Drawing from the well of experience

The writing habit can be difficult to maintain when you are experiencing a lot of stress. Creativity happens best in states of relaxation, says Roseanne Bane in Around the Writer's Block (a resource I heartily recommend).

As you might guess from my absence in December, I've been grappling with some hard life stuff, particularly being "the sandwich generation" having to deal with overwhelming demands from elderly parents and school-aged kids at the same time. I feel like I'm emotionally tapped out most of the time. I know that writing can be a good outlet for stress release, but getting back into a groove after the holidays were in the stress-mix is challenging. So I turned to another well-thumbed resource for encouragement, Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird. One of her best block-busting tips is to write about your childhood.

How we react to stressors in adulthood is to a large degree shaped by childhood experiences. But as Harry Potter learned when trying to conjure a patronus, good memories have tremendous power to protect us from the forces of despair. Recently, I've tried to focus on bright spots in my past when a worry begins to spiral from anxiety into panic. I have to say, it has improved my sleep tremendously.

Here are some prompts to help you go back into your own timeline and find moments of joy, peace, excitement and insight:

• My imaginary friend
• My secret hideout
• My three favorite toys when I was eight years old
• My favorite subject in kindergarten
• My cozy spot
• After school, I liked to...
• A cool surprise from my mom or dad
• The wonder of milkweed or dandelions gone to seed
• My childhood neighbors
• How I was comforted in a dark moment
• My favorite after school snacks
• A special moment with a sibling or cousin
• A bedtime or campfire story my family invented
• Games my family played on car trips
• How my sibling reconciled with me after a squabble
• My most impressive creation with blocks or Legos
• The best snow day
• A sick day when I felt well cared for
• A surprising discovery about a grandparent
• My favorite scenario to pretend
• Given a stack of paper and box of crayons, I would create...
• The nearby woods
• The neighborhood park
• How it felt to go barefoot in summer
• Learning to swim or skate
• The book I read again and again
• My best friend in elementary school
• My lucky shirt
• Treasures I kept in a secret spot
• My favorite stuffed animals
• The best dream I had as a kid
• The coolest guest to visit my family
• Holiday traditions I grew up with
• My parents' best games or stories
• Songs I liked to sing in the shower
• Games I played in the bathtub
• A time my team won a great victory
• A special food my parents would make just for me
• Fun times in choir or the class play
• The best prank I ever pulled
• My favorite teacher
• My playground buddies
• A school project that turned out especially well
• My lunchbox or lunch bag
• My first pet
• The feeling of mud and puddles

As Anne Lamott says, "Everything we need in order to tell our stories in a reasonable and exciting way already exists in each of us. Everything you need is in your head and in your memories, in all that your senses provide, in all that you've seen and thought and absorbed" (Bird by Bird 181). Visit those memories and sensations, and the words will come.

In times of stress, what helps you relax enough to write?

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The perfection myth

Maybe you're just coming off the high of "winning" NaNo and realize your first draft is, alas, full of flaws.
Maybe you've drawn up a holiday gift-buying list and realize there's no way you can afford all these wonderful gifts you think you must buy for precious family and friends.
Maybe you  have to sing in front of a roomful of people with a pretty serious head cold (that would be me. LOL.)

You're forced to face the fact that you aren't perfect. And if you never bought into the perfection myth, that's no big deal. But if you have, moments like these mean extreme anxiety.

What do I mean by "the perfection myth"? It's an inner script that says:

As long as I do everything just right, I will be safe.

You'll note a few key concepts here. It's very self-focused; it's what I do. It's absolute; I must to everything just right. It's nebulous; "just right" is never defined. It's tied to survival; my very safety depends on it, and the alternative is unthinkably awful.

Last week I heard author Anne Lamott speak (part of a book tour for her latest release, Help, Thanks, Wow), and perfectionism was one of the topics she tackled with wit, honesty and grace. This kind of striving for perfection, especially as I've defined it above, has less to do with being our best selves and more with fear. This kind of perfectionism comes out of the crucible of unpredictable, chaotic environments. Striving to do right is a means of achieving control.

