Natalie Goldberg, in her brilliant Writing Down the Bones, writes that talking with friends is a great way to warm up to the task of writing.
"I remember sitting after a concert in the New French Bar in downtown Minneapolis with a writing friend and telling her about how I became a Buddhist. Because of the intensity of her listening, the story, which I had told many times, took on a great brilliance. I remember the light off the wineglass, the taste of my chocolate mousse. I knew then that I had to write the story--there was great material in it...
Talk is a way to warm up for the big game--the hours you write alone with your pen and notebook. Make a list of all the stories you have told over and over. That's a lot of writing to be done."
----Natalie Goldberg
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| photo by tianarenae3 |
This came to mind recently when I was telling a colleague about a troublesome phase my daughter went through fifteen years ago. The "phase" lasted for many years. In fact, I would often joke and say, "She's got her head so far up her butt, she...," and when she started making some sensible choices on the occasional basis, I'd say,"Once in a while, she sees something other than brown." (Now my daughter has grown into becoming the best mother I've ever seen; I'm proud of her for hundreds of reasons.)
After I finished telling the story, my friend said, "I"ve got goosebumps. That's quite a moving story."
I've told this particular story countless times. But this one person's reaction made me examine my story with new eyes. Deciding that it was indeed a story worth writing down, I clicked away on my laptop, revised it, then submitted it. Since it was in late December when I sent it off, I'm still waiting for a response...
Who do you get together with so you can gossip and laugh and bring stories to life? Who do you warm up with, in preparation for the lonely task of writing?
1. She is so good at what she does.
2. She gets it. Day after day, she understands the writing process.
3. She says it with such clarity and groundedness...
Of course, I really adore Goldberg's work. Her book, Writing Down the Bones is like a bible to me.
This is what she unearthed from a notebook, written on July 27, 1984:
I know this working with my tired, resistant mind is the deepest I'll get on the earth. Not the joy or ecstasy I feel sometimes or the momentary flashes of enlightenment, but this touching of the nitty gritty of my everyday life and standing in it and continuing to write is what breaks my heart open so deeply to a tenderness and softness toward myself and from that, a glowing compassion for all that is around me. Not just for the table and Coke in front of me, the paper straw, air conditioner, men crossing the street on this July day in Norfolk, Nebraska, bank digital clock blinking 4:03, my friend writing opposite me, but for the swirling memories and deep longings of our minds and the suffering we work through daily. And it comes from me naturally as I move pen across the page and break down the hard, solid crusts of thought in my own mind and the way I limit myself.
So it is very deep to be a writer. It is the deepest thing I know. And I think, if not this, nothing--it will be my way in the world for the rest of my life. I have to remember this again and again.
Live deeply...And write.
Okay, so "studio" is such a stretch of the English language, I haven't seen such elasticity since Silly Putty or the old "Stretch Armstrong" dolls, or the skin under my eyes when I was in my 20's, when I could poke around and the skin would spring back into place. (Now, the wad of displaced skin just adds to the already-huge bags under my eyes.)
My proposed "studio" is a room in our unfinished basement. It's just narrow enough to hold a baby crib (it was our son's room when he was born---was a small room that joined onto our bedroom) and is a bit longer than it is wider. In other words, it's a small room.
There is carpeting on the floor (albeit not decent carpeting) and on one wall is a set of whimsical balloon-faces (hand-painted by me, so the whimsy comes from how funny they look due to my lack of artistic ability, not the humorous facial expressions they have). There is a very utilitarian table, and a couple of floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
Currently, the room is jam-packed with fabric scraps (from my quilting phase), beads (from my jewelery-making phase), and yarn (from my knitting phase, which I'm still entrenched in).
I know that clearing out the junk would be liberating, and since our house is extremely small, making it a space that I can write makes sense. However, Natalie Goldberg said it best in her gem of a book, Writing Down the Bones
"If you want a room to write in, just get a room. Don't make a big production out of it. If it doesn't leak, has a window, heat in the winter, then put in your desk, bookshelves, a soft chair, and start writing. Too many people decide they have to paint the walls, then buy wall hangings, a special desk, reupholster a chair, hire a carpenter to build walnut bookshelves, shop for a superb rug. 'After all, this is my special room.'
It becomes another trick to avoid writing..."
My little room does not leak. It does not have a window, but that might be a plus in my situation----less distractions for me. It doesn't have heat, but a space heater would work. There's no room for a comfy chair, but again, less chance for task avoidance.
Before I reread Goldberg's book and rethought about what works for me (and remembered how clever I am when it comes to getting off track) I had some questions about this room. How do I cover up the balloon faces, since this will be a "serious" room with a serious purpose? How do I arrange and decorate it, so that it beckons me to write?
