I’ve spent the last few days of the year deleting e mail and unsubscribing from things I no longer read. I don’t know what got into me, but I signed up for all kinds of messages and communiques I thought I would enjoy, needed even, but didn’t. It feels good, paring down. I made some big changes when I retired, lost contacts, stopped getting mail from lots of places. Maybe I thought I had to replace those communications with others. Maybe I feared boredom. I don’t know. But it’s pretty clear I don’t need those e mails in my life. Adios, happy trails, and see you later.
Before the sun came up today I cleaned the ashes out of my stove. It hadn’t been burning well, smoked more than it should, and seemed to want for air. I started thinking it wasn’t drafting well, that there was a problem with the chimney, the trees blocking the air flow, but what could have changed since last winter? Then I realized since I put on new stove black at the end of the summer, and poured a new layer of sand in the stove's floor getting ready for winter, I hadn’t scooped out the ashes since. Not once. As I removed four inches or so of packed ash, freeing up the air intake holes on the side, making more room in the firebox, I thought; ‘this thing is going to burn better-put out more heat.’ And it did. It’s nice and warm in the shack this morning. Just in time too. It’s almost 9:00 a.m. and it’s still only 5 degrees out there. In here it’s pushing 65 on the outside wall away from the stove. Where I sit it’s even warmer.
Wood burners create radiant heat, so things closest to the stove get warm first. I’m pretty close to the stove. Right now my right shoulder is warmer than my left, as is my right thigh. If I were to lay down on the futon next to the wall I would feel colder yet and need the blanket. I’ve been out here in the shack since just after six pouring the wood to my newly cleaned stove and filling in the gaps with corn cobs. The sun shines in the big east window and makes shadows of quivery heat that comes off the stove and its pipe that leads up through the ceiling. Wavy shadows that rush and swirl are thrown on my desk and keyboard and then stream diagonally up on to the east and north walls. I know the heat from the stove continues to fill the shack, helped a little now by the sun. It’s been a good morning.
A nice woman with land gave me three big black garbage bags of cobs from her cornfield. They burn beautifully, and fill space between the oak chunks. I think of the huge cob piles on our farm, created when we shelled out the corn crib, which we burned annually. Giant flames collapsed into red hot caves of glowing coals. My Dad would start the cobs on fire with gas and maybe an old tire. All those BTU’s wasted. I could heat the shack for a year with just one crib’s worth of cobs, now long gone along with the crib.
We’re going into the city for a New Year’s Eve with friends. I remember being there at the turn of the century, on Navy Pier, with people of all types: strangers, Chicagoans, out of towners like us. That night it was my wife, my son, and I glad to put the 1900’s behind us and anxious to experience 2000. A young man and his girlfriend shared his champagne with us in Styrofoam cups as we stood in the thick crowd. When the fireworks were over we walked through the clear cold night back to our hotel, unable to get a cab. Hard to believe that was fifteen years ago. So much has changed.
Monday I took tools out of the shack, facing the inevitable fact that my wood shed roof will not be done till spring. I loaded them in the wheelbarrow and rolled it into the garage. I had kept the saws, the plane, the levels, the chalk line, the hammers, the shingling hatchet, the nails all piled up in the corner as a reminder, in hopes a patch of warm weather would let me knock out the last hours of work needed. Warm weather happened, but when it did I wasn’t here. I’ve decided it’s a project that can wait till April. I’m confident the work will still be there then, and fairly sure I will be too.
I’m not making resolutions for 2015, just adopting an overall resolve to stick to principles. To do that of course you must first find the principles. Generally mine are these. Relax, be patient, waste as little energy possible on anxiety, and write steadily. I have for the last year sought the wisdom of writers, given up on their wisdom, and then returned to them. Some you would never suspect were in the least thoughtful say very profound things.
Here’s what Henry Miller wrote about finding resolve during 1932 and 1933, the time he was writing his second novel Black Spring. It was written in Paris and released by a French publisher in 1936 between his more famous works Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn. Henry had significant trouble getting published. If you read those books you will find out why. I imagine Miller has fallen out of favor with modern readers but he was prolific and wildly creative. I have a hunch Henry wanted to write more than publish. Here are his thoughts on writing as work.
Work Schedule 1932-1933
-Henry Miller, Miscellanea
Commandments
1. Work on one thing at a time till finished.
2. Start no new books, add no new material to Black Spring
3. Don’t be nervous. Work calmly, joyously, recklessly on whatever is at hand
4. Work according to Program and not according to mood. Stop at the appointed time!
5. When you can’t create you can work.
6. Cement a little every day, rather than add new fertilizers.
7. Keep human! See people, go places, drink if you feel like it.
8. Don’t be a draught horse! Work with pleasure only.
9. Discard the Program when you feel like it-but go back to it next day. Concentrate. Narrow down. Exclude.
10. Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.
11. Write first and always. Painting, music, friends, cinema all these come afterwards.
Here’s hoping we all have a happy and productive new year. Enjoy the day.
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