But the fact is, perfectionism promises freedom from fear while creating more anxiety. Because the truth of all of us is that we're broken people. We've been harmed by others and we have weaknesses ourselves. The myth of perfectionism says I'm not safe if I'm not doing everything "just right," therefore, I must cover over all my inadequacies to stay safe.

That, friends, is living a lie. Lamott connected the dots of this to conclude that perfectionism is "the voice of the oppressor," is demonic. By that she means anything that encourages vices--like dishonesty and pride in this case--intends our ultimate ruin and is aligned with all evil.

The divine voice tells us, "You are broken, but you are mine. I love you and will hold and heal you."

Learning to find safety in acceptance by a higher power ("as I understand him," Lamott added, quoting from the Alcoholics Anonymous 12-step program) involves letting a mess happen and seeing how little it actually effects the people around you. They don't care as much as you think.

The other big antidote to perfectionism is laughter. Lamott called it "carbonated holiness."  Laughter looks at weakness and is not undone by it. Rather, it is thankful for the honesty. Joys in it, in fact.

We stumble, and laugh and know we are frail. We are not the be-all and end-all of the universe. With that attitude, we can love well and create with the kind of honest freedom that brings more light into the world.

Trying to be perfect is a most dangerous game. So laugh when you fall. Your freedom depends on it.

Do you struggle with perfectionism? Do Lamott's observations speak to you?

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Desert wandering: another kind of "writer's block"*

We all get stuck at times, find our productivity come to a screeching--or sputtering--halt. In THIS previous post, I discussed one of the causes--hitting walls because we hadn't let our intuition guide the process and had taken the story in the wrong direction.

In the comments on that post, I got the sense that walls are not as common as desert times for making us unproductive. So what is this phenomenon--"desert" writer's block?

Image from weathersavvy.com.

Desert

"The word block suggests you are constipated or stuck, when in truth you are empty."

--Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird 178.

"You're blocked because you have nothing to say. Your talent didn't abandon you. If you had something to say, you couldn't stop writing. You can't kill your talent, but you can starve it into a coma through ignorance."

--Robert McKee, Story 73-74

We've all been there--somehow stuck in a place where you're plumb out of ideas. This place feels hot and parched and lifeless--desert-like. Entering a desert usually looks like the following:

- Your characters are faceless mannequins.
- The story setting is a big white box.
- Your characters slump around looking bored.
- The sound loop is your head is chirping crickets, or some really annoying pop song with unintelligible words.
- When you sit down to write, the only word that comes to mind is "waffles."
- You can't blog, tweet or update your Facebook status.
- Your house is exceptionally clean.

Lamott says that you need to accept that these desert times are going to come. In that acceptance, you free yourself to begin filling up again. When the Israelites let the pillar of cloud and fire lead them, God sent them the resources they needed--manna to fell from the sky, water gushed from a rock. The fact was, they couldn't get to the Promised Land on their own--they needed divine intervention. So do we. Call it "the muse," one's "inner light," "intuition," "unconscious mind," "talent" or "the Holy Spirit"--the sources of creativity need freedom and care and feeding.

So how do you allow the empty places to refill? Acceptance, as Lamott says, is a huge piece of it. If you try to push, "Your unconscious can't work when you are breathing down it's neck" (Lamott, 182). She suggests writing 300 words a day culling your memories--just rough journaling to keep you loose. Then seek things that feed you--walking, visiting friends, reading lots of great and terrible books, wandering museums and historic sites.

McKee's advice is strikingly similar. He suggests research as a way of filling up in empty times: "No matter how talented, the ignorant cannot write. Talent must be stimulated by facts and ideas. Do research. Feed your talent. Research not only wins the war on cliche, it's the key to victory over fear and its cousin, depression."

What things have helped feed you in empty, desert times? What new thing might you try based on Lamott's and McKee's advice?

