For the earth bringeth forth fruit of herself; first the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear.
Mark 4:28 (King James Version)
Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in a revery, amidst the pines and hickories and sumachs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while the birds sing around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller’s wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time. I grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better than any work of the hands would have been.
Henry David Thoreau, Walden
I want to offer a few thoughts about “a little at a time.” While regarding life’s growth in small, unobservable links, Thoreau wrote that he himself was developing as “corn in the night.” Hemingway, in A Moveable Feast, revealed that he could write for an entire morning, and finish with only “one true sentence”. when experiencing fears associated with writer’s block in Paris between 1921 and 1926, he found ways to speak sternly to himself:
“Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.”
I am now reading with great delight Vladimir Nabokov’s Pale Fire. I have read nothing from Nabokov before, though I acknowledge that his greatness has been sung in my hearing for years. As it took me until this summer to read Melville’s Moby Dick in its entirety, I now turn, in my later years, to another legendary author and his work.
Pale Fire, in the Foreword, speaks of the meticulous work of John Francis Shade in constructing his final poem in four cantos. As I read of his meticulous daily work, I recalled testimonies from Ernest Hemingway and Ezra Pound, men devoted to the meticulous craft of writing.
Today, over the Labor Day holiday, having finished my first week of high school and second week of college, I am thinking of the necessity of working daily and consistently on my projects, even though it means incremental gains. At least there will be something to show when my projects roll off the assembly lines, whenever that may be. I do have some deadlines one week away. My painting, my reading, my journaling, my writing, and (hopefully) my publishing shall be completed, only if I am willing to give them daily attention. For a couple of weeks now, I have felt overwhelmed at the projects I have wanted to accomplish, and all of that has translated into an inertia, and nothing was done from day to day aside from the chronic demand and grind of accomplishing my classroom responsibilities. I am just as busy now as I have ever been before, except that I am not managing to get my “artful” projects accomplished. But I shall, little by little, and will watch with delight as my work grows “like corn in the night.”
Thanks for reading.
I paint in order to remember.
I journal when I feel alone.
I blog to remind myself that I am not alone.