Winter, Compost, and Writing

06 Mar 2013 7 Comments

by PartlyPixie in Philosophical, unsticking Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Writing practice, March 6, 2013

“Today it smelled like recess.

Like the first hope of spring, when the layers of snow peeled back to reveal autumn's debris, the ruined plastic rakes with splintered handles, the tipped buckets half-full of leaves, the inevitable beloved stuffed animal, lost and flattened and mouldering. Like walking to school in sneakers instead if soured boots, mittens left in our pockets, giddy from the lack of weight on our small bodies.

Today it smelled like recess. Like green grass poking through the webbing of last year's leaves and clippings, like tulips peeking from muddy earth, like hackey sack and too-early soccer games and mud-spattered jeans. It smelled like frosty air blowing down from snow covered mountains, the promise that winter was not over, not yet.

But for a day, we ran along the blacktop and smelled the air and kicked at snowmen melted like the wicked witch, stick arms splayed up to the heavens. And if we squinted our eyes, we could almost imagine green things on the trees, flowers to pick, kickball games, and the hope of the long days of summer far in the distance.

Today, it smelled like that. Like hope and renewal, like green, fresh things pushing up from the old compost of yesteryear, like the buried things uncovered…”

 

All writing falls eventually into a winter; a silent time of reflection and deep white drifts of nothingness covering our minds. It is a time to relax, to contemplate, to compost.

In the phenomenal book Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg describes writing practice as composting our lives, churning memory and senses and thoughts over and over until they become the fertil soil of imagination. And from there, we find the richness in ourselves we seek. And then, we write with that richness of being.

I'm a believer in composting, in following the seasons of ourselves and our writing.

We do not write outside the existence of our lives. We write in the rhythm of living; seeking to dive in and transform the desperate handful of moments we have in the world into something outside of us, something that touches others in the small ways, comforting ways that make the world a richer place to live in.

We need to write—we need to write from deep within, to process and turn through the decayed selves we once were, the memories and smells and emotions and deeper truths to be found within, we need to spring, ever hopeful and green from the remnants of ourselves.

And to use what we have learned, to be who we are, and tell the stories that naturally grow from that fertile ground of our own hearts, and to own those stories without judgement, without reservation or fear or censorship.

Because our stories are the natural consequence of our lives, of our obsessions and pasts and hair color and names and hobbies and sorrows and scars and joys. They are part of us, raw and real and alive. It is important to accept our selves, to churn through our minds in search for what matters, what is ready to be said.

When the silence of winter comes over us, it is time to listen. It is time to churn through our words and memory, to fall deep into truth with ourselves.

And then write what springs green and new from our hearts, as soon as the frost is gone.

Photo credit: irowboat

 

Month Six Reflections: Writing Every Day Is The Wrong Goal

23 Jun 2012 5 Comments

by PartlyPixie in June, Writing Tools Tags: , , , , , , , ,

We all know the routine, the advice, the universal cat o’nine tails writers flagellate themselves with, the guilt monster that chases us each time we shrug writing in favor of movie night. It’s like the knowledge that we should eat our veggies and sleep more, and while we’re at it say our prayers and floss and don’t rely on the sniff test to make sure our clothes are clean.

But there it is, everywhere, in every writing blog and most books, hovering like the words of some deity above each laptop, waiting to punish us with guilt when we do not obey, pointing accusingly like a Monty Python hand from the sky.

Write every day. No matter what.

I’ve never been a believer, myself. I tend to go with what works, what leads to the least guilt and the most results. Writing every day seems like Santa, something we all believed once, but no longer.

And yet, I see my dear fellow writers sigh and feel guilty and get all blocked up because they haven’t found a way to follow this fairy tale advice.

After six months of writing a novel each month, I finally feel I have some room to talk. And as anyone can see, I don’t write every day.

So, my lovelies, let’s break this one down.

To write every damn day means that we never fall ill, or have an impromptu date night, or sleep in, or have kids or family need our attention. To write every day, the rest of life must take a back seat, no matter how full and interesting it becomes.

And sleep happens whether we want it to or not, eventually. That end of the candle isn’t a good one to burn all the time just to fit in a few words.

Making the goal of writing every day means one thing for sure: you’re setting yourself up to fail.

I know, lots of people will argue with me. That is okay. If you are able to write every day, and that is how you get things done, then great. Keep doing that.

For the rest of us, I want to ask a different question:

What is writing every day supposed to achieve?

As far as I can tell, it’s probably advice that has been reverse-engineered from the habits of productive writers. These writers love their craft and stories, they know there are bad times and good. They enjoy the process of writing, and they do it most days.

