I was sitting at my computer for a\u00a0long time this morning, wondering what to write. When I looked back over my\u00a0previous blogs, I was amazed to see that to date, I had written 270 of them. I\u00a0had posted one every single weekend with the exception of an emergency when Ihad fallen and was taken to the hospital. I can\u2019t remember when that was but\u00a0since everything has become pre-Covid and post-Covid, it was definitely\u201d pre.\u201d Along time back.<\/p>\n
Whether or not I\u2019m clear about what\u00a0I\u2019m about to create, when I sit down to write, consistency is key for me. I\u00a0have to do it every day. Even for a piece like this one, it takes at least\u00a0three days of work to get it where I want it to be. I honed that skill when I\u00a0was in the ballet where we trained every day, all day, and we performed night\u00a0after night no matter how we felt. I danced with the flu and a twisted ankle so
there was no way I wasn\u2019t going to write, but I had to figure out what the\u00a0topic was and what I wanted to say about it. I felt doubtful but I reminded\u00a0myself that people seemed to enjoy my work when I posted it. Still, I couldn’t imagine\u00a0what on earth I had to say about anything. Hadn’t I said enough? My mind was reeling\u00a0in an endless loop. It was a lot of noise about nothing, words bumping into\u00a0each other and sentences jumping over and under each other, all battling for
center stage.<\/p>\n
I was having my version of writer\u2019s\u00a0block. It shows up differently for different people. Some go blank and feel\u00a0numb, but for me, it’s not about having an empty mind. It\u2019s about having an\u00a0overactive one that shoots thoughts in every direction while uncertainty and\u00a0confusion have a field day. I thought about what I told my students when they\u00a0found themselves in a similar predicament: \u201cJust keep the pen moving. Be
consistent and keep on going. Fill up the page and don’t become a judge.\u201d<\/p>\n
Some years ago, I was trying\u00a0(trying being the operative word) to write something and I heard some abasing\u00a0messages in my brain: \u201cDon’t bother. It won’t be any good. The last thing the\u00a0world needs is another useless book mucking up the marketplace.\u201d I felt\u00a0hopeless until I imagined a judge in long black robes holding a gavel, banging\u00a0it on the bench, commenting on everything I was thinking: \u201cThat\u2019s good. That\u2019s
bad. That\u2019s good. That\u2019s bad.\u201d I was sick and tired of it so I turned to him\u00a0and said, \u201cI really don’t need you right now. Why don’t you go into your\u00a0chambers and have a brandy? I\u2019ll call you when I need you.\u201d In my mind\u2019s eye, I\u00a0watched him walk away, step through the inner door and let it close behind him.<\/p>\n
My mind went quiet. My shoulders\u00a0relaxed, I exhaled, I placed my fingers back on the keyboard and I started\u00a0moving them. I always feel a strange sort of satisfaction when I hear the\u00a0clicking of the computer keys and feel the forward motion as the screen fills\u00a0up with words. Any words. That day was no exception. The clicks created a\u00a0rhythm and they lulled me into a state of ease. My mind softened, time\u00a0disappeared and I wrote about nothing at all. It didn\u2019t matter. The point was\u00a0that I was writing and it was fascinating to me. I was relieved that I had begun\u00a0when the inner door of the courtroom flew open. I saw the judge come rushing\u00a0out. \u201cDo you need me now?\u201d My mind instantly filled up with noise.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot now. I\u2019ll call for you when I\u00a0do.\u201d He left and I began again.<\/p>\n
One of the few rules I have for my\u00a0writing students is that no matter what\u2019s happening or how they feel, they have\u00a0to keep on going. \u201cYou may be judging yourself,\u201d I tell them, \u201cor complaining\u00a0or feeling like a victim, but be consistent and keep the pen moving or the\u00a0keyboard clicking.\u201d I know it feels counterintuitive to do this when you think
you have nothing to say or when you think you’re writing junk, but the idea is\u00a0that your action alerts the brain that it\u2019s time to write and it falls in step\u00a0with your creative mind.<\/p>\n
If you want to write more than a\u00a0few pages, it’s the same directive. Sit down day after day and keep the pen\u00a0moving. Don\u2019t stop. There are times that I rewrite the same page for several\u00a0days and the only thing worth saving is one sentence. But if I hadn\u2019t written for\u00a0those days, I wouldn\u2019t have found the pearl. I feel grateful as I extract the\u00a0precious gem and delete the rest. Maybe it will act as a jumping off point, a stepping\u00a0stone to the rest of my work, or it may fit into the middle of a paragraph and\u00a0I can build the rest of the piece around it.<\/p>\n
More often than not, you don\u2019t know\u00a0what is valuable and what isn\u2019t \u2013 until you stop and reread your material. But\u00a0no editing. Not yet. I teach my students not to edit their first draft. Early editing\u00a0will make it sterile and predictable and deprive you of seeing astonishing things
appear in your mind that you didn’t expect. Maybe you\u2019ll remember something you\u00a0hid away because it was too painful to confront. There is great healing in\u00a0that. When you find the courage to face the truth, you\u2019ll discover one of the\u00a0gifts that writing bestows upon you: the opportunity to remember, to forgive\u00a0yourself, to face your demons and to heal old wounds.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I was sitting at my computer for a\u00a0long time this morning, wondering what to write. When I looked back over my\u00a0previous blogs, I was amazed to see that to date, I had written 270 of them. I\u00a0had posted one every single weekend with the exception of an emergency when Ihad fallen and was taken to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":2305,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2306","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2306","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2306"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2306\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2307,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2306\/revisions\/2307"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2305"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2306"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2306"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2306"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}