“If I’m stuck on a poem, I might read the Brittanica entry and write words down that I think are interesting. It’s like filling a fridge to make a meal.”--Madeline DeFrees
(Blue Dusk: New and Selected Poems)
I do that, too, although more often I let myself get lost in the links of Wikipedia. But I call that procrastination, not inspiration. In my desk I have two little packets of slips, a whole mess of them I never use.
One packet is made of different shapes of colored paper with strings attached, and I made them to hang on my desk lamp: "I'll be back soon," is written on an orange circle with a smiley face. "In meeting" is on white with a little drawing of a meeting desk and chairs. "At research library" is another. "Out for the day!" is on green paper and I've drawn a stick picture of myself running and waving goodbye. I sometimes add to these notes when I'm bored or annoyed. A new one: "At lunch," with a picture of a clock face with its hands at 2:00 pm.
The other stack is a set of words with their definitions. I've had them a long time. You'd think they were part of a self-improvement program, like my own version of Einstein Baby. I've got "ethno-biography," "bricks-and-mortar business," "box social," "legacy admissions," "brio," and "intrepid."
You know how writing coaches and teachers tell you to sit down at your desk and write, no matter if you have nothing to write, nothing to tell, just sit there and write for at least two hours every day, preferably in the morning? These little packets of line drawings and Webster definitions are what I come up with when I'm stuck. I am writing. See, I'm writing.
I once asked an author how she was able to publish five books in ten years (and they're all good books, too). We were at a conference and our exhibit booth was packed with people and she told me loudly and bluntly so that nearly everyone turned around to look at us: "There's just one thing you have to do. You've got to put in some ass time. You've just got to plant yourself in a chair and write."
Excuse me while I draw myself a new little doorknob holder with that wisdom.
I do that, too, although more often I let myself get lost in the links of Wikipedia. But I call that procrastination, not inspiration. In my desk I have two little packets of slips, a whole mess of them I never use.
One packet is made of different shapes of colored paper with strings attached, and I made them to hang on my desk lamp: "I'll be back soon," is written on an orange circle with a smiley face. "In meeting" is on white with a little drawing of a meeting desk and chairs. "At research library" is another. "Out for the day!" is on green paper and I've drawn a stick picture of myself running and waving goodbye. I sometimes add to these notes when I'm bored or annoyed. A new one: "At lunch," with a picture of a clock face with its hands at 2:00 pm.
The other stack is a set of words with their definitions. I've had them a long time. You'd think they were part of a self-improvement program, like my own version of Einstein Baby. I've got "ethno-biography," "bricks-and-mortar business," "box social," "legacy admissions," "brio," and "intrepid."
You know how writing coaches and teachers tell you to sit down at your desk and write, no matter if you have nothing to write, nothing to tell, just sit there and write for at least two hours every day, preferably in the morning? These little packets of line drawings and Webster definitions are what I come up with when I'm stuck. I am writing. See, I'm writing.
I once asked an author how she was able to publish five books in ten years (and they're all good books, too). We were at a conference and our exhibit booth was packed with people and she told me loudly and bluntly so that nearly everyone turned around to look at us: "There's just one thing you have to do. You've got to put in some ass time. You've just got to plant yourself in a chair and write."
Excuse me while I draw myself a new little doorknob holder with that wisdom.
3 comments:
Planting yourself in the chair is so hard sometimes. Today, my back hurts, so sitting is actually painful. So many distractions.
It's the truth. My director in grad school told me once that she'd abandoned a novel despite liking the story. She went back to the short story, which was really her medium. She owned it. She still does. She's good.
But she said, "To write novels, you have to be willing to sit down every day and write the really boring stuff."
Which is what? I asked.
"Everything that holds the book together," she said.
She just couldn't stand writing, say, the 70 pages that were necessary to connect two killer scenes. I was flummoxed. This was the same woman who could take 6 months on a single story. But the short story was just more focused. She was always in the thick of resolution. With long form, though, it was beyond Thunderdome...
Sass: My colleagues get back pain too and one has a retractable desk so that she can stand and work if she wants or sit. The other brought in a big red rubber ball and she perches on the top of it with most of her weight on her legs. It gives her office a circus appeal.
ck: Perfect story.
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