*This is a revised repost from October, 2010

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Experiments and surprises

Getting out from under a work deadline has been incredibly freeing. And so has committing myself to NaBalWriMo, my experiment in "filling up" in a period of burnout.

I got in a bike ride with hobbit girl yesterday and she was quite impressed, since I haven't ridden in over a decade. That old adage about never forgetting how to ride is totally true. My muscles were remembering all my best bike memories. The summer between eighth and ninth grade, for example, I biked 10 miles nearly every day going to visit my BF Becky and her new horse, Chess. I liked to imagine my silver 10-speed was a dapple grey gelding named Strider. Unlike Chess, he never tried to throw me. Chess was green-broke, and I don't know what Becky's parents were thinking buying such an animal for a 14-y0.

But I digress. And I have to say it's an exceptionally good sign I'm able to do so. A week ago I was so fried, I could not have called up a memory from that era.

I did some quality writing yesterday on a scene I've been stuck on for ages. As Anne Lamott said, sometimes you just have to try things. Four hundred words later, I feel like energy is coming back in this project I'd begun to despair about.

Film time with hubby was the most surprising part of the day. We'd had this Argentinian Netflix pick "The Secret in Their Eyes" sitting around for two weeks unwatched. The fact it was about a writer researching and writing a novel appealed to me. The description on the sleeve was rather offputting, though:

"A startling discovery comes to light for retired Argentine criminal investigator Benjamín Espósito (Ricardo Darín) as he pens a biographical novel about the unsolved case of a young newlywed's brutal r*pe and murder years ago. Past and present intertwine for Espósito and colleague Irene Menéndez Hastings (Soledad Villamil) in director Juan José Campanella's Oscar-winning character study in which justice, pain and love collide."

I generally avoid movies with the word "brutal" anywhere in the description. I have to say, however, that this film approached a heinous crime with such sensitivity and emotional beauty. What matters is how deeply concerned the protagonist is with seeing justice served for the victim and the husband she left behind.

As a writer, I was especially interested in the protagonist's grappling with the aesthetic and ethical implications of fictionally "doing justice" to this case that has haunted and shaped his life.

The cinematography draws you in right away. Arty scenes suddenly cut to Benjamín crossing out lines and crumpling pages. He tries opening after opening--something I could totally relate to, even if my genre isn't crime fiction.

The film switches back and forth in time. In the present, a retired Benjamín writes and researches his novel and tries to make sense of his past. In flashbacks, younger Benjamín the legal counselor gets drawn into a case that is bungled by his superiors. He and a colleague (to whom he's obviously attracted) work to solve the crime and bring the killer to justice.

Justice, and how it is intertwined with love and fear (and love with fear) becomes the thematic thread linking the case, Benjamín's novel and Benjamín's search for meaning as he enters old age. Several very clever literary leitmotifs echo among the story lines. In the end, Benjamín must learn to reinterpret and re-narrate his own life. It's a powerful picture of how writing shapes the writer.

Have you tried something new lately? What pleasant surprises have resulted?

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"Writer's block": Wall or desert? (part 2)

We all get stuck at times, find our productivity come to a screeching--or sputtering--halt. In THIS previous post, I discussed one of the causes--hitting walls because we hadn't let our intuition guide the process and had taken the story in the wrong direction.

In the comments on that post, I got the sense that walls are not as common as desert times for making us unproductive. So what is this phenomenon--"desert" writer's block?

Image from weathersavvy.com.

Desert

"The word block suggests you are constipated or stuck, when in truth you are empty."

--Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird 178.

"You're blocked because you have nothing to say. Your talent didn't abandon you. If you had something to say, you couldn't stop writing. You can't kill your talent, but you can starve it into a coma through ignorance."

--Robert McKee, Story 73-74

We've all been there--somehow stuck in a place where you're plumb out of ideas. This place feels hot and parched and lifeless--desert-like. Entering a desert usually looks like the following:

- Your characters are faceless mannequins.
- The story setting is a big white box.
- Your characters slump around looking bored.
- The sound loop is your head is chirping crickets, or some really annoying pop song with unintelligible words.
- When you sit down to write, the only word that comes to mind is "waffles."
- You can't blog, tweet or update your Facebook status.
- Your house is exceptionally clean.

