Writing Task #4: Proust it!

I've been reading The Memoir Book by Patti Miller. Her chapter on memory has been greatly influenced by the Proust. Miller defines memory as either being ‘original’ or ‘remembered’. 


‘Remembered’ memory is simply your ability to recall events, ‘this is the extracted idea of the memory’ as it may feel as though you are ‘watching’ the events. Whereas ‘original’ memory is ‘the product of a sensory stimulus’ and you ‘relive the experience’ hence the heavy referencing to Proust.

So this week’s writing task is to find your own madeleines. Try and unlock some original memories by setting up some sensory cues – whether this means going for a slice of cake, sniffing out the spice rack, listening to music, touching silk or corduroy - anything that may trigger of some memories.

According to Miller, Proust said reverie was his favourite emotional state and the one he believed all good writing ought to induce. So allow yourself to slip into "a state of being pleasantly lost in one's thoughts; a daydream" and record all the words/memories associated with the sensory stimulus you have selected. 

Composting

Since reading about Patti Miller's term 'composting' - I’ve been more consciously shifting and ruminating over certain aspects of my trip.

Mud bath, Glastonbury 2011

Though I haven't really mentioned much about my trip at all! Basically I left Australia at the end of May 2011 for a European summer. I chose my destinations based on if I could nab free accommodation, but more importantly fitting in as many music festivals and gigs as possible - including Glastonbury (UK), Benicassim (Spain), Sziget (Hungry) and a host of gigs in and around London.

In August I boarded a bright orange truck and travelled with a group of strangers from London to Sydney. We drove through Europe camping along the way. We mainly pitched our tents in the back paddock of farms out of the prying eyes of the farmer – though an 8x8 orange semi-trailer is somewhat hard to unnoticed!By the end of the six months we had camped on an abandoned airstrip, in old quarries, mountainsides, farm yards, freshly ploughed fields, swamps, car parks, an old train station, on beaches or even just pitched on the shoulder of roads.

All the passengers on board became firm friends by the time we drove across Turkey into Iran, In fact I now count the majority as family.

Masuleh, Iran

The truck continued through Pakistan and I flew onto India, where I later met up with truck after a share of strange and wonderful experiences in South India – including getting scouted for a Bollywood film. From there we drove into Nepal, crossing the Himalayans in Tibet, then down the Yunnan province in China into Laos. Leaving the truck behind we crammed onto public transport, with chicken coops balanced on our laps and boxes beneath our feet, as we travelled through Vietnam. Before island hopping thru Thailand, getting stuck in monsoonal Malaysia, celebrating Chinese New Year in Singapore and then sailing to Indonesia. We drove through the centre of Australia before arriving in Sydney travel worn and possibly distastefully unkempt.

Some things have bubbled to the surface of my compost heap, including:

- Nightclubbing in thermals in Lhasa, as military police played poker and sung karaoke in the next room. I should add that by this stage we had been wearing these thermals day and night for ten days straight!

- Been shown the secret trails of bird nest poachers on the small islands off Thailand

Sailing in Thailand

- Discovering a choking fear of claustrophobia in the dark depths of the underground city in Turkey

- Almost tripping over the edge of a volcanic crater in Indonesia – all because I was trying to get ‘the perfect shot’

Before climbing the crater of Mt Bromo

- Getting locked below deck on a 36hr ferry journey though Indonesia. This was slightly disturbing, but the situation became unnerving after remembering that they evacuated 1^st and 2^nd classes first on the sinking Titanic. The situation became even more nerve wrecking when we realised that the life jacket boxes were empty

Clutching onto a buoy for dear life once we were allowed above deck

- Somehow managing not to contract a full body fungal infection after a visit to a grimy Turkish spa bath. Lesson learnt - saving five lira is not worth the experience of getting boisterously pummeled with a rag by a very naked, middle aged Turkish woman

Istanbul in bloom

The rot sets in

Community garden, Highgate Hill, London

Lately I’ve been thinking about bodies. And compost. But mainly bodies.

I haven’t been thinking about body deposable techniques. Rather I’ve been dredging my brain for everything I learnt in uni about anatomy and musculoskeletal conditions*. My neurones are synapsing over time. I’m left dull witted and entirely at risk of falling asleep on the train after work. Once home I’m house hunting, training for a half marathon**, reacquainting myself with friends and family (so they don’t wonder who the strange redhead is sleeping in their daughter’s bed) and starting two separate yearlong diplomas.

After a nine months of having little worries and no responsibilities other then occasionally wearing clean clothes and eating vegetables - I’ve somehow piled a whole lot of responsibilities onto my plate so that I can’t even see the plate anymore.

Needless to say I haven’t been writing much, other a couple of letters and what you see on this blog. Whilst I’m happy with the blog, it’s been sliding into mainly book reviews. I’ve only vaguely mentioned writing my travelogue but not to any real extent. I love doing book reviews, but the original intent of the blog was to focus on developing my writing and have a manuscript written, edited and good to go by the year’s end.

So this last month I’ve been ‘composting’. According to Patti Miller author of ‘The Memoir Book’ -

“often, experience feels monolithic and can take time to break down into usable elements…tackle events which are too recent, and not only are they (writing students) overwhelmed by the events emotionally, they also find their writing ‘lumpy’ and raw, much like the original materials of a compost heap.”

Because I like plans and lists, I’m taking on Miller’s advice to do some ‘pre-writing’, which is not posing with your pen poised as if you are just about to write something. Rather

“You are not writing the memoir, you are writing about it. This pre-writing is a ramble, a kind of scaffolding, from which you explore the general territory.”

This week I’m going to figure out my approach to my travelogue – I’m half thinking of creating a chapter/personal essay for each country I travelled to***. But I want to figure out themes, intent, tone and style. Hopefully I develop a strong base so my compost heap sprouts a small seedling which grows into a heaving tree

'Spontaneous City in the Tree of Heaven', Secret Garden, Islington, London

I realise I’ve taken Miller’s metaphor and completely changed it’s meaning, but I think the idea of trees more appealing then rotting banana skins..

* I’m a physiotherapist

**I once read a study that if you visual yourself exercising this has a positive physiological affect on your cardiovascular health, minor at best, but at the minute I’m risking crow’s feet as I concentrate super hard on imagining myself running. I’ll hopefully squeeze in a spot of actual running this week .

*** England, Ireland, Germany, Spain, Belgium + Hungry + Bulgaria + Romania + Prague + Austria (in one essay as I spent I fleeting time in each), Turkey, Iran, India, Tibet + China, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, Australia