Embracing Limitations

"What are you doing in my coop?"

----

Way back in the day, when I was still hopelessly addicted to video games, I went through a phase in which I was obsessed with the N Game, a ninjalicious java applet with an absurdly good physics engine. The game itself was fun, but the aspect that really got me hooked was the level editor. A sizable online community had formed for the purpose of sharing levels, a sub-clique of which were the DDA makers. A DDA, or "Don't Do Anything", is a level which completes itself without any input from the player -- essentially an action movie in which the ninja protagonist confidently dodges rockets, lasers, and killer robots.

My first few attempts to make DDAs were pathetic, even by my own standards. The level designs were clunky, unimaginative, and relied too heavily on the more obvious methods of propulsion. At some point, without putting any thought into the matter, I started imposing arbitrary limitations on myself. Can I make a DDA without any launch pads or gold delay? How about one using only thwumps for propulsion? Can I make a DDA with every object hidden behind a bounce block? I found that, with enough time and effort, the answer to every one of these questions was a resounding "Yes!", and the resulting levels were far more interesting than those I had created without any restrictions.

A few months ago, I tried applying this concept to songwriting: I wanted to compose yet another meandering, astructural, progressive, instrumental piece, but instead of having different sections employ different techniques, I wanted the entire piece to rely on slapping. After churning out dozens of fun new riffs, I eventually stumbled upon a wildly different way of incorporating slapping, one which I had never thought of before. I deemed the experiment a success, and made a mental note to try imposing other limitations in the future.

----

During the third week of my photography class, the professor announced that we were no longer allowed to submit photos that had been taken on campus. He was understandably tired of seeing the same buildings over and over again, and wanted us to explore more of the city in our search for interesting subjects. At first I resisted, only ever venturing a few blocks from campus with my trusty Canon Rebel, and the results were mediocre at best. This weekend, however, I spent a few days in New Hampshire with my lovely ninja queen, and I brought my camera along with me. The surrounding environment was so vastly different from my daily routine that it was almost too easy to find interesting things to photograph -- bridges, gravestones, flowers, cats, dogs, and even chickens.

Unlike in previous projects, I liked so many of my shots that I found it hard to pick which ones I wanted to submit. Eventually I decided to impose another limitation: my project would be dedicated to exploring the emotions of animals. The collection I came up with was, without any doubt, the most innovative I have created thus far. Of all the lessons that have crystallized during the 1000 hour quest, the one that most readily applies to any subject is this: creativity is unlocked not by avoiding limitations, but by embracing them.

----

Week 34 total: 15 hours
Grand total: 760.5 hours
Required pace: 654 hours (+106.5)

Wazbob and Snagbar

On Monday morning, Wazbob left his home to head down to the docks. Along the way he saw Snagbar, his friend and fellow fisherman, walking in the opposite direction. "Hello there, Snagbar! Where are you headed?" asked Wazbob. Snagbar held up his hand and replied, "I've got this little blister on my finger, see? I'm going to take the day off. I've earned it, right?" Wazbob simply said "If you say so," and walked on.

When he arrived at the docks, he found a dock officer standing by his boat. After a thorough and time-consuming inspection, the officer announced, "I'm pleased to report that your vessel meets all of our requirements... except one." Wazbob was puzzled, as he had never failed a monthly inspection before. "Your registration has expired. I cannot allow you to fish until it is renewed." And so, begrudgingly, Wazbob spent the rest of the day at the Department of Fishing Vehicles to renew his registration.

The next morning, Wazbob was awoken by the sharp crack of nearby thunder. He gazed out his bedroom window to see trees being bent almost to the ground by the strong winds. "Gah, a man can get killed trying to fish in weather like this. I'll have to stay home for the day," grumbled Wazbob. The storm raged until late Wednesday night.

Wazbob rose early on Thursday morning, determined to get in a full day of fishing. As he made his way down to the docks, he again ran into Snagbar, this time walking with an unfamiliar man by his side. "Good morning, Snagbar! Is this a new fishing partner?" he asked. Snagbar chortled and exclaimed, "No, this is my cousin Dagmar! He's visiting for the weekend, so I figured I'd take the day off to show him around." They walked away, chortling all the while. When Wazbob arrived at the docks, he was dismayed to find that a tree had fallen on his boat, crushing the cabin and tearing his best net. After thrice cursing his bad luck, he set about dislodging the tree and repairing his livelihood. He dragged himself home in the late evening covered with sweat, blood, and splinters, but with not a single fish to sell for Friday's market.

----

A few months ago I was invited to attend a Wikimedia conference in Washington, D.C., with all expenses covered. I graciously accepted, but foolishly forgot to mark the date on my calendar. I knew I would be leaving on some Thursday in February or March, but had no idea what the date was. Last Wednesday morning, I checked my email to find a final confirmation note regarding the conference which was to take place that weekend!

After two days of scrambling, I found myself in a hostel in D.C. The conference was a smashing success, with lots of good people and great food. The only unfortunate side effect was having to spend four days away from my 1000-hour quest. There was an acoustic guitar in the common area of the hostel, but I hardly had any time to play it. On Saturday night I tallied up my total practice hours for the week, a lousy 14.5. I found myself thinking, "Well, there's nothing I can do about this, so it's not really my fault." But then I was reminded of the lesson of Wazbob and Snagbar: It doesn't matter if you have a valid excuse or not; if you don't do the work, the work won't get done.

----

Week 33 total: 14.5 hours
Grand total: 745.5 hours
Required pace: 634.5 hours (+111)

Notes on Jamming

Yesterday I had the distinct pleasure of jamming with M-Bot, a friend and fellow open mic night regular. We journeyed down to my basement, cranked both of our amps to 11, and rocked out like total bosses. So bossy was the rockage that we collaboratively won the ears and heart of a passing lady critter who, with eyes all a-twinkle, graciously accepted a copy of Ready or Not before scurrying off to fold her laundry. By the end of our three hour jam session, M-Bot and I had thoroughly ravaged our fingertips. Along the way, I made two interesting observations:

First, I fully realized how helpful jamming can be for generating fresh new melodies and chord structures. This is obviously the case when other musicians are suggesting the chords, as would often happen when I played with my older brother and his comrades over the summer. Back then, our keyboardist would throw out crazy combinations of chords, and occasionally I would think "Well this is de-goddamn-licious; I'll have to remember it for later," semicolon and all. But this time, with M-Bot, I was always the one laying down the chords, and yet somehow I found myself playing things that felt wonderfully foreign, even to my own hands.

The other was an extremely encouraging realization that there are elements of my technique that are so natural to me now that, even though I don't perceive them as being particularly difficult or interesting, can completely take others by surprise. At one point I threw in a few right-hand harmonics, a somewhat unorthodox technique that I first tried only a few months after I started playing guitar. M-Bot, who is a fairly competent guitarist in his own right, was bewildered. Even after I explained the technique in detail, he still couldn't quite get the hang of it. It seems reasonable to suggest that an expert musician would want this to be true for all of his techniques: to be so comfortable with them that he can't even remember the struggling.

----

Week 32 total: 19 hours
Grand total: 731 hours
Required pace: 615.5 hours (+115.5)