The Art of Paying Attention
By Sarah Callender | May 11, 2016 |
Over spring break, we cashed in my husband’s frequent flier miles and Marriott points and took the kids to Washington D.C. where museums are free and drivers honk their horns 100% more often than Seattleites do. I don’t think car manufacturers even install horns in the cars of Seattle drivers.
A highlight of D.C. was a dip into the Renwick Museum, a gem that stands proud and plucky in the shadow of the big-shot museums. Its current exhibit included sculptures and 3-D art, structures built from thread and twisted branches, glass stones and old growth cedar, tire rubber and thousands of dead insects. The exhibit is called Wonder. It’s wonderful.
In the gift shop, while my daughter ran her hand over a $500 rainbow scarf and looked at me with pleading eyes, I ignored her ridiculousness and picked up a book by Keri Smith titled How to be an Explorer of the World: Portable Art Life Museum.
My daughter kept petting the scarf.
“No one needs a $500 scarf.” I held up the book. “But everyone needs this. And it’s $14.95.”
The format and visuals of the book appealed to me instantly; the text appears handwritten, complete with crossed-out words, underlines, playful lists, simple line sketches and quotes from smart artists. And the message? Pay attention to the world. Notice stuff. Pick up weird things you find when you’re out and about and study them. Observe patterns in both nature and urban areas.
We writers are explorers of the world—the real world and our fictional worlds. We are eavesdroppers and question-askers. We are curious, and we spot connections, themes and symbolism in our culture, jobs, neighborhoods and homes. We have the privilege of experiencing deep purple emotions, jagged edges and glass smooth surfaces, upside-down Technicolor in 3-D. Not-writers aren’t so lucky (she said in a whisper so the not-writers wouldn’t feel too bad about themselves).
Yet we juggle fiction writing, day jobs, caring for children and/or aging parents, mental and physical health. In other words, sometimes we forget to pay attention to the world.
Thank goodness, then, for How to be an Explorer of the World, in which Smith offers fifty-nine Explorations to develop our exploring, noticing, watching muscles, the very fibers we use in our fiction writing.
Perspective and POV
In several places throughout the book, Smith highlights the importance of perspective and point of view. For example, I am a middle class white mother writer Christian married Abe Lincoln enthusiast with bipolar disorder living in Seattle where no one impatiently honks his car horn. My world view is shaped, in large part, by those elements of my identity. That’s not to say my world view is static. In fact, I hope it does evolve (except for the horn-honking) as I connect with others who have different biases, backgrounds, beliefs and blind spots.
In Exploration #40, Smith invites us to alter our own perspective by looking at something upside down, through squinty eyes, or with rose-colored sunglasses.
How does varying our way of looking at something affect what we see? How does it affect our ability to see it? How and why do I describe a scene, event, taste or color differently than someone else? Why are eye witnesses so unreliable?
As a writer, when I invite a character into being, I care less about his favorite food, his occupation, his hair color, or whether he has pets. I do care about what perspective he brings to the story-table. To understand a character, we must zip ourselves into his body and ask, what does this unique protagonist seek from the world? What are his expectations in a romantic relationship, his feelings when he arrives at a dinner party or job interview, his views on the value of money and family, his response to fear, pain, deep emotion?
Answers to these questions allow us to learn why he has arrived in his particular stance with his unique values, opinions, fears and biases. We will understand what he needs and why. And how he’s going to get it. And why he needs to get it. And why he will have an exceptionally hard time getting it. Et voila! Conflict and tension arise from the murky waters of Story, all because we have taken the time to see and understand the character’s orientation to the world.
Contrasting Images
In Exploration #24, Smith invites us to combine groups of objects for visual or emotional contrast, “items that are natural vs. human-made, contrasting colors, alive vs. decaying, light vs. dark.”
This exercise led me to consider how the full cast of characters in a work of fiction interact and play off one another. A secondary character might be the antagonist, or he may be a foil, set up to highlight the protagonist’s traits. (The term “foil” comes from the attempt to make a gemstone more beautiful by placing foil behind it.)
To give an example of how foils work in Story, we might look at The Great Gatsby (Tom Buchanan is the foil to Jay Gatsby). Han Solo to Luke Skywalker. Dr. Watson to Sherlock Holmes. One’s traits and desires contrast and highlight the traits and desires of another. How might your story benefit from greater contrast between characters? What elements of your protagonist’s persona could benefit from a spotlight? A foil often points to some element of the protagonist so the author doesn’t have to.