But it probably looks like they write every day. So, to any wannabe writer, the advice goes: write every day.

Again, I ask, why? Why are we writing, what are we wishing to achieve?

If we merely are seeking to practice writing a’la Writing Down the Bones, then writing most days is good, without structure or specifics. The goal is to process our lives, to write, to learn who we are as we write. But then, practice can move into doing, into using the skills developed for stories and poems and novels.

If we are wanting to write a novel, or a short story, or a blog, then the goal changes.

But instead of a day to day account of what we ought to achieve, it is better to shift to a goal-specific mindset. Set a goal, set a deadline, work until that goal is achieved by your deadline.

Most likely, this will result in writing most days. And without the weird guilt of not writing, and wondering why it is so hard to get those fingers moving. And without that guilt, there is no extra resistance and good-for-nothing self talk to wade through to get to writing the next day.

And when something comes up, we go do that, have fun, then come back to writing.

Our minds are smart. They know that writing every day for the sake of it isn’t doing what we really want. We want to be authors and poets, we want to be producing, or editing, or to write the words “The end” at the finish of a shitty (but done!) first draft. We want to know we are writing toward something. If we aren’t, our mind will stop us and move to something else, something that feels productive.

We want to know that our writing is making us more of what we want to be.

It is how we function as humans. We need to accomplish, to finish, to start again. We need to feel that progression as we work, or else work becomes meaningless. Without the end goal of having most of our teeth as we age, we wouldn’t brush them every day either.

A goal is there to be conquered. Conquer it, then let out a long battle cry and dive in again.

Believe me, it will build us up. It will make us what we want to be, whther or not we even knew what that was when you we started.

So ask yourself what you want to do with writing.

Set big goals. Conquer them.

Or set small goals (just not so small that they seem meaningles). Conquer them.

Give yourself enough time to finish that you can make course corrections, in case some big stumbling block happens in the middle.

Write on, friends. I’ll be pulling another 30,000 word miracle this week, because life is interesting and full. But the goal is the same, and the result will be me prevailing.

 

Inspiration #19

03 Jun 2012 Leave a Comment

by PartlyPixie in Inspiration, June Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Every Sunday, I choose a passage of wisdom from someone who knows better and much more than I do about writing, life, the universe and/or everything.

Share and enjoy!

“I was at a wedding in Taos, New Mexico, talking with a person I knew ten years ago at the Lama Foundation. I remembered that he had tilled and planted a whole bean crop by hand that summer. He is a builder now and says he knows if he did the dead center of what he’s supposed to be doing, it would be writing, “but building’s easier.” I told him about this book and how the day before I’d had the worst resistance to writing I ever had. “I wanted t scream and burn my typewriter. I never wanted to write again.”
“Yeah, but what else is there to do?” he asked, looking at me straight in the eye.
“Nothing.”—And I knew it was true.
When you accept writing as what you are supposed to do, after you’ve tried everything else—marriage, hippiedom, traveling, living in Minnesota or New York, teaching, spiritual practices—there’s finally no place else to go. So no matter how big the resistance, there is one day, there is the next day, and the writing work ahead. You can’t depend on it’s going smoothly day after day. It won’t be that way. You might have one day that is superb, productive, and the next time you write, you are ready to sign up on a ship headed for Saudi Arabia. There are no guarantees. You MIT think you have finally created a rhythm with three days running, and the next day the needle scratches the record and you squeak through it, teeth on edge.”
~from Writing Down the Bones, by Natalie Goldberg

 

Developing Writing Practice #1: Write or Not

24 Feb 2012 9 Comments

by PartlyPixie in February, Writing Tools Tags: , , , ,

Day Twenty Four: 42,563 of 50,000 words

You’ve got to be willing to waste any time you want to spend being creative.

At least at first.

It’s because we suck at actually valuing the time spent being creative as a society overall. We love the idea of perfect writing, but the time spent on writing it? Who has that? Don’t you need to do laundry? Don’t you need to work out? How about finding a new job!

So creative time is essentially selfish. It’s “wasted”. We’re not making our houses cleaner, our credentials better, our wallets thicker, our loved ones more appreciated. And until that manuscript is off to the editor and we have an advance in our pockets, it’s never going to be easy to explain to our parents why we’re working so hard on “nothing.”

So I say again: in order to be able to find time to write, we must be willing to find time to waste. Otherwise, the more immediately gratifying aspects of the real-world will seduce us away, even if it’s just leveling up in the latest facebook game.

But wasted time can be wasted however you choose without guilt. It was going to be wasted anyway, right? Might as well try writing that book.

