This week's Answer:
Good question, Sandra.
(I almost didn’t answer it, though, because I
didn’t want to write.)
Honestly, it is an exceptional inquiry
because all of us writers travel through the Apathetic
Forest when it comes to getting something down on paper
(or up on monitor).
The truth is (and I kid you not), at
this very moment, my Inner Cheerleader doesn’t seem to
be showing up for the game, but there’s enough of me
(you might want to pay attention to those words) that
wants to get this answer to you.
That “enough of me” (enough of you) part
that wants to write may often seem very distant or even
nonexistent, but you can find it when you need it.
And don’t kid yourself, much of writing, is just
Need to express oneself.
Need to make a deadline (imposed from without or
within, “within” being the case for me for this
for a paycheck. (Often,
not in that order of importance).
Certainly, by all means, isolate yourself in a
bucolic log cabin with your favorite coffee and Mr.
Whiskers, seeking that inspiration that will transport you
to the stage of the Academy Awards (“I’d like to thank
the Academy and my cat.
Oh yes. And
my agent. Oh,
and that genius of a script consultant extraordinaire, Dc
-- Sorry about that.
I wax bombastic.) But I wouldn’t depend on those rustic or
any-other-motivational moments to guarantee you that final
Here’s a technique (more like a
trick) I use to get my author’s engine going.
It’s a form of nonresistance (something that
Occidental teachings support highly).
Because I have found that it is resistance
that is the major culprit in Writer’s (not “block,”
but, rather:) Standstill (I like that one better).
It is the act of resisting that you do as the
writer that is the actual problem.
(Or “nonwriter” if you’re not writing in the
present moment. Remember:
you can go to fancy restaurants and parties and
tell everybody you’re a writer.
But, truth to tell, actually, at that moment,
you’re more like a gabber or a
chatterer-about-being-a-writer instead of being home
process to get back in the Writer’s Saddle is such:
First, completely accept the fact that you do not
want to write. Don’t
fight that awareness.
Say to yourself something like this:
“I don’t want to write.” (Expecting something
more profound or esoteric, huh?)
Then: (and this is the key) “I don’t have to write.”
can choose not to write.” (and you don’t).
When you allow yourself to know that you don’t
have to write, a miraculous thing can happen: You’ll realize that, now that there is no apparently
outside force forcing you to write, you WANT to write.
(You can even pretend that you were ordered that
you are not permitted to write.
That’s a real good one for us passive-aggressive
even more importantly, you LOVE to write.
(A necessary sentiment to be a prolific writer.)
I have found that, if you employ this modus
operandi, you can go through a light year-accelerated
“morph,” recalling and reclaiming that initial,
uplifting excitement about your craft when you move into
that “writerus operandi.”
Happy (or “Non-resisting)