A Character’s Cracks (insert plumber joke here)
In Exploration #8 Smith asks us to map out the pavement cracks in our neighborhood. While driving on a new street with perfectly poured pavement makes my car feel much fancier than it is, I love the idea of searching for and mapping the cracks in our neighborhood. These pavement cracks add depth and personality to the veins and grids of our transportation network. And most days, unless we hit a pot hole, we don’t even notice them.
Cracks in our character may appear as an Achilles heel or an internal need or desire. An external event may also cause a crack in our character. Imagine you are driving on the freeway and a piece of gravel nicks your windshield, causing only a minute ding in the glass. You may ignore it; you may even forget it’s there, but it won’t take too many bumps to jiggle that ding into a long line that spans the width of your glass, usually right at eye level.
We tend to think cracks are bad (insert second plumber joke), but in Story, a character without cracks is about as exciting as dryer lint. The cracks in our characters highlight their fragility, and we readers fear that these cracks, when under pressure and duress, may cause the character to shatter. While cracks in real life cause stress and discomfort, we sure do love to read about them in fiction. What external or internal cracks do you notice in your characters? How do the characters reveal or disguise these cracks?
An Invitation to Notice–Please RSVP
Smith’s invitation is simple: Notice the world. Explore. Pay attention. And now, try this:
Wherever you are, look up from this screen and notice something you’d miss if you weren’t an explorer of the world. Will you share what you just noticed? If you are already an explorer, how do you observe and record the details that others miss? How does the art of noticing inform your writing? Are you a horn-honker?
Thank you for reading, sharing, and most of all, for noticing.
Photo compliments of Flickr’s Darin McClure.
[coffee]
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
Love this! How easy it is to forget to notice. How magical it is when we do. Thanks for reminding us, Sarah!
Yes! It’s like when we were thinking about getting a Mazda, and then, all I would see on the roads we Mazdas. As if everyone had decided to get the car that we were thinking about getting. Or everyone has the kind of puppy were were wanting to get. OR angels. I see angels everywhere when I am looking for them. ;)
Noticing makes magic happen. Thank you, Mary.
First, I am a horn honker. I live in a Midwestern-nice city where nobody else honks, but I’m a big city gal and I do not like my progress impeded! (exclamation mark = the honk of punctuation)
Second, what a great piece. It makes me want to go out and look around. I remember reading about a character in a book who liked to stand in the middle of the road and bend until she could look between her legs; she said it made things look cleaner. I tried it (which was fairly dangerous, since I lived one block from Toronto’s major north-south thoroughfare). It was cool, but I wouldn’t say “cleaner.”
When I look up from my computer now, I see a ceramic lizard my son made in school some years ago. My daughter has piled some schoolwork next to it, with some papers just covering its nose. It looks like the lizard is trying to sneakily see what’s under the pile.
I may have to pick up How To Be An Explorer of the World :-)
Beautiful, Natalie. Yes, pick up the book . . . I plan to send my children out this summer, armed with the book, a bag for collecting stuff, a pen, and their eyeballs. I think they will have a ball using their eyeballs. And no screens or technology required!
I can just picture the sneaky lizard. And I can relate to the big city honking. I lived in Chicago for eight years and *may* have been known to honk. After eighteen years in Seattle though? Honkless.
Thanks for the great comment. xo!
Sarah, what a fun trip and a wonderful essay! I hate to admit that I’m a horn honker, only I wish it didn’t sound like a duck, but something lower like a bull-frog. My husband’s ’65 Barracuda, that I still miss sometimes, had a two-tone horn. They don’t make cars like that anymore.
I’m on the family computer and I try NOT to notice the enormous mess of papers and bills and college brochures beneath the Mozart we’re practicing. But the reference guide for our oven reminds me that it needs to be fixed. So many distractions. I’d much rather be out on my back porch watching the squirrels and listening to bird-song.
Oh, Vijaya. I am a chronic pile-er. It’s one of the things I dislike most about myself. Yet! If I tuck everything away, I forget to get the oven repaired or schedule my kids’ dentist appts, etc.
I want a two-tone horn. I would absolutely be a rampant honker with a a two-tone horn. My best childhood friend’s parents had a blue ’67 Barracuda convertible. It was the best!
Happy writing and happy listening to the piles. And the birds.
I’m a piler, too, Sarah! And proud of it. I come by it honestly. I think it’s a genetic.
Oh man, I hate books that appear hand written. They’re usually about sniffing the roses. Who has time?
