Easing in to Great Writing
By Barbara O'Neal | January 27, 2016 |
One of the ideas most pervasive in writing is that Writing is Hard, that it requires suffering. It absolutely does take dedication, showing up, study, all the things any discipline requires, but I would argue that it should not be consistently difficult. Sure you might have a hard day, a hard stretch of the book (I am always ready to throw out a book at approximately 85% of the way through the rough draft), but it should mostly be an engaging, energizing, maybe even thrilling process.
How? Ease up, relax into your body, your knowledge, the place where you are right now. Try a tai chi approach to the process.
A couple of years ago an old acquaintance of Christopher Robin invited him to the opening of his new tai chi studio, which led to our taking an introductory workshop. Three years later, we are still practicing.
We fell in love with the space first of all, a brick room paved with buttery wooden floors. Sifu Michael has an exactly perfect voice for his calling, a voice that makes it all seem so easy, and so non-threatening. ** He often says, as his students imitate him in our awkward and unawkward ways, “you can’t know what you don’t know,” and “just do it the best you can,” and “practice is how we learn.”
Tai chi is not well understood here in the west, where we are eager to turn everything into a competition (just can’t get over the idea of competitive yoga—um, you’re kidding, right?). Most of us have seen the slow, dance-like movements of the form, mostly performed by old people in parks in China.
I am still a beginner, feeling my way around the tippy tip of the vast iceberg of knowledge that the discipline encompasses–but here is what I know, and what I want to share in terms of writing: tai chi teaches ease. Ease in the body to begin with, then ease in movement, then ease in tapping into the energies of the earth so you don’t have to use up all of your own, then—if you so choose and you have some to worry about– ease of repelling enemies.
How does that relate to writing? Simple: writing should also be a practice of ease, starting from exactly where you are right now.
PHYSICAL EASE
The first cornerstone is that you should be physically comfortably when you sit down (or stand up) to write. We speak of ergonomics as something apart, maybe something we will do when we have time or the money to arrange everything just so, but how can you possibly feel ease in the process of creating if your body is not at ease?
If you are sitting in your usual writing place, take a moment to really notice how your body feels. Is there anything that is uncomfortable? Neck, shoulders, arms? Back, hips, legs, feet? Are your arms completely relaxed, your hands able to reach the keys without reaching or contorting or holding an unnatural position? I have to keep a pillow under my feet to support the proper bend in my knees. My legs are long from hip to knee, but short from knee to ankle. Your body is probably different—which is something Sifu also says, over and over: all of us are living in a different body. Notice what yours needs. Notice when tightness or pain tell you that the position is incorrect. Find ease in your position at the keyboard.
MENTAL EASE
Writing is an exciting and engaging pursuit for most of us because it cannot ever, ever, ever be mastered. It is a discipline that constantly reveals itself over time, from the first time we set ourselves on the path to the last sentence we write.
For that reason, writing is a practice, like a tai chi practice. It’s easier to think of it that way, isn’t it? If I am practicing, the pressure is off to be PERFECT. I can practice wherever I am today. At tai chi, that means I’m working on the sequence of movements, hoping to eventually be able to do them all without faltering. That means on a given day, I might work on the opening movements—just my hands moving up and down, over and over and over. Another day, it might be leaning into a turn, over and over and over, until my body feels it, knows it, understands it without my brain having to remember. I will still, as I practice the forms, aim to be present for every movement, staying focused on what I am doing right now. Now the next thing, present here, even if the last move was not perfect.
I am a beginner at tai chi, but a long time practitioner of writing. I know more about writing because I’ve been practicing nearly every day for decades. I don’t have to think about the cadence of my own sentences and paragraphs very often, because the sheer repetition daily over so much time means my brain knows how I break, what sounds good to me, what looks beautiful. That frees me to work on using those cadences to build better and better stories, to tackle more and more difficult challenges, in subject matter, perhaps, or genre, or clarity of thought, or even the poetry of a passage.
At the same time, I can only be present for this very sentence I am writing in this moment. I can only write this one. And then this one. I don’t have to think about the last sentence of this article because I’m not there yet. I don’t have to think about the sentences at the start of this piece because I have not yet come to the time when I will read it over and see if it works well.
