Don’t ask yourself what the world needs.

Ask youself what makes you come alive, and then go do it.

Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.

~Harold Thurman Whitman

But I recognize that I’m luckier than most~I’ve achieved half the battle to follow that credo.  I, at least, have found the things that make me come alive.

Certainly, writing is one of them.

Foolsgold promises to help me “find the artist within by cultivating a creative lifestyle that will not only expand and inspire you, but may also ground and heal you.”  A “creative lifestyle” is what interests me here.  In the past months, as I’ve come to realize how much writing means to me, I’ve allowed it to play a bigger role in my inner life.  Yet I keep it tucked in the cupboard of my lifestyle, afraid to let it play in the daylight hours, only taking it out when I’ve completed all the other, less livening activities. 

Perhaps in order to start living that “fully alive” life the world needs, I must allow creativity to permeate my entire lifestyle, not just those few “off hours” when the regular work is done.

What does that mean in practical terms? I’m not sure. It could mean branching out in my writing activities, going “beyond the blog” and taking a creative writing class or reading a poem on poetry night at my local coffee house.  Maybe it means looking for other avenues of musical expression – learning a new instrument or joining a new group.  Perhaps it could be taking up a new activity entirely – working with paper crafts or collage.  I’m quite sure it means taking another step outside the safe little box I’ve erected around my current creative efforts.

I’ll keep you posted.

Back in the early 1980’s when I was a young stay at home mother, I embarked on my first writing “career,” a short lived attempt at penning children’s stories, informative articles, and essays about motherhood.  I dutifully scoured Writer’s Digest for appropriate markets, sent work out in 9 X 13 manila envelopes with an SSAE included, kept a nifty little spreadsheet to tally what had been submitted and when.  I actually sold the very first thing I sent out, and, as you might imagine, decided it was sign that I was destined for greatness.

Hah.

Within a year or so, I grew tired of the whole thing. The business of writing, of chasing down markets and tailoring my work to fit publications, of trying to get the edge on the competition and scour out what editors were currently looking for.  It seemed impossible to make any kind of profit from writing, not only a monetary one, but even to have a profitable experience.  I was no longer invested in my subject matter, because I was so busy trying to determine how to be successful in the market.  About that time, opportunities in music began coming my way, and I transferred my creative energy into the musical arena.  Before long, I stopped writing all together, and didn’t pick up a pen for nearly 20 years.

So when I started blogging in 2006, I meant to practice writing for my own edification, to increase my awareness of the world around me, to engage my mind and my senses in a new way, and to chronicle my passage through midlife.  It was to be simply for pleasure, with no committment to time or space, no necessity for perfection, and no grandiose ideas about making a profit from it.

Natalie Goldberg talks about writing as “practice,” as a way to “penetrate your life and become sane.”  Julia Cameron speaks of her writing practice as a “way to meditate on life and savor it.”  As a musician, I’m well acquainted with the concept of practice as “repetition with the objective of improving.”  And I practice writing in that sense, too.  But writing is an activity I hold in high esteem, one I continue to work at with the intention of improving, yet not putting pressure on myself to be perfect.  It’s more than just a pleasurable hobby, one I can take or leave as the mood strikes me, for I’ve committed myself to it, invested time and energy and thought in it. 

I admit to occasional twinges of guilt over the vast amounts of time I spend playing with words, trying to express my ideas and experiences in some meaningful way, when I could be doing something more concretely profitable.  But that’s something else I’ve learned through this writing practice – that reward is more than money or things.  The profit from my writing comes not by getting checks in the mail, or even by seeing my name in the byline.  It comes from a sense of accomplishment, a increase in self awareness, a keener observation of life, of people, and the world around me.   It also comes from the connections I make with others, through this unique opportunity to share our words in blogging.

Okay, I’ll also admit those grandiose dreams creep in every once in a while, dreams of best selling novels and book tours, dreams of prize winning columns in the New York Times.  Realistically, I know these dreams aren’t about to come true. 

But perhaps the likelihood for great achievement increases when you have a dedicated emotional relationship to your creative practice. 

So, how about you?  What do the three P’s of writing…practice, pleasure, profit…mean in your writing life?

When I was a little girl, I loved to make daily schedules for myself.  I got the idea from a book (where else?)  called “Healthy Living for Boys and Girls,” and I clearly recall its mottled green cover with red script lettering.  The first chapter recommended sticking to a daily schedule, advising that regularity was beneficial to the growing body and the mind.  The book even had sample schedules for a typical day, so I copied it down in my round grade school handwriting and posted it on the wall above my desk.  It went something like this:

8:00 a.m -Get up

8:05 a.m. – Use the bathroom, wash hands and face

8:15 a.m. – Eat breakfast

8:30 a.m. – Brush teeth and comb hair

8:35 a.m. – Get dressed for school

8:45 a.m. Leave for school

It went on in this quite rigid vein, with prescribed times throughout the day for play, homework, and family time.   Naturally, I soon fell off the schedule wagon, as it were, and reverted back to my normal, more relaxed way of doing things.  But there’s something about schedules that still appeals to me.  I suppose it’s the part of me that prefers my life to be neat and orderly, hoping that if I impose some schedule on it, then I can make it so. 