Give me a tight, densely typeset paperback, lean in style, punchy yet profound, a sweep-me-away-kiss-me-on-the-lips-throw-me-in-jail kind of read.
I love book barns. They’re full of forgotten books that read like muscle cars drive, like cigarettes smolder, like red lipstick shines, like rocket ships thunder, like Oxford cloth shirts crinkle, like coffee cups leave brown rings, like churches smell of candle wax and sin, like Grade A steak sizzles, like angora feels on a beautiful dame.
Dame? Did I just write dame? Hold on. Getting carried away here. Truth is, those lean writers of the paperback days did a pretty good job of observing the world. It was just a different world than ours.
If I lose patience sometimes with the achingly, exquisitely, excruciatingly detailed and finely nuanced writing of today, it’s only a matter of style. I may find some fiction nowadays bloated and indigestible, unnecessarily rich at times, all dessert no meat, but I’ll grant you that it’s observant.
The surfeit of observance in contemporary fiction probably just speaks to the ache of writers, and readers, to embrace life. Life is precious and short. We should pay attention. Make the most of it.
If I sometimes prefer the paperback fiction yore it’s not because it failed to observe the world, it simply placed equal value on experiencing it. What characters must do–action–speaks as much to living with attention as that which they notice.
But that’s what you’re saying. Paying attention leads us to story possibilities. Dang, I want to disagree with you because I dislike books that appear handwritten, but in fact I’ll have to agree.
I’ll pay attention, but then write in my own style. Thanks, Sarah. BTW, Honking? You should try living in NYC. Honking’s just the start. Sirens. Bus brakes. Jets. Restaurants with decibel levels like jets. I’ve lost some hearing in this berg.
I don’t even know how to respond to a comment so lovely. And, at times, so crabby. ;)
I’m not a huge Hemingway fan, but I do like his writing–sparse and full of noticing. Have you read “Hills Like White Elephants”? It’s one of my most favorite short stories, and H-way is a master at saying so much in just a very few words.
I’m with you about hand-written books. But this one’s different. Or maybe it’s not, but I love it anyway. Perhaps you don’t like handwriting-books because you have lost 15% of your hearing? Who knows. But this dame loves the beauty of your comment.
Aw, that’s sweet, Sugar. Wait, did I just write Sugar? I must be infected by some kind of mid-Century slang virus. Please excuse.
“Hills Like White Elephants”…oh yes, know it well. Once heard James Scott Bell expound upon it. Like Bell’s hero, Raymond Carver, Hemingway observed people with laser eyes and conveyed their striving and heartache without seeming to mess on the page with their inner lives.
To me Hemingway is like crack for MFA students: Look! You don’t need distasteful plot! Good lord, don’t write about emotions! All you must do is observe beautifully! That’s what great writing is!
Well, it’s not, as you know. Observing is important but it’s only the start.
Wow, you’re right. I sound pretty cranky today. Better get back to the keyboard. I observe that makes me feel better.
BTW, In case I didn’t say it in my crabby, feverish state, great post, Sarah.
Ha! I am a big proponent of embracing the mood du jour so don’t let my ribbing cramp your style.
Brilliant observations about H-way. Don’t you think he must have been a crabby, somewhat-miserable fellow? We writers aren’t exactly known for our easy mood life.
Thanks for adding levity to my day, laddie. I hope you have arranged some great words and sentences in your WIP. Happy day to you!
I once moved from Boston, where if you didn’t honk the horn you’d never get anywhere, to LA, where nobody honked even under extreme provocation. It felt VERY weird.
When I looked up just now, I noticed all the nail holes I shouldn’t have made in the walls of this rental apartment and felt guilty. Now I’m going to order that book.
I loved this (and I adore your sassy haircut!). Once, when I was an exhausted mom of a colicky newborn, I handed a used nursing pad to a visiting friend because she needed a coaster for her drink. I wish I would have noticed that before I did it.
It’s interesting, the car-honking personality of the coasts. If I ever tried to drive in Boston, I think I’d end up crying over the rudeness of the world, with my car stopped in the middle of the road, even though of course that would make everything even worse, honking-wise.
Thank you, dear Jean of CuteHairshire!
Your post brought many things to mind, but two stand out.
I used to have an old Jaguar. The car not the animal. Its horn was, English, and the the most well mannered horn in the world. When you touched it, it gave of a small and inoffensive beep. Like a butler clearing his throat. It’s understatement didn’t work in Los Angeles.
