Last week, I attended SNL’s “Craft of
Composing” panel, which included expert writers from the school's faculty, staff, student, and alumni populations. Near the end of the Q&A, an
audience member asked the panelists how they “unstick” themselves when they’re
writing. Among journaling, “writing trash”, and the “Just Do It” approaches,
one of the panelists talked about a writer they knew who would spend time vacuuming,
brushing their teeth, vacuuming again, brushing their teeth again, vacuuming
again…you get it. In “Bird by Bird”, Anne Lamott talks about deciding it’s the
perfect time to floss just as she sits down to compose what she calls her
“sh*tty first drafts”. What’s up with teeth cleaning and the writing process? I
never in my life pictured those two activities overlapping in a Venn Diagram -- until
I got to college, started writing for a living, and realized that other people
have the same bizarre habit. Distraction.
I can relate. I have never cleaned my house so thoroughly as
when I have had a huge writing project looming. Where tumbleweeds of cat hair
coasted between piles of old textbooks and bags of clothes that need to go to
the dry cleaners, now an intoxicating Pledge scent lingers and the cat slides
across the freshly waxed hardwood floors when I call her for supper. And, yes,
I can see my reflection perfectly in
my polished – and blank - computer screen.
A friend of mine who also writes for a living told me that
when she works from home, she’ll sometimes take two showers in a day, almost as
if the shower is her only escape from the madness of composing. I read in a Mental Floss article recently (yes, yet
another “Distraction”) that taking a hot shower releases dopamine in our
brains. Scientists gathered that this must be why so many creative thoughts
just happen to appear in that very private place. (And, sadly for us writers,
the only place that’s not conducive to writing. But never fear: someone created a waterproof
notebook!)
After reflecting on this over the weekend, I realized that I
tend to clean – like a lifetime employee of Happy Maids - not just when composing, but also when some life-wide problem
needs to be solved or some painful stressor needs to be managed: coming down
from the adrenaline rush of a heated argument with a family member; waiting to
hear back from the doctor about test results; coping with the unexpected death
of a loved one. In these times, my hands are prunes from washing dishes, washing floors, washing counters, washing my
hair, washing my face.
If you search “distraction in the writing process” on the
web, you’ll find a lot of “avoidance” language and tips for “overcoming
barriers”. Some of my favorite composition theorists have entire articles and
books about how students can best “stay focused on their writing tasks.” All
these best practices involve some sort of Jedi Mind Tricks that you need to
play on yourself to prevent you from wandering over to your kitchen or shower
and keep you chained to your notebook, working until you get it right. I have
never been able to master those tricks. I’ve even repeated the “Use the force”
mantra to myself -- to no avail.
I argue that distraction is not a barrier to overcome but a necessary
part of the process of overcoming. In
fact, I think it’s a good idea to let distraction happen, and that, perhaps, between drafting and proofreading, there is a bubble in my writing process flowchart that says
“clean the kitty litter” or “turn off your computer” or “go be”. The key is accepting our natural need for distraction. Our
brains want it. Our bodies want it. Our spirit wants it. It is a primal switch
to keep us creative, to keep us from going over the edge, to keep us clean, to keep us healthy, to keep us human, to help us cope -- to keep us “unstuck”.
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