Lamott says that you need to accept that these desert times are going to come. In that acceptance, you free yourself to begin filling up again. When the Israelites let the pillar of cloud and fire lead them, God sent them the resources they needed--manna to fell from the sky, water gushed from a rock. The fact was, they couldn't get to the Promised Land on their own--they needed divine intervention. So do we. Call it "the muse," one's "inner light," "intuition," "unconscious mind," "talent" or "the Holy Spirit"--the sources of creativity need freedom and care and feeding.

So how do you allow the empty places to refill? Acceptance, as Lamott says, is a huge piece of it. If you try to push, "Your unconscious can't work when you are breathing down it's neck" (Lamott, 182). She suggests writing 300 words a day culling your memories--just rough journaling to keep you loose. Then seek things that feed you--walks, visits with friends, reading lots of great and terrible books, go to museums and historic sites.

McKee's advice is strikingly similar. He suggests research as a way of filling up in empty times: "No matter how talented, the ignorant cannot write. Talent must be stimulated by facts and ideas. Do research. Feed your talent. Research not only wins the war on cliche, it's the key to victory over fear and its cousin, depression."

Veronica Roth had a great post on this same concept, "Not Writing, or Why Your Brain Is an Ice Cream Maker."

In other news, I just won my very own copy of Lamott's wonderful book from C.A. Marshall. Go check out her fabulous blog!

What things have helped feed you in empty, desert times? What new thing might you try based on Lamott's and McKee's advice?

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"Writer's block": Wall or desert? (part 1)

Every writer has times when s/he can't seem to make forward progress on a project. Writing books everywhere have suggestions about why this is, and how to overcome it.

In my reading, I've seen two common ways to understand low/no productivity: as a wall and as a desert. I'd argue that all creative people will experience BOTH, because the underlying issues are different, even if the end result is the same. For brevity's sake, I'll tackle each in a separate post.

Wall

Sometimes we're happily drafting away, when BANG! we can't move ahead further. Productivity comes to a screeching halt. Hitting a wall usually looks like one of the following:

-a character is in crisis and you can't seem to get him out
-you've given the character something to do and she refuses
-your characters stop speaking to you
-despite your best efforts, the wrong characters keep flirting or fighting or snubbing each other
-you really need character Z in this scene for balance, but he doesn't quite fit
-a minor character keeps upstaging the major ones
-you've heard over and over that you can't give characters what they want
-you're miserable only making the characters miserable

Walls pop up when you stubbornly insist on continuing in the wrong direction. As writers, we serve the story. And sometimes that means binding and gagging one's rational mind and shoving it into a closet.

Instead, make space for your intuition and just try things. That might mean letting characters decide which ones get the biggest roles, and letting them show you what's truly an "in character" action. Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird has a chapter called "Broccoli" that explains how she encourages her intuition. Lamott says, "Writing is about about hypnotizing yourself into believing yourself, getting some work done, then unhypnotizing yourself and going over the material coldly" (114).

For me, walls happen when I follow writing "rules" too rigidly, or let a too simplistic understanding control how I shape scenes. Take for example "tension on every page" and "put your character up a tree and throw rocks at her." The fact of the matter is no published book I've ever read does this. There are always periods of reversal, peace, safety, humor, etc. that release tension periodically. If you have unmitigated misery and difficulty, your reader will begin to disengage, or your serious story will simply become a farce.

Think of the Battle of Helm's Deep in The Two Towers film. Peter Jackson deftly keeps ramping up the tension without wearing us out by putting in Gimli's humor as a pressure release valve.

Consider letting a character have just one crumb of the thing they want in order to keep alive the hunger and motivation for more of this desired thing.

What have your walls looked like? Have you had success letting intuition and "just trying things" move your story from stuck to steaming ahead?

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