When I was a kid I used to hang upside down on the sofa and from this POV the ceiling appeared as the floor. It was a very different living room.
Thank you, Sarah. It is POV. And the POV changes with the angle and the location. A polite beep works in say, the British countryside, but is drowned in Los Angeles, and an ordinary and familiar living room can become an alien world when processed from another perspective.
I’ve got much to think about, from many different angles. Great post.
A horn like a butler clearing his throat. Gosh, Bernadette, that is beautiful and brilliant.
With the current election, I have been thinking a lot about POV and how, while we are all Americans, while we all want comfort, peace, jobs, freedom, security and health, our perspectives on certain things can be so incredibly different. Even within the same family!
Happy writing to you today. I always love and savor your comments. xo!
Thanks for the reminder, Sarah. Spending so much time at the computer tends to focus one’s attention on information, rather than experience. It’s wise to remember: oh yeah, this hunk of meat I drag around with me, it’s called my body, and it exists in a physical world. I tell myself that, and yet even when I do get outside I see chores to do in the garden rather than the flowers, or I stay lost in my thoughts instead of attending to what’s in front of me. (The dog helps. He insists on my full attention. Ball, Dad. Throw it.)
Meanwhile: $500 scarf you say? Reminds me, my wife’s birthday is coming up. Must buy present….
Yes! Dogs are so helpful in that way. I like that yours calls you, “Dad.”
Here’s the link to the store . . . colorful/expensive scarves are hanging against the wall.
Thanks, you hunk of meat, for being here.
:)
Hi, Sarah,
Right now, I am noticing my black “mini-panther” roving around my “office,” jumping from the chair I use to prop my foot (surgery 2 weeks ago). He was on my lap and moved to said chair, then began rubbing his cheek on the corner of the slide-out shelf on my desk. Now he’s chirping behind me – probably noticed a pigeon out there.
Ha! I am sitting beside my mini-lynx, watching the mystery of his tail-twitch. It seems so arbitrary, the direction and the the twitchiness of the twitch, and I wonder if it serves a purpose. And now he’s sitting on my hands. And now he’s doing a horribly irritating meow in my face. I wish I could take a picture (but he’s sitting on my hands).
If you have any information on a cat’s tail twitch, please pass it along! And thanks, Barbara, for the note. I hope you have full recovery ASAP–just in time for summer!
Here’s something I noticed today, Sarah. I noticed the warm feeling I get when I see it’s your day on WU. It’s wonderful because checking WU is one of the first things I do each day. So it starts me with a smile and a glow, knowing there will be mirth if not hilarity used to deliver the exact sort of message that helps me to endure.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the fuel that keeps me going on this crazy-making quest. It’s a lot of little things, but they all connect somehow with the joy I found when this story starting spilling from my subconscious over a decade ago. I need to get back to it again and again, and it’s not always easy. You always show me a glimmer of it, and it’s very noticeable, and much appreciated.
How about an audio noticing? As I read the post, I started my iTunes on random-play in a cloudy day mix, and the song Sleeping Lessons, by the Shins, came on. I’ve heard the song a hundred times, and I thought I’d gleaned the lyrics’ intention well enough. But something caught my ear as I read. I clicked over to a lyrics site to find this:
“Go without
‘Til the need seeps in
You low animal
Collect your novel petals for the stem
And glow, glow
Melt and flow
Eviscerate your fragile frame
And spill it out in the ragged floor
A thousand different versions of yourself…”
That sounds a lot like my writing journey. Only through connecting with the joy of the work can I perceive “a thousand different versions of myself.” I’m glad I noticed.
Thanks for your noticing, Noticey-Noticer. Once again, you’ve hit all the right notes – perfectly in tune with my writerly song.
Oh, how I love those wonderful coincidences. Maybe they are there all the time, and we just have to notice them? I love the Shins–my sister toured with them at one point when she was on tour with The Fruitbats. And what beautiful lyrics those are!
Every time I see your name pop up on FB or WU, I get to be reminded of your goodness. Pure goodness, my friend, that’s what you are. Thank you for sharing your massive gift of encouragement!
Love that you found this book and passed it on.
I’m in awe of what’s around me and yet, I don’t take enough time to look because I’m buried behind my computer. I forget to absorb all there is.
With your reminder, I looked out my office window and noticed that the various shrubs and trees in our garden do different dances in the wind. Some sway gently, others ruffle their leaves with impatience, and others hardly move, as if it’s just too much effort. Like people.
