Egobucket
The What and Why of Egobucket?
“Let us explain the Ego Bucket concept. We originally started painting together on separate parts of a triptych which included a joint poem. The utilization of colour is still an integral part of our joint writing process.
Subsequently we jointly illustrated and wrote a children’s’ book – ‘The Purple Pooze’.
In order to be able to write successfully in a totally integrated style we discovered that we had to put our egos aside in order to agree on various changes, additions and deletions to each other’s work. We bought an ‘Ego Bucket’ which we put outside our office door as a physical reminder. Being practical, conservationists we ensured that it doubled nicely as an ice-bucket for the champagne we consume to celebrate the finish of each book.
This technique results in what we have coined as a ‘synegoistic‘ writing style. We defy readers to pick exactly who wrote what in our joint novels.
After seven years of writing we are still together – still talking to each other, so something must be working.
We found the process so interesting that we are inviting you (our readers) to write/email us with your ideas – philosophies regarding egos, pet words of wisdom, or anything else you may feel is relevant to writing books, joint creating or life in general. Just say your comments are for ‘The Ego Bucket’.
The best offerings will have a chance to be integrated into our next novel.
Please include your name in the email so that we can acknowledge your contributions. If however you wish to remain anonymous that is fine too. If you change your mind when you find your gems in our next book write to us again and we will include your name in subsequent printings.”
From Geoff and Michelle
The egobucket technique/process has many facets and applications. It;
• Promotes mental health – by fostering the safe space needed for both the diffused and focussed creative process.
• Provides ‘mental gymnastics’ for all ages – combining left and right hemisphere brain activity.
• Promotes cooperation and flexible thinking – between individuals in large or small groups.
• Facilitates good teaching and business practices – by recognising the differing and common needs, talents, cultures of the individual and the group.
The Power of Writing Heals (Students from Kinglake,Kabul
By Anthony Stewart
Posted 1 hour 23 minutes ago 2010 08 31
Afghans meet bushfire pen pals (7pm TV News VIC)
Two very different groups of school students have been brought together in Victoria‘s bushfire-affacted areas by shared stories of hope and survival.
Students from Kinglake and Kabul have combined for a writing project as part of the Melbourne Writers Festival.
The teenagers were brought together by a love of the written word and shared stories of courage, by English teacher David Williams.
He says the power of writing helped his students deal with the trauma of Black Saturday.
“We found that getting them to write their story it got it out of their mind and helped them to put it down on paper to put some distance between it and help them to heal,” he said.
The stories were written with such simplicity and beauty, that Arts Victoria has funded the printing of a collection of the tales.
Despite being worlds apart, these shared stories have helped the kids of Kinglake and Kabul develop a sense of hope in the wake of very different disasters.
Afghan student Sabrina Omar says learning about what happened on Black Saturday helps put her problems in perspective.
“I’ve been affected in Afghanistan by what going on and stuff. But I’ve only been affected by the problems I have,” she said.
“Coming here, it’s amazing to see how these people persevere through all of this.”
Student Tess Pollock says it is a story of hope.
“And how all the different stories from Kinglake and the Kabul people just are quite similar,” she said.
The students will present their stories to a packed audience at the festival writers and have signed a book deal to help send their experiences around the globe.
*****
Example of a short story written using our ‘Egobucket’ techniques:-
Daniel’s Cerf Volant
A barely perceptible quaver rippled down the long distance line from the USA to Switzerland.
“Dad, Daniel’s in intensive care at Piedmont. He stopped breathing and turned blue. I called the paramedics and they drove us both; sirens blaring, to the hospital. Tim’s still got croup as well.”
My super cool daughter sounded exhausted. She must have been extremely worried to phone me so early in the morning. Dismay filled my thoughts. My youngest grandson, not yet one month old; in intensive care; could possibly die.
“Don’t worry love, he’ll be OK. We’ll be over to help very soon.”
“Dad, the local medicos have got him on Ventolin five times a day. They say he’ll be on it for the rest of his life.”
