I often am asked what I write during a No Typewriters / No Talking session. It really depends on the day. Sometimes it’ll be something like this short story and other times tidying up more professional bits of writing. At our last session at MPavilion, I wrote the below stream of consciousness while the golden light of a magnificent Melbourne evening filtered into the cozy confines of Tadao Ando’s concrete canopy.
I have done some light editing1, added in some links, and taken out a chunk which was a bit too personal to share with The Internet — this isn’t Live Journal.
It’s probably not very good, but that’s the thing about writing for yourself: it doesn’t have to be. I’m sharing it because, as I have said countless times before, I don’t care if anyone reads this but I feel some vague obligation to keep posting. And hey, who knows, it might help someone realise that they too can write just as shittily as me.
Some stream of consciousness rambling
I am sitting in the MPavilion in Queen Victoria Gardens near the Melbourne Botanic Garden. The squeal of trams on Saint Kilda Road, an occasional ding, the sound of water trickling into the pavilion pond, the faint reverb from a concert at the Sidney Myer Bowl comes and goes as the breeze changes. Everyone is silent, everyone is writing. It feels eerie, like we’re in a haunted spaceship. The sun shines on the back half of the pavilion, illuminating the people sitting on the concrete bench, adding a bit of heat to the space, opening it up, making it feel bigger on the inside than it possibly could be, or maybe that is just the energy of all the people who have come to write tonight. I don’t know.
There is something magical about bringing people together into one space to do a thing. Even though no one is communicating, everyone is concentrating and providing support to each other in some liminal way.
Looking around peoples faces many of them are in flow, some have the look you can only get when you’re deep in something, unraveling that inner monologue out onto paper. Others are looking around the pavilion like I am. Seeing the plane trees droop over the concrete wall, gazing at the light reflected off the pool, or just drifting along with the story playing out inside their head. I love it. I love it. I love it.
Thank you to everyone who made it tonight, and who makes the effort to come to these sessions — selfishly it brings me a sense of pride and joy that by simply making a physical space you all can find the mental space to write.
When I started these things, I was rather worried no one would show up. Or, if they did, they’d stop coming because why would you pay to sit in a room with people and write lol. But the feedback I get is consistent: keep doing this, keep opening up spaces, keep finding new venues and times, keep doing collaborations — it brings other people joy and, more importantly, a little bit of community, even if it is a silent one.
The hardest thing for me when writing is starting. I am one of those insufferable writers who must edit as he goes. I go back and rewrite things endlessly, read them out loud (obviously not while I am at a session), always striving to bring everything together so it is perfect. Should I give this style up? Should I try to do the stream of consciousness thing that many creative writers suggest, like right now — just blurt words and then edit later? Fuck. I don’t know if I can do that. I see a spelling error, my eye twitches. Something doesn’t make sense, doesn’t flow, isn’t lyrical enough, or I’ve written something that is better but contradicts what I just said. I gotta go change it. It needs to change. I just re-zhuzhed this paragraph getting rid of all those taunting red and blue squiggly lines. Stop it brain stop it. Let me write.
“Has to” or “must”. Stop telling me how to live my life, Microsoft Word.
A few more people have trickled in. Some familiar faces. A lot of new folks too which is awesome. Ricky – the person from MPavilion – said more than 60 people RSVP’d with about 30 folks here right now, which feels great in this space. Not too crowded. Not too noisy. A gentleman named Mark just came in quite late and came over to me and asked if I was facilitating. Do I look like I am a facilitator? I guess in this instance yes, yes I do and I am glad I do because otherwise he might’ve whipped out a typewriter and started talking.
I guess that’s why there is a security guard here: to stop people being diiiiiicks.
It is really quite amazing that in three years of running these things no one has ever bought a typewriter and I’ve only really had to tell one person to shush. Given the entitlement of some folks you meet, I would have expected this number to be higher.
Just before we started, a very bogan looking couple walked through the space with their wiener dog. Not even really looking or taking in the pavilion’s atmosphere, just ticking it off like it was a menial task on a to-do list. I find this approach to life weird. I want to take the time to be in a space, feel where I am, look how it works with the world. Not blow through like I’m in a rush.
They took a photo in front of the water and then instantly left. Why even bother? What do they get out of this other than the photo? A photo they won’t go back to look at, a photo they probably won’t even post anywhere that bears no context or emotion. It’s really just a collection of pixels saved in the big data server in the sky. Content that will never go anywhere. Never be seen. Never be deleted until the person dies, their iCloud account becomes inactive, and Apple ghosts it.
Woah. That got morbid. But I guess the through line is something about not taking these moments, or any moments, for granted. They’re all precious and consciousness is a gift so many take for granted. Happy to turn their brains off with the aid of algorithms, AI, and apps. Not enjoying the friction that comes from trying to do things with other people and the beauty and connection that friction creates.
The sun has gone down a little bit more and most of the space is in shade. The top south east corner is catching the last little ripples of light through the trees along the edge of the gardens. It’s cooled down and people are really settling into the space. A couple of people have left already which is great they feel comfortable leaving without saying anything. This is a space where people can do anything they want — other than type on a typewriter or talk, obviously. Some magpie-larks / peewees are flitting around the gardens. Two are observing us from the top of the wall. Another is stalking between the seats, completely unafraid of all the silent still humans.
Another thought: this space next to the Yarra is a sacred space for local mob. It was a hunting ground and a meeting place for probably thousands of years. I wonder if you can feel the resonance of all those humans, all those stories, all that connection if you listen hard enough, still yourself enough. Colonialism was a crime and we destroyed such a beautiful way of life for… what? I’m not sure.
Another couple of people have just left, it’s gotten colder. The sun is now only hitting the tops of the trees further back in the gardens. People are putting on cardigans and jumpers. Noellie has been quietly photographing the space and I know she will have done a wonderful job (Future JJW: she did, just look at the photos), I can’t wait to see the pics.
I have to stop putting emojis into my writing I am not a 14-year-old girl.
A bit more breeze blowing through now, and the leaves are swirling around on the floor. A motorcycle just went past and someone must be smoking somewhere near the space.
I’m going to put my laptop away now and start wrapping up shortly.
I’m impressed I have written more than 1500 words, I mean it is all trash that will never ever go anywhere (Future JJW: whoops), but maybe you will like it and get something from it.
If you’ve made it this far then please let me know by replying to this email or sending me a message via the contact form.
Stay safe, stay sane,
xx
JJW
- As always, I keep the mistakes in to better understand who to block on social media. ↩︎
