Before I Write
One of the biggest things I’ve found that can make a difference in the quality of my writing isn’t what I’m doing while I’m writing, it’s what I do before I even start.
I have a bunch of thoughts on this, actually, but here’s the gist:
SLOW THE F DOWN
I have trouble slowing down. I think I’ve been rushing my whole life. I rush to get up. I rush to brush my teeth. I rush to eat my breakfast. It’s as if I’m perpetually late for… something… and I have to move as fast as humanly possible or BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN. I’ve since learned this has a lot to do with anxiety and being in a constant state of anticipation.
However, I think even without massive amounts of anxiety, I think we all still instinctively rush by just being members of the world of today. As a society we believe speed is good. Fast is best. The quicker something happens, the happier we are. We reward those who complete their tasks in the least amount of time. We’ve been taught to believe that there is inherent value in hurrying. Some of it I think is our obsession with instant gratification, some is a desire to head off any unexpected outcomes, some is just our equating it with a solid work ethic. The faster we move the more it means we are taking our task seriously. We are making it a priority.
Stepping back, though, you can see how it actually has the reverse effect. Speed brings sloppiness, errors, jitters, worry, a fixation on the future at the expense of the present, and often results in a very surface-level approach to whatever you’re working on.
None of these things contribute to magical awesomeness. In fact, I’d argue they probably are the Freddy Kreuger to your innocent sleeping creativity - skewering it with razors for fingers before it even has a chance to wake up.
So what’s an anxiety-ridden sprinting ball of fidgeting electricity supposed to do?
Slowing down isn’t easy when rushing has become so second nature that you don’t even realize you’re doing it half the time. So, the first step for me was to start recognizing when I’m doing it in the moment and get familiar with what that feeling of tension and impatience physically feels like. For example, an intense desire to murder someone because they said hello to the cashier as they were checking out might be a sign that I might be rushing for no reason. Or being angry that it’s taking so long for the hot water to come out of the tap. Or wanting to scream because my clothes were still a little damp and I needed to run the dryer one more time.
Once I knew how to recognize it, when I would go to write, I would sit for a moment and look for it. Is it here? Do I have that feeling right now? Nine times out of ten, I would.
This would signal to me that I needed to slow down before I started doing anything that involved any sort of magical conjuring.
It’s like that scene in Swingers when they’re talking about how the girl Jon Favreau wants to ask out is like a scared little bunny. My special sauce is a sacred little rabbit. No sudden movements.
Okay, so now that I knew I needed to slow down, how would I do it? This has taken some experimenting.
Grounding myself in the present moment is key. The best way I’ve found to do this is to find ways to get out of my head by doing something physical - connecting more with my body. This could be meditation/mindfulness, a long walk, a shower or a bath, sitting in nature… I just had to try stuff to see what resonated. But when I did find something that worked, it was like having a shortcut to that scared little bunny.
There have been a lot of interesting studies looking at the relationship between movement and creativity that back this up.
Revelation #1: If I can let my mind be quiet for just two goddamn seconds things will start to appear out of that quiet.