I don't know if y'all's algorithms are anything like mine, but I get recommended content almost constantly with a message along the lines of "analog tools are having a renaissance." There's definitely some truth to this: sales of vinyl records, CDs, and tapes have boomed in recent years; the publishing industry has seen an increase in sales of hardbacks and special editions; sales of high quality Blu-rays are going up, even as the overall market continues to decrease. There's more than just that, too: people are using physical journals again, modding and making their own clothing, taking photos on film; the list goes on. These aren't dominant trends—use of digital tools, streaming, e-readers, etc., are all up too—but it seems that people are into the ideas of owning the media they consume and having interactions with objects in physical space; not relying on phones for everything, all the time, always. I know I am. I collect records; I read physical books as often as I can; I write longhand, in cursive, almost as much as I type. That's right: I'm cool.*
I've written here before about detoxing from my phone and trying to get my screen time down—but, frankly, embarrassingly, it hasn't stuck. I'm better, definitely, but so much of our lives are connected to screens now that even when I manage to avoid my phone, I'm stuck to my monitor, or TV, or whatever. It's kind of exhausting. Recently, my issue has been a compulsion to check my email inbox, hoping that maybe one more refresh will bring some clarity about my job search and applications and story submissions. While checking my inbox for probably the 40th time the other morning, a thought struck me: How ridiculous and strange would it be for me to act the same way with the analog equivalent of my email inbox—i.e., my physical, real world mailbox? Like, can you imagine seeing someone go out to check their mail forty, fifty, a hundred times in a day? Standing there, opening and closing the mailbox, hoping something new will appear in the brief interstices? That would be insane.
The way we (alright, I) use digital tools is kind of insane. But they're here to stay; unavoidable; inevitable, unless we come to a total societal collapse (which is always a possibility, I guess).
I digress. The point is, this got me thinking: what if, instead of just turning to analog media and devices, I formed analog habits for engaging with my digital tools—adding a little bit of good, necessary friction to the slippery, seamless experience of engaging with screens. In the example of Email → Mail this could look something like the following:
Email → Mail
Analog Engagement: Most people check their mailbox once per day—occasionally twice if they're expecting something important. If something is delivered to the door, it's reasonable to get it as soon as one is able. People collect all of their physical mail; it would be odd to leave items in the mailbox.
Digital Change: Check my personal email no more than twice per day. Turn on notifications only for messages marked as high priority; it's okay to look at those when they're delivered. Archive or delete the day's messages when I check.
I don't know—maybe it's silly, or I'm nostalgic for now-distant memories of a childhood in which screens didn't dominate every moment of every day—but this makes sense to me. Having healthy friction between myself and my digital tools sounds nice.
I've thought of a bunch of examples for these reframings—Streaming Music → Record Players/Radio; Cloud Storage → File Cabinets; Photo Libraries → Photo Albums; GPS/Maps → Roadmaps, and many more—and I'm slowly working my way through the list, writing down how I might emulate a more analog lifestyle. I know I can't, or won't stop using the digital versions altogether—but I think engaging with them in a more thoughtful, grounded way might do me a lot of good.
Let me know if this sparks any ideas for you! I'd love to hear your thoughts. Until next time!
* Shhhhhh. Let me have this.
PS — I got some messages after my last newsletter asking if I'm doing okay, which were sincerely appreciated. Please know that I am doing well, despite a challenging year! I know it can maybe be a little surprising, or even uncomfortable, to read about the experience of someone who's struggling, whatever the circumstances—but I want y'all to know that I do this with intention. I want to present a real and unidealized image of myself here (what I like to call being "anti-socials") because I think that vulnerability, candor, and empathy are often missing on the internet. It helps, sometimes, to know that other people are going through what you're going through; that's what I hope to do here when I open up. Anyway—just wanted to address that. Once again, thank you so much for your support and understanding!
☕ Project Curses
Feedback from my lovely beta readers is trickling in now that folks have had the manuscript for a few weeks. What's been shared so far has been generally positive and immensely helpful! I'm forcing myself to hold off on beginning to implement anything for a few more weeks, but I'm really, really excited to start working on the manuscript again.
Novel Progress Bar
% feedback implemented
♟️ Project Rift
I wrote two new chapters of the new novel since last time, revised a couple more, and did a lot of planning with my co-author. I think, finally, after a few weeks of ramping back up, I'm hitting my stride with this project again. I'm stoked to continue working on this—the story is getting pretty wild in the best way.
Novel Progress Bar
% drafted
📚 Reading
Intermezzo by Sally Rooney | This was, I'm ashamed to admit, the first book I'd read from Sally Rooney. I think I'd been intimidated by her style, and it was challenging to get into, at first—but once I found the right rhythm, I was hooked. Really, really beautiful, thoughtful explorations of character and the human experience, here; I'm looking forward to diving into the rest of Rooney's catalogue, now.
Patterner by Golden Brown | As I've mentioned, I listen to a lot of instrumental music these days; it's great for writing, and thinking, and reading, and most of the other things I like to spend my time doing. This album caught my attention when it came up because it's beautiful and atmospheric and somehow oddly nostalgic. Lo and behold, when I did some digging I discovered that the album is inspired by—created for—one of my favorite series of all time: Ursula K. Le Guin's Earthsea Cycle. I've now had it on repeat while re-reading the series. Highly recommend both!
🍿 Watching
The Secret Agent | This Brazilian film starring Wagner Moura is another contender for Best Picture at this year's Oscars, and also very much my type of film. Somewhat meandering, rich in symbolism, full of characters who feel true to life, highly immersive in both time and place—strange, and fascinating. I know it won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it was definitely mine.
In the frame: Blooms and bees right outside our window! (I'm trying to ignore the fact that it's only March 1st).
"James Joyce put it most succinctly when he said, 'Imagination is memory.' I tend to agree with him. In fact, I think he was spot-on. What we call the imagination consists of fragments of memory that lack any clear connection with one another. This may sound like a contradiction in terms, but when we bring such fragments together our intuition is sparked, and we sense what the future may hold in store. It is from their interaction that a novel’s true power emanates."
– Novelist as a Vocation by Haruki Murakami
"Imagination is not a means of making money. It has no place in the vocabulary of profit-making. It is not a weapon, though all weapons originate from it, and their use, or non-use, depends on it, as with all tools and their uses. The imagination is an essential tool of the mind, a fundamental way of thinking, an indispensable means of becoming and remaining human."
– Words Are My Matter by Ursula K. Le Guin
I was combing through some of my saved quotes recently and came across these two. Both have to do with imagination, albeit in very different ways; both ring true to me, for different reasons. The Murakami quote reminds me of the Gary Snyder poem "On Top", which I've written about before. It reads as follows:
All this new stuff goes on top
turn it over, turn it over
wait and water down
from the dark bottom
turn it inside out
let it spread through
Sift down even.
Watch it sprout.
A mind like compost.
The Le Guin quote, meanwhile, comes from a lecture-turned-essay titled "The Operating Instructions", which examines what it means to lead a good, creative, human life, and which is, obviously, critical of capitalistic cooptation of the imagination.
I'm not really sure that these quotes are in conversation with each other, despite having the same focus; I'm not certain if it makes sense to have paired them together here. But they've both stirred thoughts for me and made me examine the infinitely-faceted thing that is imagination in different ways. Also, it had been a while since I put a quote in the Show & Tell, so. You know. There's that.
Sending lots of love! Talk soon!
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