I felt a gust of anger rising within me. No grandson of mine would be on Ventolin – not if I could help it anyway!! I’d suffered asthma as a child. I refused to pass this legacy on to my grandson.
Memories flooded in; the constriction in the chest, the panic, the pain, the injections and finally the determination to rid myself of this debilitating ailment. By teen-age, I was free of it.
I sought to reassure my daughter, “You’ve done exactly the right thing, love. You had to save your son’s life first, other things we can worry about later.”
In a little over a week, my partner Michelle and I landed in Atlanta. A few short hours later I held my newest grandson for the first time. I could feel his small frame judder with every laboured breath.
That night Michelle and I discussed what we could possibly do. Over a number of years we had practised a form of intuitive healing on each other for minor ailments such as headaches, bruises and sprains but had never worked on a child as young as Daniel. But we had to believe in ourselves; we had to succeed. The next day we started on a program of hands-on healing.
We took turns at holding Daniel against our chests all day, so that he could feel our heart beat whilst we walked or rocked him. Round and round the house we went, stroking his back rhythmically as we walked.
Using intuition, sometimes we walked silently, sometimes we hummed a rhythmic tune and sometimes we just whispered soothing affirmations in his tiny ear. The rhythm of our heartbeats, the rhythm of our voices, the rhythm of love, began to take effect. After a week he was down to three Ventolin sessions a day. After ten days just before we were due to leave, he was down to one session a day. There were no ill effects.
Kathy with infinite trust, overcoming a very analytic mind, continued the treatment reduction. It was bloody hard work for her, as husband Rob had more than a full work load. She was left to do our two-person job till Daniel was completely off the medication.
By the time Daniel was eighteen months old, the family returned to Australia. He was still subject to spasmodic breathing difficulties. Usually when stressed or during an occasional cold.
When he was about four years old, we remember his having a slight attack whilst we were minding him. Playing on the monkey bars at his favourite ‘Jemima Puddle Duck’ park he had become overexcited. We gave him a dual hug, singing softly, gently stroking him on the back. His recovery was instant. We were convinced that his body had a ‘cellular memory’ of life at three weeks old. No Ventolin needed; just that rhythm of love.
In mid 2008, his brother Tim, Michelle and I were in the car driving Michelle’s mother home from a hospital stay. Madeleine’s post operative trauma, combined with her anxiety at the imminent loss of her husband, was visible.
I put on a French CD from the film ‘Les Choristes’ for Madeleine. ‘Cerf volant, volant au vent, ne t’arrête pas…’ floated to the boys in the back seat.
“Oma what do those words mean?” asked Daniel.
Michelle replied “Remember it’s about a kite. The little boy wants the kite to keep flying.”
Michelle and I started to sing and gradually the boys joined in, softly. This was becoming a familiar song, sung many times to the boys in the car on the way back home from our place. As their confidence grew, so too did the volume of their voices. I turned to Madeleine who had remained silent.
At length she murmured, “That was bee-utiful” as unchecked tears trickled pathetically down her cheeks.
That event was so powerful; we later asked the boys if they would like to sing that song with us in front of our Born 2 Sing choir. At first they were shy. During the first practices by our small group (in a car park for want of a better venue) Daniel got a sore throat. Tim meanwhile decided to stick to the practical; making paper aeroplanes for the performance. Daniel persevered.
Four months later we were ready to perform; eight adults and one eight year old. Daniel had never performed in front of an all-adult audience before. Neither had he used a professional microphone. He was to finish the first verse and the song, as a solo.
Daniel took a deep breath, glancing across to Oma for an affirming smile. I slipped his small hand into mine, squeezing it reassuringly. He was off. “Cerf volant, volant au vent, ne t’arrête pas…”
His clear, confident, boy-soprano voice flowed out across a 300 strong audience all the way to the back of the hall. And no Ventolin in sight. At the end they all rose to him.
The rhythm of life, love and music had triumphed again.
©By Opa Geoff and Oma Michelle
for the Born2Sing Choir
Egobucket Interim Step Colour Draft from our workshops and presentations – below
