I never thought I had a method, a style, “a look”, or a consistent approach. Not until I had to start delegating. Teaching others showed me I was both mad and methodical. I’m a photographer by “trade”, but I change my occupation weekly depending on who asks me. Some days I say “artist”; other days, “photographer”; and if I’m feeling fit, I’ll say I’m a “runner”. I’ve never enjoyed identifying as one thing; it feels too rigid, too final. Recently, I started telling people I’m a poet. It feels most unique; it’s a great conversation starter and carries an enigmatic aura. Objectively, it’s what I do most.
Every day, I write poems.
I write poems because the world has gone mad. My best poems are born out of frustration.
Perhaps, I just write them because I’m mad. Only the other day, I counted up how many pieces I’ve written. Three thousand, three hundred, and sixty-seven poems. Some of them are short, others are pages long. Yet, I call most of them “notes”. Writing thousands and thousands of notes, I’ve kept the madness at bay.
Doing anything repeatedly, you’ll either go mad or find a method to stop you from going mad. My method is largely built around, and inspired by, space, observation, and movement. It can be broken up into two meridians of my existence. Pre-run or post-run. It’s worth mentioning that both of these times are linked to different quantities of caffeination and endorphins. I prefer to write post-run because I’m warm, energised, feel a sense of achievement, and have a coffee in hand, but pre-run has a different kind of purity and energy.
People ask me what came first, poetry or running? It’s a bit like the chicken or the egg. I’ve been writing a while, and running just as long. Didn’t we all run around the house as kids anyway? They both started to become more serious pursuits around the same time in my life. So it feels unfair to pick one over the other. Both of them have kept me from going mad and have required consistent work to feel improvement.
The pre-run madness looks a little like this: Wake up, stumble to the other side of the apartment, turn my alarm off, brush my teeth, find some warm socks to slide across the floorboards with, turn the kettle on, make the bed, and then sit down at the table. It’s not exciting. The key thing is eliminating technology and screens. If I can hold off on screen time, I feel like I’ve protected myself from some kind of poison or diluting agent. I’m often judgmental of my morning thoughts, because in the moment, they rarely feel profound. In the process of building a method (to write consistently), I’ve learned to let go of the judgement. I don’t need to write for an audience, to be “good”, or for my work to be read. Writing is an outlet for me: it turns chaos into charm, ordinary into order, and occasionally, boredom into beauty. So, I write, and I write, and I write. With time, I look back and find pieces I love; other times, I look back and smile, laughing at what I was going through. The key part of the method? Making my bed. Making my coffee. Making time to sit down.
Post-run looks a little different. It could be anywhere, any time and because of this, I lose the foundational anchors of routine and stability. On the upside, I gain a sense of stimulus and inspiration. Running is a vessel of exploration for me. It helps me find new cafes, download learnings from Mother Nature, and move stagnant energy around and out of my body. In synchronicity, I’m exploring both the outer world and my inner world together. These explorations are what deeply inspire my post-run writing sessions. Coffee isn’t essential; however, after concluding a great run, coffee feels like an endorphin multiplier. A cheat code, if you will. So what does the method look like now? Move my body. Order my coffee. Make time to sit down.
I think the world often wants profound answers, complicated processes, or… shortcuts. The antidote to the madness, and the best way to begin any method, is to make space for yourself.
Make space to sit down. Make space to move. Whatever direction you go from there, the method will write itself.
Big Love,
JL
This piece was written for Fluff in collaboration with The Ritual by KIC, currently discussing the theme: “Method in the Madness.”
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