What happens if you write just one sentence at a time? If you are present with your writing in small, easy moments. It doesn’t have to be a perfect sentence, just the best you can do today, right now. Sometimes when I am practicing tai chi, I’m tired or my shoulder hurts. I do the best I can within those limitations, but I still practice. The same should be true of your writing. Practice, show up, even if you didn’t have enough sleep or you had a fight with your boss. Write the sentence that you have to write and don’t worry about the others.
EMOTIONAL EASE
I didn’t know much about tai chi when I began, but last summer, I had a chance to see students working on the sword form, with real swords, and fell head over heels instantly. I must learn it.
But first, there are other things I need to do. I need to understand the main forms before I can move to an elaboration of that. I am where I am on the path, learning the main form. Like most adults, I have responsibilities that limit the amount of time I can devote to it. I can only take the next step and the next step.
I cannot learn all of it all at once.
So it is with writing. Many of us want to learn it all at once, to come out of the gate and write a great novel or brilliant memoir. But first we have to know the basics of what our genre or form requires. First we have to understand the cornerstones of character, of word choice, of structure, then we can take the next steps, probably by focusing on things that are not as strong as others. One step, and then the next, practicing, practicing, practicing.
Conversely, we can stand in one place, practicing the same thing over and over when it’s time to move on to the next thing. This shows up when you rewrite the same manuscript over and over again. There comes a time when it has taught you everything it can and you need to let the next project into your world. Where are you on the path? What is the next thing you need to learn? How can you take your skills to the next level? Maybe it’s time for a class, or a critique, or a new project.
SPIRITUAL EASE
Tai chi gives me ease by bringing me into my body and asking me to focus on the moment. Writing can feed the spirit in the same way if you reframe the way you look at it: each day in your writing practice, show up and do the best you can. Some times, you will write better. Someday you will know more than you know now. Someday, people might judge the work.
But what you can do today is show up and do your practice. Write the sentence you need to write, then the next one. Stay with it, day after day, and one day you will have mastery.
And then you can learn the next thing.
Get involved in the discussion:
Is writing with ease an idea you feel comfortable with? If so, what is the next step you will take—to be more at ease physically? Emotionally? If this is a challenging concept, what objections rose as you read? Share them—maybe others have the same concerns.
**If you want to check out the healing powers of the tai chi warm-up as taught by Sifu Michael (and a glimpse of the studio) watch this YouTube video: https://youtu.be/Xu9K-IJUy0E
[coffee]
Barbara O’Neal is the author of more than a dozen award-winning, bestselling novels, including the runaway bestseller, When We Believed in Mermaids, which has been published in more than 20 countries and spent many months on the Amazon Charts, as well as the Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and Washington Post bestseller lists. Barbara lives on the beach in rugged Oregon with her husband, a British endurance athlete who vows he’ll never lose his accent and their zoo of cats and dogs. You can find more information on her newsletter and where to find her on social media at barbaraoneal.com.
I agree so much with this. Writing makes me feel happy, even if it demands time and effort from me. It’s a passion. But if I had to force myself to write, become stressed through worrying about not getting published or keeping to deadlines, I wouldn’t be happy about it, and I might give up my passion. I learnt how to meditate through joining a Buddhist group at one stage in my life, and this has benefited my writing and my need for relaxation. Thanks for sharing this, Barbara, as many writers urge an opposite agenda, one which is foreign to me and my needs.
I think I’ve had trouble writing proposals for this very reason–the pressure to know everything at once. How many points of view, how the plot will unfold, all of the characters’ motivations and goals. Write polished opening pages without knowing–really knowing–the whole story yet. That step-by-step discovery? Not allowed. Oh and also, make this next one a slam-dunk bestseller, okay? No pressure.
I think I’ll take the tai chi approach and reconnect with my love of writing. And buy a new goddam chair!
The chair! I so know that feeling. I will rub my shoulder twenty days in a row before I think, “Maybe change something?”
There’s a joke that says I don’t want a practicing doctor, I want one who’s a pro.
Fact is, all professionals should never stop practicing. The moment we declare that we know all there is to know, we have accepted mediocrity. Even the best of the best is mediocre if he has not practiced his own craft to the fullest of his abilities.
I do find that I’m at my best when not thinking about the next sentence, or the story structure, or my character’s lack of development. If I sit and let go, I discover new things about my voice and style that often get pinned down if I’m only focused on the mechanics of story.
Thanks for a wonderful post. I will follow your example and relax at the keyboard.
It’s true that we have to keep practicing. Even the most adroit and gifted writer still has things to learn.
