On Writing & Creativity
Monday, January 16, 2012 I am, as you know, working on Bread & Wine, my third book, a collection of essays about faith, family, food, friendship & life around the table. It’s due this summer, and I’m taking a little bit of a different tack than I have before.
I began again in earnest on January 3rd, and I write between two and three days a week, depending on the week. I write sometimes at a coffee shop—there are four coffee shops in my rotation, and the one I choose for a particular day has everything to do with who’s watching my sweet baby that day. If I leave him with my mom, I go to the place nearest her house, and so on. That's all just about the same as last time.
I realized, though, that somewhere along the way I developed a bad habit, or at least what I think is an unhelpful habit for my current purpose. I slipped into writing a first draft, cleaning it up, reading through again, crafting first paragraph and last, and then pronouncing it nearly done, all in a day. That’s good, I think. It’s productive, and it lets me cross one essay off the list—one down!
But what it doesn’t do is force me to play in the messy, unfolding, rich, mulch-y creative wreckage. It’s tidy, it’s straightforward, it’s perfect for a blog post—and the bonus there is immediate feedback. But have I become so accustomed to immediate feedback and the tidiness of finishing a quick essay that I’m missing some of the deep, gutsy, creative work that’s yielded only when you let it sit and settle and marinate for a while? That's the question I'm asking these days.
Five years ago this month I was working on Cold Tangerines. I didn’t have a blog. No Facebook or Twitter. I wrote and wrote, and for ages, no one saw it. Occasionally my editor. Very rarely, a friend. It was a wide, sloppy, creative, beautiful mess. Bits and pieces, knit together and unraveled, over and over till they settled together like old friends. There were a few of those essays that I wrote straight through, in a flame of creativity and pure happiness, but I think that happened because I gave myself the protected time and space to write both good stuff and terrible stuff.
So I’m going back to that place. We’re going away with friends mid-February, and between now and then, my only goal is volume—words and words and words. Every story and idea and rabbit trail. Every question, dream, memory. Quantity, freedom, playing around with words.
It’s harder than I thought, mostly because I miss feeling like I’m producing—look at this finished thing I made today! But I can tell, at the same time, that it is yielding as sense of freedom and gutsiness, a depth that I hadn’t been hitting when I wanted a quick, clean 1500 words and a check off my list.
So here's to the mess, the sprawling, ugly-beautiful, chicken-scratched, rabbit-trailed, creative wandering. To the discipline it takes to stay there. And to the goodness we find when we linger there.
As always, for me, writing is more about learning than teaching, more about discovering than reporting, more about showing up than showing off.
Here's to showing up.
Reader Comments (15)
Thank you Shauna.
In High School I wrote well, and received good grades for my writing. I dashed off quick essays, received great grades, and I thought I was a great writer.
In college, I fell in love with writing. I began to get inside of the writing process. Instead of seeing the writing process from above, I began to see, understand, and participate from inside of the writing process. That meant that I had to develop my own way of thinking about various assignments or tasks. I had to explore ideas thoroughly and try them on for size. There was lots of trial and error. I would run with an idea, follow where it lead, and come up with more information that finally was what I was really trying to say. It wasn't until I had thought a lot, written a lot, and learned to love the creative process itself that I finally would discover what I was really saying, and to a degree, who I really was. How beautiful.
I think I can relate to the writing you are doing now. It sounds a lot like what I was doing. I miss that sort of writing! Happy writing to you!
How did you know I needed to read this now? I admit that I, too, crave feedback. I love the instant gratification that comes from wrapping up a tidy blog post. Unfortunately, that means my focus is on shuffling/cleaning/cramming/smoothing words together instead of allowing them to marinate in messy, to rub against one another with sharp edges and strange shapes that don't fit together. Yet.
Thanks for reminding me that the writing process is most beautiful, honest and cathartic when I allow it to be messy.
(And thanks for sharing about your life and process! I reallly appreciate it!)
Cheers! Happy writing!
Lina
but, at the same time... It is very freeing when noone comments. I just write. Not "for anyone" ... just bleed emotions, it's healing. it is therapy.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I would be the weird girl in the coffee shop staring at you creeping you out, wishing I could get the nerve up to say hello to a favorite author. :) -april (still kicking myself that I missed the chance to meet you when you came to VA Beach.
I love what you have to say here. My biggest challenge in juggling 2 boys and 3-4 kinds of jobs is that of simply sitting down and getting into a creative flow. Just writing. When I push through and just keep writing even though I want to stop and edit and "check something off my list" I have a fabulous time and my writing improves. Your note here is encouragement to do more of that.
I haven't read Bittersweet yet, but I am looking forward to it, as well as to the next one.
Maurice
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