- What’s the easiest thing about writing?
Writing is easier than brooding about writing.
Daily challenges: (1.) Imagining all of the possibilities of what could be done, or not done, while not actually doing any work, (2.) rationalizing not writing anything while indulging in unhealthy activities (e.g. binge-watching Breaking Bad on Netflix, being fed grapes off the vine while rubbing my belly and moaning in hedonistic delight, collecting postage stamps).
But once that action (writing) is engaged and repeated regularly until it’s internalized, it will solidify into a habit. Habits thrive on the momentum of former actions. The more you do the same thing, no matter how small, the easier it becomes to do that thing. If you trick yourself into not doing that thing through rationalization and procrastination, the harder it becomes to begin it again. External rewards, which might have been a primary motivation for the action in the beginning, shift into a deeper intrinsic worth, as the process continues.
I write because I write. The easiest aspect of writing, sometimes, is when I enter the flow state. Everything dissolves into a moment of being. Time doesn’t exist anymore. Flow is immersion, a single-minded focus, for that one activity. And it happens most often with challenges that are proportional to my skills, but not to an overwhelming degree. Every project edges past my comfort. And being in the flow state can be accessed by activities besides writing, such as archery and painting and hotdog eating competitions. It’s a deep fusion of a specific action to the moment of its happening. With that mental state, which relates to the concept of Wu Wei, there is a spontaneity and joy, an adaption in the flux.
- What are you doing when you’re not writing?
Eating waffles. Snorkeling in the inner harbor. Building pillow forts. Sticking stop signs into the middle of graveyards. Whittling sticks into knives that whittle sticks. Writing anonymous love letters to depressed mailmen. Checking my MySpace page, downloading Wu-Tang on Limewire
- Describe your thoughts on writing (either your own or in general) using no adjectives.
The moment you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, you’re on the right path. Unless you’re wrong. Then stop it, you jerk. Revise your writing a million times, taking a billion breaks in between. And when you finally do finish, edit some more.
- What is it about your discipline (fiction/poverty/nonfiction/other) that draws you to it?
I don’t specialize in any genre. One day, a documentary about dung beetles could inspire me to write a poem. Or a news article about a politician could drive me into a sci-fi novel. I write first and then figure out the genre later. On the other hand, there are some themes that feel better in one format than in another, depending on external conditions and my mood and so on.
I wonder about the expression of topic X when filtered through different mediums, such as a podcast or music or poetry. But what’s also important to me is the mind behind the forms. What is the process of thought while creating? What forms are restrictions, what techniques are chosen or not chosen, and how does that person handle those challenges? When more than one artist of a different style, form or genre, such as a surrealist painter and an action director, synthesize their ideas together, the end result could be tremendous. Lately, however, instead of writing fiction, I have been communicating to people through Norwegian clog dancing. It’s really hard to argue in this way, although the clogs do help get me into some strange sexual positions.
- Have you ever done something unusual for the sake of your writing? What was it and how did it work out?
For the sake of his writing (we assume), Bremer didn’t answer this question.
To learn more about Bremer, come to our reading on April 12 at Charmington’s.