My sister-in-law Betsy, an amazing potter, left for a pottery workshop a few days ago. Before going, she told me she especially looked forward to the lack of distractions there. She said that at home she rarely makes it to her studio before 1:00 pm. Once there, she puts off leaving even to go to the bathroom for fear of being sucked in again by her telephone, her emails, her dogs.<\/p>\n
Lots of us get sidetracked from what we most want to do. Years ago, I took many painting and drawing classes from many teachers. When I\u2019d enter the classroom for the first session, the easels would butt against one another – a throng of easels, a multitude of students. The third session would be roomier. Near the end of the semester, plenty of space, just five or six remaining students.<\/p>\n
Sometimes I numbered among the missing. I wasn\u2019t lucky with art teachers. I found only one who really suited me, and, after two years, she moved away. She was a great teacher, but even her classes lost students.<\/p>\n
Eventually I discovered that I\u2019m a writer. I took a lot of writing classes, too, and was luckier with my teachers. In these classes, attendance also shrank.<\/p>\n
Some people won\u2019t even start a class. They eternally intend to write or paint or take singing lessons but don\u2019t, for one temporary reason after another. I think it\u2019s really fear that gets in the way. They can\u2019t bring themselves to enter art\u2019s scary gladiatorial arena, where one\u2019s deepest self lurks behind every door.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t believe in a collective unconscious or an ocean of creativity that we all share. I have my ocean, and you have yours, and we swim alone. Or maybe a cloud would a better metaphor, because when I write I feel like I\u2019m shaping wisps of fog, and I have no idea what I\u2019m doing or how, and sometimes I succeed, and wow! that is fabulous, and sometimes nothing happens.<\/p>\n
If only we were born clutching a golden key that fit a tiny brass keyhole behind our left ear, and we could just insert the key, turn, and wind up our artistry.<\/p>\n
Here\u2019s a poem I wrote last winter about my writing process:<\/p>\n
How I Write a Book Very Slowly<\/p>\n
Type a sentence. Check Wikipedia
\nfor the history of backgammon.
\nLook up the meaning of dewlap.
\nRealize I need to fix something
\nnear the beginning. Find the spot.
\nType in the revision, which comes
\nquickly. It\u2019s much easier to write
\nback there in Chapter One, where
\nI know what\u2019s going on. My email pings!
\nExpedia wants me to fly to Belize.
\nDelete Expedia\u2019s message. Return
\nto the latest moment in my manuscript.
\nReread the last three paragraphs.
\nEdit them, even though I suspect
\nI will delete the entire episode.
\nWrite an awkward sentence. Try it seven
\nways until it is no longer awkward.
\nWish I\u2019d slept better last night. Wish
\nI knew who my culprit is going to be.
\nPut my head down on my desk. Lift my head.
\nWalk to the window. Stare out at the snow.
\nWonder if the hydrangea will flower again.
\nReturn to my desk. Write four words.<\/p>\n
You may not be like me. You may write steadily every day from 5:00 am till 3:00 pm. Or you may have a daily page count that you always achieve, because otherwise you have to migrate to tundra inhabited only by caribou. You are a miracle.<\/p>\n
Not me. I\u2019m always fumbling. I like to observe myself in action and inaction, because I\u2019m interested in the mystery and I do get more done when I\u2019m self-aware.<\/p>\n
So that\u2019s the prompt. Just watch yourself for a week or a month. Don\u2019t change anything. Make no judgments.<\/p>\n
If you\u2019re a start-and-stop writer like I am, see what gets you started and what gives you permission to stop. Or maybe you charge ahead, but you can\u2019t stand to look at what you\u2019ve written. Or you rewrite every sentence so many times that you can\u2019t move forward because you keep going back. Or you need a deadline to shove you along, and then your pent-up inventiveness pours out.<\/p>\n
Observe yourself as if you were a wild creature in its natural habitat. Marvel at yourself. Have fun. If you write anything, save it.<\/p>\n