Like brains but not a zombie? Check out this beauiful, eloquent essay by Black Balloon's founder on the science of brains and writing.

After all, even the military is using neoroscience, so you better start brushing up on it.

Besides, what would Encyclopedia Brown have been without his all-knowing noggin helping him on the case?

It would also be intriguing to visit the brains of Jay-Z and Mary Karr, two artist deliving into artforms they're not known for.

But while you're focusing on your brian, keep an eye on your money, lest you end up like Mavis Gallant and her sketchy lit agent.

As if it wasn't bad enough that writing literary fiction isn't known for bringing home the big bucks.

So in the mean time, just lock yourself up in a room at the Paris Ritz and start pecking away at that novel.

Image source: Evan "Doc" Shaner

Our bloggers got to thinking about parent-child writing teams with the death of Nabokov’s son, Dmitri.

Perhaps he'll go on to inspire a legendary book charcter, much like the man behind Roald Dahl's BFG.

Though, the man behind legendary spammer, horse_ebooks, could also make for good story fodder.

He'd probably have some strange insights for the computer model of the brian scientists are working on.

But don't fear the rise of the robots. That is, unless fear helps get your writing gears churning.

Perhaps it will even help you write those legendary love letters you always knew you had inside of you.

Though some people prefer to use their brains for other sports, such as hacking the Whitney Biennial.

But whatever you end up doing, make sure to get your facts straight, or the fact-checkers will be on to you.

Image source

As much as I believe my intuition to be above reproach, it’s nice to have a little science come along to back my shit up. Days after I posted about putting things in boxes, I came across a vindicating Jonah Lehrer article in Wired: it seems that scientists have proven that restrictions trigger the brain to perceive on a larger scale and to conceive of a greater range of ideas, thereby boosting creativity. Thank you, science!

Now that imposing form (aka my favorite kind of restriction) has been sanctified as awesome by the brain masters, I feel compelled to push the envelope a bit further and bring in the frail, curmudgeonly matter of intention. To be clear: by form, I mean the shape of a piece of writing; the way in which content is organized on the page. It's easiest to imagine the imposed form of a sonnet, but any variety of form can just as easily be imposed on any piece of writing. You could set out to write a short story beginning every sentence with the letter Q. You could limit the syllable count in every paragraph, use only monosyllabic words, end every paragraph with a different color.

Now, imagine an idea of what you want to write about and an imposed form are fighting. Do you know who is going to win? Form. The answer is Form. Why? Because form owns you. Because form is more necessary to the achievement of beauty than some idea you had. Form takes that idea and makes it better—science says so.

As soon as an idea finds its way into language, it is trapped by the rules of grammar, coherence, effect. What is written supersedes the idea that compelled the language onto the page.

In other words, what is read are the words put down, not the intention behind those words. No author can whisper into the ear of every reader to explain what they meant. But this imposition, this forcing of an idea into language, in turn allows that idea to be explored, tweaked, and revised more fully. If I get the idea in my head to write about pancakes and how delicious they are, chances are, if I set up some limitations for myself beforehand, if I make the adventure of writing more challenging, I will be forced to enter more interesting territory.

Pancakes could achieve greatness. Pancakes could bring you to your knees. One of the greatest side-effects of form is that it’s likely to push intention further into an unexpected, delightful place.

Photo: coloringes.com

Am I the only one who believes—without hesitation and with no medical knowledge beyond a few Oliver Sacks books—that neurological disorders tell us who we really are? Is anyone else enamored by mind diseases and their relationship to language? Reading through an interview in HarvardMedicine with a neurologist who experiences bouts of hypergraphia (“the medical term for an overpowering desire to write,” as explained in the interview), I suddenly become like a sports fan of the human condition. I cheer and rally. Look at us and how awesomely our brains respond to stress and trauma! Go team!

Alice Flaherty, the neurologist, describes the compulsion as all-encompassing: “That’s all I was conscious of—I had important ideas that I needed to write down because otherwise I would forget them.” What strikes me is her emphasis on documentation, and that the anxiety compelling the act of writing is so entangled with memory. Her hypergraphic writing was not fueled by a desire for self-expression or to engage in communication with others; she wrote so she wouldn't forget.

To me, one of the most fascinating aspects of neurological dysfunction is the idea that they inherently reveal something ancient and essential about human beings. And while no doubt Alice Flaherty’s hypergraphia manifests differently from anyone else’s, is it so outlandish to conclude that writing is a very basic human need? That we are hard-wired not only to form language, but to put that language down in an attempt at preservation? Language can save us!

My monkey brain knows this is true. Putting the words down, the simple everyday act of getting them written, is often what gets us by.

Photo: Rick Friedman for The New York Times