of a chosen plan. Dive in wherever the energy beckons you. Use any technique or no technique, whatever moves you. Let your schedule and sequence be to just show up and see what happens. Follow the Stephen King approach: Just flail away at the goddamn thing.”

3. ON ENDS AND MEANS

The most problematic thing about productivity is that it tends to become an end in its own right, and a suckingly hollow one at that. Its Apollonian allure strokes the ego by promising it the position of CEO in our creative projects. This leads us to exclude the possibility of transcendence in principle, to replace the holy fire of inspiration with an illusion of being in control and choosing our own meanings and destinations. There is nothing actually, intrinsically wrong with articulating goals, having a plan, or using time-and-energy-management techniques. Where these things go wrong is when they promise what they can’t deliver (meaningfulness, fire, inspiration) and substitute themselves as ends instead of means. One of the most direct ways to confront this is to dive deliberately into the sense of being at sea without a bearing, walking a lonely dark road at night with just a dim flashlight for illumination, following the road and the current wherever they take you, and using whatever techniques you have at your disposal simply to keep moving and avoid disaster.

I have sometimes called this anti-productivity approach “living into the dark.” It is, if you want to think of it this way, a strategy for meeting your muse and divining your daimon, for calling on invisible creative help by broadcasting the acknowledgment that the real ends and meanings you serve are beyond you—or at least beyond what you conventionally think of a “you.”

Horror from the inside out

  • Post category:Creativity
  • Reading time:3 mins read
A cosmic skyscape filled with stars, with a single glowing eye in the middle

Yesterday an online acquaintance asked me if I had any advice about horror for someone who’s just getting started. “Do you have any hard-earned nuggets of wisdom that you wish you had known at the beginning of your career?”

I started typing, and here’s what came out:

Advice on horror depends on which angle you’re asking from. Writing craft? Approaches to publishing? Philosophical perspective? Or recommendations for reading, viewing, etc.? From the craft and philosophical perspectives, I’ll simply offer my own riff on what Thomas Ligotti told Jon Padgett as Jon was undergoing his personal authorial mentorship under Tom’s guidance:

Zero in deeply, deeply, on what really frightens and horrifies you. Become absolutely clear on that. Use any writing or other creative activities that you do in this field to help you accomplish that act of inner knowledge. Seek the supremely perfect articulation of your personal horror, the summit of your private, individualized Mount Doom, the apotheosis in language of whatever naturally offers itself to you—and only to you, in your for-all-time uniqueness—as the absolute nightmare. Explore and perfect ways to describe this nightmare to yourself.

If you approach the writing of horror in this way, as the most deeply personal discipline of self-interrogation and dark epiphany that you can achieve, what you write will automatically, and paradoxically, prove magnetic to other people.

Additionally, and speaking solely as myself on a spiritual or philosophical note: Always remember that your horror is only as real as you are. This is both the way in and the way out.

Piano, private and public

  • Post category:Creativity
  • Reading time:3 mins read

For your listening enjoyment, here’s a recording of me performing New Age pianist David Lanz’s lovely arrangement of “Joy to the World,” which is a joy to play. Yes, I know it’s mid-February as I’m posting this, so a Christmas song is technically out of season. But it’s good music anyway, no matter when you hear it.

About thirty years of my life have involved playing the piano in public, including in a multitude of Protestant church settings, and also for public events like commencement ceremonies and choir concerts at my last college. The arrival of the COVID-19 pandemic put a stop to that. But I still play regularly for myself, and occasionally, when the mood strikes, I record it. That’s where this particular performance came from: I was playing some Christmas music in solitude in mid-December, and I decided to hit the record button.

If you’re already familiar with Lanz’s arrangement of “Joy to the World,” you’ll notice that I made a couple of minor, considered changes to it, including a different timing for the left-hand chords in the penultimate two measures.

If you’d like to hear more of my playing, see the following items, which I shared with readers of my Living Dark newsletter over a span of months. The first two are original compositions by me.

On writing the personal to express the universal

  • Post category:Creativity
  • Reading time:3 mins read

As writers, we would do well to remember that our art conceals a hidden paradox: What is most private and personal in us is also the most universal. Our deepest truth, which seems to be the most hidden and idiosyncratic thing about us, is actually what resonates with all people. In our writing, it’s when we delve deeply into ourselves that our work makes a profound connection with others.

Haven’t you experienced this in your own life as a reader? Don’t you find that when you come across writing that is palpably personal, writing that clearly shares the writer’s most intimate views, thoughts, and feelings, that’s where you can see yourself most clearly? The sense of connection is practically hypnotic.

This is why pandering to others in an effort to appeal directly to them and/or to extract their money is counterproductive. It alienates the reader and makes the writing sterile, whereas the act and art of writing honestly instills life in what we write, which transmits its energetic charge to our readers.

The psychologist Carl Rogers put it well in his classic 1961 book On Becoming a Person:

I have almost invariably found that the very feeling which has seemed to me most private, most personal, and hence most incomprehensible by others, has turned out to be an expression for which there is a resonance in many other people. It has led me to believe that what is most personal and unique in each one of us is probably the very element which would, if it were shared or expressed, speak most deeply to others.

For a deeper look at this phenomenon, not only in the art and craft of writing but in the practice of spirituality, see “The Writer’s Paradox: Personal Is Universal.”

On feeling the call to absolute stillness

Read more about the article On feeling the call to absolute stillness

Are you ever tempted to abandon all of your creative projects? Let them collapse? Maybe even let your whole outer life crumble as you sit there silently and just watch it all burn down? Is there ever an inner spiritual call to do this?

This is a question and a temptation that has suggested itself to me multiple times over the course of my adult life. The peculiar nature of my mental-emotional makeup apparently renders me highly susceptible to such thinking. Naturally, this has made itself known in my private journal. The example below is a case in point that shows me grappling with the pull toward absolute inertia.

When I wrote those words, I was deep into editing my mummy encyclopedia and conceiving the proposal for my paranormal encyclopedia, while also carrying on a full-time job as a college writing center instructor and English faculty member, even as I was managing all the necessary responsibilities to my family. In the center of this swirl of competing calls and obligations, the desire just to let everything go was a constant whisper, a silently thrumming inner suggestion that hovered on the margins of my awareness and sometimes converged toward the center.

And into the midst of this came the above-quoted passage from the works of Oswald Chambers—who would later become the subject of my Ph.D. dissertation—to amplify the whole thing. That particular journal entry will appear in volume 2 of my collected journals, whose proofs I’m currently editing for publication later this year. I share it here for those who will immediately grok what I’m talking about, those who are personally familiar with the inner call to total silence and stillness.

I have no particular advice to offer about this experience, other than to state that it needs to be recognized and honored. Just a couple of days ago I encountered the following words from nondual teacher Robert Wolfe, from his booklet “Elementary Cloud-Watching: Contemplating the Meaning of Living in the Moment” (excerpted in his biographical essay at Amazon). They convey the mood of this inner stillness as well as anything possibly could:

Civilization and stillness—quiet, inactivity—do not go together. Civilization is a continual process of choices; stillness comes without choice. There is nothing which can be done to create this stillness. It is not something which is to be acquired; it has no value as currency. It is, put another way, priceless.

One must relax, to breathe this stillness. Not just the body: the mind, the psyche. One must relax ambition. Ambition and stillness are not compatible. There is no ticking of the clock here. There is no effort in stillness.