In terms of my writing life, I also crave a schedule.  I’d love to set aside a certain time every day when I could sit down and write.  Some writers swear that’s the only way to do it.  “You sit down every day at approximately the same time,” Ann Lamott says.  “This is how you train your unconscious to kick in for you creatively.” (Bird By Bird)  Julia Cameron agrees.  “I write daily,” she says.  “I get up to write the same way I go out to the barn and toss hay to the horses.  My creative horses demand the same care.  They, too, must be fed, and in a timely fashion, and that is why I write first thing in the morning.” (The Right to Write)

Admittedly, I haven’s always been too successful in slotting writing time into my daily life.  Partly, it’s my own fault, for letting other things take priority.  On work days, I’m out of the house by 8:30, and don’t get home until 5:00.  There are dogs to walk, the husband and I to feed, and always emails to answer… Somehow, it feels indulgent to set aside time for myself within the framework of other more pressing responsibilities.

But setting aside a certain time of day to write, helps acknowledge the importance of writing in our lives.  It becomes a necessary activity for which we make time within our personal schedule, amdist the myriad of responsibilities to family, work, and the world.  Scheduling writing time is more than being obsessive compulsive – it’s a way of telling ourselves and the world that our writing practice is valuable and worth the effort.  “Writing, the creative effort, the use of the imagination, should come first, at least for some part of every day of your life,” states Brenda Ueland.  (If You Want To Write) 

However, as I learned back in fifth grade, a schedule that is too rigid simply invites non-compliance. So I try to give myself some breathing room.  I’ve committed to writing every day,  but the time of day and the amount of time I can devote to writing tends to fluctuate.  Monday’s and Friday’s  are my days off, so they’re big writing days for me.  I get up at my regular time, have coffee and read, then do morning pages.  Some laundry goes in, while the dogs and I go out to walk.  After that, it’s come home and sit down to write – first the week’s post for Sunday Salon, or Write On Wednesday,  followed by some work on another writing project, such as a short story or essay.  After a lunch break, I often return to the keyboard, and find myself writing well into the afternoon. 

I agree with Natalie Goldberg when she says that “in order to improve your writing, you have to practice just like any other sport.”  But I also see the wisdom in the rest of her advice.  “Don’t be dutiful and make it into a blind routine. Don’t set up a system-’I have to write every day’- and then just numbly do it.” (Writing Down the Bones) 

I think there must be a balance between commitment to a writing practice, and simple adherence to an arbitrary time table.  Otherwise, writing becomes just another on a list of mundane chores – like “washing face and combing hair.”  And writing is so much more than that, isn’t it?

So, how about you?  How does writing fit into your daily life?  What’s your ideal time to write, and why? Do you “write on schedule” or “when the spirit moves you”?

Last month we were at our home in Florida for a few days, and came out of a shopping center to discover our car battery was dead.  Apparently my husband had been sitting in the car listening to the radio with the engine in auxillary mode, which drained what was left of the charge on the car’s already failing battery.  Jim carries jumper cables (it’s a 10 year old sports car, rarely driven), and he flagged down a nice young man who did his best to jump start the car.  No go.  Reluctantly, Jim called our son away from his work, and he willingly drove over.  They tried jumpstarting it a few more times, without success. 

So we had the car towed to the service station, certain there was somthing more seriously awry – a faulty starter perhaps.  The next morning our mechanic called with the news that he had installed a new battery and the car was good as new.  Why hadn’t it responded to all those electrical jump starts?  Sometimes, the mechanic told us, the bigger sports car engines just won’t respond to the paltry charge provided by a “normal” car.

I don’t know whether my brain can be compared to the 400 cubic inch V-8 in our old Trans Am, but for the past few days I’ve been feeling it was in desperate need of a jump start.  “My thoughts are cranky and resistant,” writes Julia Cameron.  “I feel sluggish and irritable.  My body of information feels like that of an out-of-shape athlete. I do not want to write.” (The Right to Write)

Every writer’s muse occasionally behaves like a recalcitrant two year old – the one who lays down on the floor screaming, “No! I won’t! And you can’t make me!”  My first thought (with the muse and the two year old) is to respond in kind.  “Oh yes, you will write today, and it better be darn good!”

But wisdom tells us this approach will likely backfire.  Good things rarely come from brute force, do they?  Modern theory advises that the wiser approach with a toddler is to stand back quietly and wait for the tantrum to run its course, without lowering yourself to the child’s level. Then firmly and quietly take the wild one by the hand and move them toward your goal. 

Sometimes, when the words don’t come, I start to panic, don’t you?  As we did with the car, I jump to the conclusion that something is seriously wrong.   It’s all over, I tell myself.  I’ll never write another word again.  It was just a fling, a fleeting love affair with the page, and now I’m finished. 

 ”Try to calm down, get quiet, breathe, and listen,” advises Ann Lamott, speaking to writers in Bird By Bird.  “You get your confidence and inspiration back by trusting yourself, by being militantly on your own side.  You get your intuition back when you stop the chattering of the rational mind.” 

