some loose thoughts on repetition

by John Atkinson Grimshaw

Dear reader,

Once again, I’m publishing this monthly essay on the last day of the month. I’ll never learn. November passed by like a speeding train; that is to say a non-Croatian one. I think kids speed up the passage of time and when I realize my little daughter will have her first birthday soon I remember how a friend said that I should try to enjoy every moment because they grow up so fast. She reminds me every week that I live in illusion that nothing ever changes, as she grows in front of my eyes, little by little so I don’t notice. And then one day she stands on her feet. She reminds me that life is short, as I think how my parents also watched me stand up for the first time like that, and how much has changed since then.

As I’ve said before, we live in the illusion of a trouble-free future and that some unfulfilled condition prevents us from enjoying the present. But isn’t that what makes us adults? Not avoiding responsibility, but pursuing it head-on. And so in moments when frustration starts to shade my days I try to remind myself that “one must imagine Sisyphus happy”. When I selfishly whine how I would like to have more free time, I realize that I have plenty, but the problem is that it now requires sacrifice at the altar of sleep gods. But this sacrifice makes it more precious and so I use it more wisely.

For example, I can’t remember the last time I sat and watched something on Netflix. I think that’s a good thing because the quality of things produced these days is rarely comparable to older classics. I would rather rewatch Braveheart for the fifth time than risk it with latest Netflix drama miniseries. Even though it might sound corny that that movie is one of my favorites, because it’s not as intellectually stimulating as say Tenet, it still is, because it tapped the well of deep emotion in me, which is a feature of only the greatest art. I can’t remember the time when something released more recently has had the same effect on me. Similarly, people complain about their lists of unread books and how they won’t live long enough to read them, but I think they would benefit more from just re-reading some of their favorite books. Nabokov famously said that you can’t read a book, but only reread it.

And when I reread I notice a lot of details I’ve missed on the first reading. Sometimes I have gathered a better knowledge about the writer so I better notice how the usual themes are developed. Sometimes a lot of time has passed so now I am more familiar with the authors or books mentioned, that were total strangers on the first reading. As books contain all these references, they gaze towards the past. As I am a programmer who works with technology that focuses towards the future, this is refreshing and gives me an alternative world view. Maybe the old works will become more popular, now that the AI generated slop is penetrating into the book publishing industry as well, which could make everyone skeptical that a book is really written by the author. On a second thought, ghostwritten books are extremely popular, so I realize I’m being naive and hopeful again. Oh, well, a man can dream.

I think people shy away from rereading because of the novelty bias and I think repetition in general is more valuable than generally thought. For example, the popular advice to get better at something is to do it a hundred times. But I think a common misinterpretation of that advice when trying to get better at writing is to publish a hundred different essays. And that leads to rushing to publish without giving enough attention to any of them. I believe there’s more to learn from rewriting the same essay over and over again, but this is more difficult, as it requires stamina, so it’s easy to avoid it. But good rewriting means sharpening the axe, as one can’t do it successfully without paying attention and attempting to improve the strength of one’s arguments, or the quality of articulation, or the transfer of atmosphere or emotion.

Maybe this is just my sorry attempt of an excuse for writing these sentences on the last day of this month. You see, I had another essay in store, but it’s not done yet, even though I’ve done four complete rewrites. I think I’ve learned more from rewriting that essay than I did from all the other writing combined. I want to keep working on it, I say to myself, forgetting that that’s exactly how I stopped the regular publishing practice. See, my writing failure mode is not publishing anything at all when I become obsessive about it. What keeps me obsessive is the fact that publishing essays is in a lot of ways similar to programming, but it’s very different in this: once an essay is published I stop working on it. Which means I only have one shot at covering an idea I want to cover. Which is why, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll now get back to repetition.

Yours,

SH