And being a fan of Hemingway’s, I’m going to look up that short story. We were in Havana, Cuba a year ago, and I was thrilled to see the hotel room, in which he had written one of his masterpieces.
Thank you for a delightful post, Sarah. And good luck with your novels.
The different dances of shrubs and plants! Gorgeous! That is such a perfect example of what we who love words can do when we notice. I’m so glad you shared, Diana. Others see plants; you see leggy lavender dancing the tango; squatty boxwood doing the lindy hop; daisies square dancing.
I love that you saw Hemingway’s abode. Imagine what went on insider those walls! Much festivities and much pain, I imagine.
Thanks so much for your words and your noticing. :)
What a great reminder. And that book sounds lovely – I just ordered a copy.
As far as regional car horn usage, I’m in South Florida, where we don’t use horns; we use guns. Wish I were kidding.
LOL. But then, yeah, not funny.
I laughed out loud before I could stop myself. Not to get political, but I guess I prefer horns to guns.
I hope you are well and that the writing is great.
:)
Sarah, thanks for this reminder to notice! To look up from the phone or the screen and engage in the world, to make connections that the Muggles don’t make, but rely on us to make for them. It’s great work if you can get it. Also, thank you for your unique way of noticing the world. You are delightful.
It’s great work if you can get it. What a perfect sentiment for the writing life. It must be so hard to be a muggle. And so easy. :)
You are SO delightful. Thank you, Susan.
Sarah, that book sounds like a delight, and perhaps less painful than the whacks to the side of my head I’m forever giving myself (I carry that book at all times) to wake up and eat the roses. Or smoke the coffee, or whatever it is that one does when one wakes up. (I honk.)
Thanks for the reminder; eyes peeled.
Yes, eyes peeled; earbuds out of ears; nose plugs and mittens off.
(I’m talking to me, not to you. I know YOU don’t wear nose plugs when you’re just going about your day.)
xo!
Being present in the moment is the best way I know to “notice” my surroundings or if you will, the world. So often we walk through the day with our heads stuck in technology and forget what the real world in all it’s glory looks, feels, and smells. Thank you for the reminder.
You are welcome, Sheila. The reminder is for me as well. Technology allows you and me to connect. It also allows you and me to forget to pay attention to things that are important. Technology feels so much more titillating than boring old nature or boring old colors, patterns details . . . ah the irony!
Thanks, Sheila, for your comment. :)
Sarah,
Thanks for the wisdom on creating a rich life.
And hey, maybe I’ll even use it in my writing sometime. Maybe my protagonists will pull their heads out and try it too. If not, I’ll leave it to secondary characters to notice how dull-hearted my protagonists are.
Ha! Yes! But my aren’t our characters stubborn! Thanks for chiming in today, Tom.
I love the idea of the secondary characters teaching the protag a think or two. It’s kind of like the second violins in an orchestra. They get no fame or glory, but the first violins sure sound pretty and more harmonious with those humble second violins.
I live in south-central Illinois. We don’t honk horns often here, but we do cuss then say, “Bless their hearts.”
If I look up and out the kitchen window, I notice that my little world is holding its breath. The radio cut in with a warning of another severe storm on its way. It jars me, that squawking. Yet, it’s familiar, part of the routine of spring, along with planting tomatoes and string beans.
I want to go out in that stillness and watch those clouds I admit loving. Those clouds that look like prehistoric behemoths and you can understand stories of old gods.
Wonderful post and conversation here. Thank you for such a delicious treat.
Oh, so very beautiful, Tonia. I lived in Chicago for eight years, and I spent one beautiful thanksgiving with a friend on her parents’ soybean farm in Mt. Pulaski. I loved it. Not sure where you are, but thank you, thank you for giving us all the most lovely whiff of storm clouds and imminent rain.
Lovely. Thank you.
Great post, Sarah. Did you know you can tap a horn and not blast it? LOL. I loved your line about zipping yourself into your character. Writing for me is sometimes exposing the soft underbelly of my own life, things I think but won’t say–so I let my characters say them. But life is to be explored, not only for children, but for adults too. How amazing that life from Florida to Seattle has horns (read: a way to jump into the conversation) but they all vary in their use. Happy writing.
Beth,
Two things I love about this comment: First, that horns are a way to jump into the conversation. That is brilliant, and it makes me feel much better about honkers. They just want to be included. :)
Things #2: You said that your characters can say or do things that you might not feel comfy saying or doing. Boy, do I get that. I was writing a scene yesterday, and I found myself sharing things (via my protag) about a shameful episode of my life. How therapeutic! I love that you brought up this idea. Thank you.
