Murakami Musings

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running is a short and sweet memoir by Haruki Murakami.  I am especially curious with other people's creative processes, so this novel which also provided Murakami's philosophies on life, running, and writing served me well.  

I decided to pull out my book on this impromptu trip to the beach.  My friend Khin and I relaxed on the sand near the shores. We caught up while I took these photos; playing with the sand and the book before going calf-deep in the ocean's ice cold water.  I felt this quote quite fitting for me and appropriate in describing the moment:

"If I go for a long time without seeing water, I feel like something's slowly draining out of me.  It's probably like the feeling a music lover has when, for whatever reason, he's separated from music for a long time. "

     

I learned about Murakami's creative process while reflecting on my own as well as a few other things about him like 1. Murakami is a morning person  2. He remembers the exact moment he decided to write a novel 3. He and his wife used to run a bar 4. He is not pained by being alone

 life lessons

"...prioritize in life figuring out in what order you should divide up your time and energy"

"You can't please everybody."

seagull, waves, seaweed, jellyfish, sea foam,and tracks in the sand from the visit to the beach

 poetic reflection

"In the midst of this flow, I'm aware of myself as one tiny piece in the gigantic mosaic of nature. "

"I'm just a replaceable natural phenomenon, like the water int he river that flows under the bridge toward the sea."

"Nothing in the real world is as beautiful as the illusions of a person about to lose consciousness."

Sand and Bookcover play

                                            Creative process

"I have to pound the rock with a chisel and dig out a deep hole before i can locate the source of creativity. "

"To write a novel I have to drive myself hard physically ands use a lot of time and effort. 

Every time I begin new novel, I have to dredge out another new, deep hole."

"When we pass each other on the road, we listen to the rhythm of each other’s breathing, and sense the way the other person is ticking away the moments.  Much like two writers perceive each other’s diction and style"

A lost cat seems to have found Murakami 

Next on my reading list:
Kafka on the Shore - Haruki Murakami
1984 - George Orwell
Just Kids - Patti Smith
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
Slaughterhouse 5 - Kurt Vonnegut

Lanterns and Lights Poured in the Night

Every time I stroll through Chinatown I pick up something new. I pull a detail from each experience such as; the further you go along Grant street the item you probably already bought near the gate is sold at a lesser price, that the lion dancing mural is just around a corner, and my favorite pseudo firecrackers I've played since childhood is sold 5 boxes for $1. Each time everything becomes more familiar, each time a little less concerned with being lost, each time curious and stopping for moments to reflect & view than worry about the destination, which of course for the night was to get bubble tea. 

Not completely dark, nor completely light out.  The unclosed shops shine brightly on Grant.

With the sky a medium colored blue, here is the intersection where I plan on coming back to take a longer look. 

A deep sapphire blue, it marks in contrast with the red lanterns.

Blankets of Fog & Flowers

Bridge To Terabithia (by Katherine Paterson) meets Mist (by Stephen King)

A  sudden contrast to the radiant days, the fog engulfing the other side of the lake, and the gray-white skies provided a melancholic  mood.  A short stroll around the lake turned to a half an hour of scavenging flowers and fallen pine cones.  I turned back satisfied with pine cones and flowers cradled in my arms abandoning the comforting blanket of fog outside to dive into the warmth of my own blankets at home. 

Beauty Is Meaningless Until It Is Shared

Tuesday afternoon I sat in one of my favorite coffee shops at my favorite seat beside the brick wall facing the windows. The warmth and light pouring through the windows along with the peace in the cafe, really marked the end of another semester and the beginning of a new summer. Burmese Days was a story I've been wanting to read for a while. I am unsure if I'll be visiting the motherland this summer, but if planes can't take me to Burma, I think Orwell can.

"Beauty is meaningless until it is shared."

"A mingled scent of sandalwood, garlic, coconut oil and the jasmine in her hair floated from her." 

"What fun it could all be, if only you had someone to share it with you!   How could you love this country, if only you were not alone!"

three stories in one: 1. Burmese Days 2. Keep the Aspidistra Flying 3. Coming Up for Air

Orwell's first novel, Burmese Days, is the first of his books I will be adventuring through this summer.  His fluency in Burmese and his stay in Burma as an officer is evident through the pages as he spills the setting of the village, to the bazaar, Mandalay, and Rangoon, the familiar smells associated: sandalwood, coconut, lemongrass; the characters each with their own faults.  Each character is introduced with his/her own faults and natures and through their eyes their own views of Burma. 

There is beauty in the book - with the human flaws, and emotions.  No doubt i'll be sharing it.