Certainly the larger the drain on my “writing mind” from outside sources, the more likely it is to stall completely.  Pressure from work or family, worry about health or finances, these are the things that naturally curb a writer’s imagination and enthusiasm for the process of getting words onto the page.  Ironically, these are also the times when writing’s healing power can be most valuable, when coming to the page with worries and concerns can rejuvenate the spirit and even illuminate possible solutions to those pressing concerns.

Because I don’t write “for a living,” it’s easy to indulge these periods of creative lethargy.  So what, I finally say in exasperation.  Who cares whether I write anything or not?  And off I go to the television, bag of chips in hand.

Of course, that won’t do my writing mind (or my hips!) the least bit of good.  Exercising the mind is a lot like exercising the body – sometimes, you simply have to “just do it,” whether you “feel like it” or not.  “You must attend to your work daily,” writes Barbara De Marco. (Pen On Fire) ”It takes sheer persistence…and stamina to heft the burden of fear…as you make your way along the path to being a writer.” 

Sometimes it’s a simple as just putting a  few words on paper.  Sometimes, reading good writing – a favorite author or poet – provides the impetus to create.  Physical activity – a walk in the park, a swim, whatever revs your heart rate might send a spark to ignite the muse. 

So, how about you?   Do you ever feel the need to jump start your writing? What drains the energy from your “writing mind”?  What do you do when your creative battery dies? 

You can write a post on your blog, leaving a comment with a link, or simply leave your complete response in the comments section.  Write On Wednesday is open all week, in case you need some time to get your writing mind in gear <smiles>

Reading through all  the phenomenal reponses to last week’s prompt – the poetry, photography, the heartfelt reflections – I found myself more and more amazed by the creative thinking you all expressed.  One after the other, you amazed me with the level of awareness you demonstrated, and the varied focal points that direct your creative lives.  On a couple of occasions, I found myself so excited by what I was reading I jumped up from the computer and sat down at the piano, feeling a need to release some of that energy in a physical way that only pounding out a Beethoven piano sonata can do.

But, then it hit me.  Suddenly I was paralyzed, stopped dead in my tracks across the keyboard.  What the heck am I doing?  I thought in a panic.  Who am I to ask people – especially people as talented and creative as all of you are – to talk about their writing?  After all, what do I – a humble housewife and office worker, who dabbles in wordplay – have to say about the writing process that could be of value to anyone?

Self-doubt assailed me.

Writer’s are notorious for doubting themselves, aren’t they? Certainly we’re all familiar with stories of the depressed writer, slugging gin and downing pills in an effort to stimlulate the muse. Unlike other creative work, the fruits of a writer’s labor aren’t immediately visible.  We work away at putting words on paper, and in the end what do we have to show for it?  Anyone can put words on paper, we think.  What’s so special about that?  Where do we get off thinking our words are better than those of the average joe sitting on the bar stool next to us?  What’s so special about our vision of the world, our ideas, our little storylines?

 Natalie Goldberg calls this voice “The Editor,” and says “the more clearly you know it, the better you can ignore it.”  Write down what that Editor keeps saying, Goldberg advises, so you recognize those thoughts for what they are, simply “prattle in the background” of your mind, and can dismiss them as easily as you would the “distant sound of white laundry flapping in the wind.”  Unless you do, it will take over your creative thoughts and smother them as effectively as a wet blanket does a flame.  Instead, Goldberg continues, “have a sense of tenderness and determination toward your writing, a sense of humor and deep patience that you are doing the right thing.”  (Writing Down the Bones)

Dorothea Brande also recommends a sense of tenderness toward your writing, a warm acceptance of your ability and the importance of putting words on the page.  “Don’t follow yourself around nagging and suggesting and compaining,” she scolds.  “Hold your own good work up to yourself as a standard…keep a friendly, critical eye on your progress.”  (On Becoming A Writer)

I like the idea of being “tender” toward my writing, of “keeping a friendly eye on my progress.”  Ultimately, I have to believe that my “vision of the world” has meaning, even if for no one other than myself,  that the process of putting my thoughts and emotions on paper in the form of stories and essays is a worthwhile practice, and one that benefits my mind and spirit.  Like the practice of yoga, where we come with “a willful determination but without pressure to be perfect,” the practice of writing helps us work toward expressing our minds and hearts in a beautiful and meaningful way.

Goldberg quotes Chogyam Trungpa, a Tibetan Buddhist master, as saying: “We must continue to open in the face of tremendous opporistion.  No one is encouraging us to open and still we must peel away the layers of the heart.” 

As we Write On Wendesdays, perhaps we can encourage each other to open our hearts and trust our own voices as we progress in this practice of writing.

 How about you?  Are you ever assailed with self doubt about your writing ability, or about the reasons for writing at all?  Do you “follow yourself around nagging and suggesting and complaining”? What are some of the negative things your Editor tells you?  What could your Editor say to be more encouraging?   How do you encourage yourself to keep practicing the craft of writing?