In my weekly creative time with my friend, we’ve been coming up with new ways to work that inspire us both.
This week, we looked at the questions that Proust was asked in 1890, a version of which is in the Guardian, and roughly goes:
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
What is your greatest fear?
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Which living person do you most admire?
What is your greatest extravagance?
What is your current state of mind?
What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
On what occasion do you lie?
What do you most dislike about your appearance?
Which living person do you most despise?
What is the quality you most like in a man?
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
There’s more… many more. We had thought we’d answer them ourselves, but when we found the biggest and most beautiful tree in the park, we decided to answer them on behalf of the tree. It’s a majestic, grand, tragic figure, and sat beneath it, we looked up into the sky as seen through its branches and boughs and got thinking about the Tree as a character, a giant, a being. To my surprise, a version of this ended up fitting perfectly into my novel-in-progress. I’m beginning to remember that almost anything can inspire you, if you open up to observe, let the senses take over. Listen… smell… look… feel. The rough bark, the scent of the slowly sweet rotting leaves, the whisper of the tree moving slowly in the gathering autumn wind.