Over time, I’ve developed what I call Write-or-Not time. It came from years of writing practice I learned from Writing Down the Bones, and an idea from the book Willpower. In it, they cite a successful author (I’ll check the name) who would sit down for a set amount of time every day, and for that time he could do two things: write, or not write. Nothing else.

I like this idea.

I started using it, and it works. I have kept a steady writing practice for the last six months.

I go to one of several coffee shops in the evening, sometimes on my way home from work. I get a drink and maybe some food, and I can either write or not. It’s how I’ve developed the mental muscle power to do what I’m doing, and it’ll keep me meeting my goals.

If you’re stuck, floundering, wondering why you can’t find time to write? It might be worth a try for you. At the least, it might lead you to your own way of doing things.

My first writing tool to give you is this.

Value your writing time by “wasting” it.

Start practicing write-or-not time. Get everyone used to the fact you’re doing it, too – turn off your phone.

Step one: Get out of the house.

Lots of people work fine at home, but when you’re already reluctant and feeling blocked, just making coffee could lead to cleaning the kitchen and making dinner, and before you know it it’s bedtime and writing didn’t happen today. Oops.

So get out of the house.

Go to a coffee shop or tea parlor or bar. Order a drink. To stay.

Now, you’re stuck there. You must stay at least as long as it takes to finish your drink. If you’re somewhere with free refills, you’re there longer. You’ve also invested money in your writing time now, so you’re going to be more inclined to make it count.

(If you’re really stuck and there’s a piece of cheesecake calling your name from the bake case, you can get it. Even if you’re on a diet. AFTER you’ve written for an hour – this isn’t a time to be above bribery.)

Now, at this point you’re going to get out your writing tools. If you’re extra resistant or out of shape, I recommend a notebook and pen. The internet is everywhere, and Facebook? Twitter? Too tempting. You need basics.

(It’s also worth noting that rockstar writer Neil Gaiman writes all his first drafts by hand. How can he be wrong?)

Get out your notebook and pen. (I like fountain pens with colorful ink because it satisfies my inner child. I write just to make pretty colors happen.)

Set a timer. I recommend an hour, but anything over 20 minutes is acceptable. Less than 20 and you’re being too easy on yourself. And you DID buy a drink right? That should take more than 20 minutes to finish.

(And don’t you want that cheesecake?)

Now, until that timer goes off, you can write, or you can sit there.*

Your choice. If you’re like me and allergic to boredom, you’ll start writing within fifteen minutes.

Congratulations! You’ve finished your first step to valuing your writing time.

If you’ve done nothing by the end of the hour, that’s ok. You’ve still sent a powerful message to yourself – it’s okay to use up time to pursue your dreams.

Your writing time is important. Important enough that you can waste it.

Besides, you’ll be back tomorrow.

*It helps to set aside any lofty writing goals just now; simply be willing to put down whatever words come to mind. Once you’ve developed you writing muscles, you can pick that Great American Novel up again.

Inspiration #5

19 Feb 2012 3 Comments

by PartlyPixie in February, Inspiration Tags: , , , , , ,

Every Sunday, I choose a passage of wisdom from someone who knows better and much more than I do about writing, life, the universe and/or everything.

Share and enjoy!

Basically, if you want to become a good writer, you need to do three things. Read a lot, listen well and deeply, and write a lot. And don’t think too much. Just enter the heat of words and sounds and colored sensations and keep your pen moving across the page.

If you read good books, when you write, good books will come out of you. Maybe it’s not quite that easy, but if you want to learn something, go to the source. Basho, the great seventeenth-century Haiku master, said, “If you want to know about a tree, go to the tree.” If you want to know poetry, read it, listen to it. Let those patterns and forms be imprinted in you. Don’t step away from poetry to analyze a poem with your logical mind. Enter poetry with your whole body. Dogen, a great Zen master, said, “If you walk in the mist, you get wet.” So just listen, read, and write. Little by little, you will come closer to what you need to say and express it through your voice.

- Natalie Goldberg, from Writing Down the Bones

Inspiration #1

22 Jan 2012 1 Comment

by PartlyPixie in Inspiration, January Tags: , , , ,

Day 21: 40,035 of 50,000

Instead of disturbing you with the fatigued working of my brain, a moment of inspiration for this winter night.

Let go of everything when you write, and try at a simple beginning with simple words to express what you have inside. It won’t begin smoothly. Allow yourself to be awkward. You are stripping yourself. You are exposing your life, not how your ego would like to see you represented, but as you are as a human being. And it is because of this that I believe writing is religious. It splits you open and softens your heart to the homely world.

-Natalie Goldberg from Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within (Shambhala Library)

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