Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Reminder
I'd been in a bit of a writing funk--until last night. All it took to shake it was a dedicated session w/ the laptop, Internet disabled; some background noise (Yaffa came through yet again); and my muse, who for the time being shall remain unnamed. This is almost always the remedy, but as N and I were reflecting on the other night, its effectiveness seems to exist in the writer's short-term memory only. But the immediate gratification that comes w/ completing--or even just getting a good start on--a piece of writing is a regular part of the practice, and it's too bad the reoccurence doesn't register in my brain. Remember how last time?... Ah well, I'll just have to content myself w/ constant reminders.
Eh, but actually, this is only part of it. Maybe a pretty small part even. Because more than I forget, I fear: No matter how good I've felt in the past w/ regard to a particular piece of writing, there's always the chance that the next thing I produce will amount to a big stinking turd. Of course, the occasional turd is inevitable/manageable, but what if one turd leads directly to another leads to another leads to... until I'm left gaping at an entire litterbox full of them? Ew. And the longer that box goes w/o a cleaning, the less likely I am to, ur, clean it. The yuckiness may stop coming, but so may the pretty stuff. No more words = scary.
I can't complain though. No matter how funky my funks, I have yet to throw up my hands and re-take up knitting w/ the old ferocity. Although I am in the middle of another scarf. Last night's round went well and I now have a new short story on my hands. I'm still playing around w/ it, but I figure in the course of a week or so it'll be ready for send-off.
Another thing: I find the sense of lightness/relief that follows a solid, uninterrupted writing session to be very affirming--a message that, no, I'm not wasting my time. I'm not just pretending, turns out I'm not a hopeless fraud. I've got to think that if I wasn't *meant* to write, the feeling wouldn't be nearly as intense as it is. At least that's what I tell myself.
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I relate to your comments. I've noticed the more I connect with my spontaneous & uncensored expression, the fiercer the resistance that follows. I'm reading a helpful book that sheds light on this phenomenon. It's all about the resistance that accompanies creativity. "The War of Art", by Steven Pressfield. MM