:)
P.S. This is my favorite paragraph in this post that I copied and saved: “To understand a character, we must zip ourselves into his body and ask, what does this unique protagonist seek from the world? What are his expectations in a romantic relationship, his feelings when he arrives at a dinner party or job interview, his views on the value of money and family, his response to fear, pain, deep emotion?” Fits into the earlier posts about showing the setting through the eyes of our characters.
Hmm…Sarah, as usual you make me laugh and think at the same time. You’re awesome.
I looked up at the ceiling, as you said I should, and noticed the water mark our contractor promised to fix (since it was caused by his mistake installing the shower above) but didn’t because I lost my cool and fired him before he could finish. This brings a burn to my neck, prickling my skin. I’m not one to fire people. I’m a forgiver, forgetter, forever willing to see the good in everyone. But this guy had pushed my last button. Buttons…I guess I have them. Everyone does. I think I keep mine well hidden, buried deep, but I know they’re there. Somewhere, in my core, I’ve got an evil stepsister just waiting to pounce. And I know this because every once and a while I drive past someone raking leaves or pruning their garden and I have to stop myself from laying on the horn, just to make them jump from their skin. See, what evil!
Haha!
All that from staring at the ceiling, thinking of car horns… see what devious things you dredge up? LOL
Great post.
Dee
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT
Dear Dee,
How fantastic this was! Thank you for letting us travel your stream of consciousness. I could relate to so much of what you said.
My husband and I honeymooned in New Zealand, and whenever we’d pass a field of sheep (which was often), I’d toot the horn because it was hysterical to see one thousand sheep startle and look up in perfect unison. And then I started feeling bad about myself because I am not someone who generally gets her ya-yays by scary cute white fluffy sheep. But it was just so funny!
Thank you for your presence here at WU. And thanks for sharing.
xo!
I honk my horn to warn little animals and children to get out of the road, otherwise, no horn honking. It’s just not my thing. In some places there is a noise ban (like in London) so drivers flash car lights instead of honking.
I went to school in Seattle. I don’t remember honking there. I usually walked or took the bus in the city.
I noticed that you’re working on your third novel. Congratulations!
I noticed that you have a very cool looking new ‘do. Congratulations!
My hair frizzed in Seattle (and in London) and I had many, many bad hair days. The sea, the rain… water, water, everywhere, even in my hair.
Ha! I was just thinking about this weather: 75 degrees, blue skies, low humidity in Seattle today. This means my hair doesn’t look like a wool helmet. What a relief.
You know what I love? This: The sea in my hair. That is such a beautiful image.
I’m so glad you know Seattle! I haven’t been to London, but people say it’s a similar climate. I am hoping you’re living in a less watery place these days!
Thanks for your encouragement and your kind words. :)
I’m on the bus with all the other commuters. I notice phones and back-lit screens in nearly everybody’s hands (mine included). The only person who’s anywhere close to looking out the window (apart from the driver) is the guy whose head lolls against the window as he sleeps. In a little while the bus will travel over the bridge into the city. Sydney harbour will sparkle and beckon me to look, but your post has made me realise it’s been a long time since I did. This morning I’ll press my nose to the glass and take it all in.
Thanks for a great post, Sarah. (Love the comments, too.)
Now to be more aware and mindful.
Thank you, Dale. Aren’t the comments amazing? Yours is too. I love that we got to ride your bus route. With the magic of technology, I am wondering if we could start an anti-technology “Take back your noticing!” movement. You could take Australia, and I’ll get things started in North America.
Happy writing, watching and seeing today!
Sarah,
This is such a great post — and today my tribute to noticing was that I noticed your subject line, “The Art of Paying Attention” in my inbox, and I noticed, as I read along to the end, that it was a Sarah day! And I noticed that now that I have so much more time freed up to get back to my roots how much I miss coming here to honk my horn.
Honk honk! (And many more to come.) Thanks for giving me something to think about with my characters. I am now going to be applying the “what does he/she notice?” test whenever I’m narrating a scene, known from this point forward as the SC-test.
Hi John! Welcome back. I was flabbergasted by how much good work you were doing on Inkshares . . . and I was trying to figure out how on earth you were doing it all–working, writing, sleeping, time with family, etc. All this to say, I’m glad you are back. And I know WU is too.
We have noticed your absence!
xo!