We have Write-a-Novel-Month, we have poem-a-day initiatives.1 Try Save Nothing Day, a session in which you delete or
discard whatever it is you have
written. Write your own sand mandala. Do not keep notes toward what you have written. Do not save drafts. Do
not memorize passages to keep for later. Do not tuck them discretely under a
folder or notebook when no one is looking. Instead when time is up for your writing session, press
delete, drag the item to e-recycling bin or crumple the sheet of paper into an
actual waste bin. Using a paper shredder might be a better option for it keeps
at bay the temptation of retrieval.
Write your own sand mandala—art that gets blown away.
Reach beautiful insights, find colorful structural strategies, realize new
points and segue, create whole stretches in an aesthetic approach—and then erase.
This deletion is a different type of deletion from the norm for it is not the back
stepping, not the hitting of the backspace bar as one writes, it is not the
false mixing of composing with editing, of generating with pruning, of writing
with proofreading. Typically, there is much deletion as part of a writer’s
process, deletion that causes more harm than good, that overlooks the absence
of the audience in the present, that anticipates a future audience and is
defensive toward it. The deletion of disposable writing is different for it is a deletion of
product, not process. We follow the moment, we enjoy the motion of writing, and
at the end we relinquish product, unattached to outcome.
Who should join the tradition of those who Keep Nothing?
·
Those who are stuck in their writing and
find everything they have written to be precious.
·
Those who need to think everything
through before writing, who need to be perfect as a defense against anticipated
criticism.
·
Those who spend time daydreaming about
product and outcome, of how the end result of writing will personally benefit
them, change their status, improve their lot with others or with themselves.
·
Those who will not allow words to be in
their natural state and those who will not allow writing to be ordinary and
prosaic in its constant generation.
·
Those who worship writing.
·
Those who wait for regeneration of their
writing, either of their overall ability or a specific project.
·
Those who place their own standards and
motives before the motion of writing.
·
Those who don’t see writing as a
movement occurring in time but instead as an object, static, like a trophy or
an expensive knick knack.
The benefits of disposable writing are the lowering of
standards the practicing of detachment. For the practitioner, there is trust in this letting go: one trusts the abundance of
impermanence, knowing that just as good writing arose in this moment, it will
arise again in another moment.
What
does one write when keeping nothing? Write as one would normally write or write
as one would not normally write, but at the end, delete. Write with an audience
in mind or write with no audience in mind, and at the end, shred. Give oneself
a focus, genre, approach, or do not give oneself a focus, genre, or approach
and instead freewrite, and at the end, crumble. Write the next step in a draft
on a particular project or begin something new. The content, stage, and genre
do not matter—as with any writing session, decide those on your own—but at the
end, delete. Many find the disposable method most useful and least intimidating
if done with freewriting or with the earliest stages of invention. A person of advanced
training in the mindfulness of writing will practice disposable writing at advanced
and more polished phases and with genre of increasing distinction.
You can of course decide to retain something you’ve
created, but don’t allow yourself this trump card too often for the lessons of
disposable writing then will retreat and the benefits of acknowledging
impermanence will fade away. It is possible to keep your writing and at the
same time maintain the disposable mindset: this requires a sincere dedication
to impermanence while you write, a true tracking of the passing moments. It is
possible then to cheat the recycling bin, keep the results of
your honoring of importance, but the person who does so must have a strong
mindful writing practice. For it is too easy to become ensnared in attachment.
Write your own sand mandala—art that gets blown away.
1 A quota means focusing on doing, which is good because that is a focus on process, but at
the same time these sort of initiatives dangle the charm of a particular genre
(I wrote a novel; I wrote a sonnet today), and therefore harden patterns of attachment
(I wrote a whole novel; I wrote an actual sonnet today).
* image from flicker.com
