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| Pink Sherbert Photography |
Our real environment—one
of of constant change—works for us as writers, not against us.
One of the main tasks of mindful writing involves accepting changes in your writing experience along the way.
Nothing stays the same. Mindful
writing is built upon the premise of groundlessness. Everything is in flux; everything
is impermanent: even writing ability, even writing blocks.
Your feelings about your writing are
constantly changing in subtle or not so subtle ways.
Instead of becoming locked into a
death grip with one type of feeling about your writing—whether it’s a
pessimistic or optimisitic view—let that feeling happen without judgment and
fear and just watch how the feeling fluctuates.
If we hold on to a particular view
of our writing, we will eventually suffer. Suffering in the Buddhist sense is
caused by not admitting impermanence. For writers, that suffering takes the
form of what we call a "writer's block." (I define "writer's
block" as an inattention to the Present moment and specifically a lack of
acceptance of the impermanence of the Present moment.)
I find that my perception of my own
writing varies tremendously.
On some days, I am filled with
bouyancy and confidence that what I am writing is worthwhile. Just the next
day, I may find myself thinking, “What right do I have to be writing about this
topic? What do I know?” I may really like a piece I've just finished and a week
later have doubts. Or I may be excited at the prospect of a long weekend to do
more writing but then only find myself distracted by plans with my family once
I'm actually sitting at my desk.
Trying to replicate a positive
writing experience will only last so long as well. Writers are notorious for
their superstitions and repetitive working habits: these are strategies to gain
some (false) semblance of control over impermanence.
Throughout my writing career, I have
found that any gimic I cling to eventually leaves me high & dry upon a
beach of blank thought.
In contrast, if I train myself to
return to the Present in those times and watch it with acceptance, I invariably
find myself in a better day of writing. It may take a few days or even a week,
but the next change (one I welcome or would select) does happen.
Many scholars on writing (Peter
Elbow, Linda Flower and John Hayes, Keith Hjortshoj, Don Murray, Sondra Perl,
Mike Rose just to name a few) have emphasized the recursivity of the writing
experience. That is, they have usefully drawn our attention to the time line of
writing, pointing out how people engaged in composing a text regularly
"loop" around through the different parts of writing--inventing,
drafting, rewriting, editing, etc. Broadly speaking, scholars have argued
against a linear view of the writing process.
What I am suggesting is a finer
grained notion of the time involved in the act of writing. Micro-beats instead
of macro-beats. We should pay attention to changes not just in large phases of
the writing process (for instance, how a writer might return to drafting after a
stretch of editing) but also look at the moment
by moment changes.
Our real environment—one
of of constant change—works for us as writers, not against us.