This is true for lots of different things. Show up. One step at a time. Breathe. Take another step. Thanks for the reminders.
Everything, really.
This resonated with me the most, “It is a discipline that constantly reveals itself over time.” My day job is writing mostly dry, nonfiction and I feel like I’ve pretty well mastered it over the years. Not so with writing fiction. The thrill of learning new ways to bend the words so that they convey meaning in a deeper way is always a dangling carrot. And going with the flow, “One sentence at a time,” is a mantra well worth repeating.
Barbara,
You’ve tapped into my ongoing efforts to combine my Western ways with Eastern philosophies. I’ve also been practicing body/mind/spirit exercises and treatments, the latest being acupuncture. Tai chi might be next on the list.
A long time ago, I learned that no matter where we are in life, we’re doing our best. Yeah, we may look back later and think, “I could have done so much better,” but the truth is, no, we couldn’t have — not at the time. We are hard-wired to do our best at any given moment for survival’s sake. Yes, that may only be 50% of what we normally can do, but it’s 100% of what we can do at that given moment.
Here in the states, we don’t treat the whole body, but I feel that’s changing. Now, I’m just waiting for insurance to cover it! Thanks for introducing me to the Tai Chi discipline. Like I said, it may be my next big thing.
It sounds like tai chi might be right up your alley, Mike.
Hi Barbara–
If it works for you, who shall say you nay?
I myself don’t know from tai chi, ergonomics, special exercises or Tony Robbins-style motivational techniques. But “buttery wooden floors” is the kind of very nice touch that might get me interested.
For me, a long or short period of “easy writing” is analogous to a visitation. Remember “The Social Network”? At one point, a character is approaching someone writing computer code on a laptop. Another character says, “Don’t do it, he’s in the zone.”
That’s me being fully caught up in what I’m doing as a writer. For a time, I’ve escaped the nagging demands of time. Whatever I write during these hours or, if I’m lucky, days will serve as the object of attention at a later date, when the workaday world again takes over. To the degree I haven’t deluded myself during the visitation (always a possibility), the work done “in the zone” won’t need much rewriting.
But the heavy-lifting remains: with the help of a good editor, and lots of a writer’s equivalent of stoop labor, something I’m proud of may be the end result.
Absolutely the zone.
I’m not familiar with Tony Robbins, but tai chi is ancient–thousands of years old.
Wow, I really needed this today. Okay, 10 years ago . . . Sometimes you need a reminder that life is a work-in-progress. And it can be sprinkled with elegance, and peace and ease.
Today is when you needed it, or you would have heard it ten years ago. :)
“Now the next thing, present here, even if the last move was not perfect.” For me, this speaks to the idea that, even if the chapter I’m working on is hard, frustrating, maddening…I don’t need to succumb to the paralysis of self-judgement. Movement is the key, whether to the side, in a circle or forward. And I hear you about the full-body-contact Yoga.
I sometimes have a hard time remembering that, too. I want to hold a whole book in my head, every word, every idea–and it’s just not possible. The practice of focusing on the right thing, right now, helps a lot.
I don’t believe writing is work. There can be difficult patches, but for the most part, writers love to write. That’s why when an author dies, relatives usually find a manuscript in process. Most writers write to the very last.
Susan’s comment got me thinking. Just curious, Barbara, but in tai chi do you ever miss the days when you were just starting out, before you even knew enough to be self-judgmental? Do you ever miss the freedom, even in the awareness that what you were doing would be painfully amateurish, even laughable, to others? Ignorance can be so freeing. As Billy Idol once said, “Well there’s nothing to lose and there’s nothing to prove, When I’m dancin’ with myself. Oh, oh, oh-oh.”
Setting aside awareness of progress–and consequently being demanding of ourselves–can be difficult, even in the moment of each movement. If we’re not careful, it can start to feel exhausting. (I’m not there right now, but I have been – particularly in the early stages of a project.) Any tai chi tips you have would be appreciated.
“Do you ever miss the days when you were just starting out, before you even knew enough to be self-judgmental? Do you ever miss the freedom, even in the awareness that what you were doing would be painfully amateurish, even laughable, to others?”
Yes, Vaughn. A hundred thousand times yes. (For me and writing, not tai chi, haha.)
“Writing is an exciting and engaging pursuit for most of us because it cannot ever, ever, ever be mastered. It is a discipline that constantly reveals itself over time, from the first time we set ourselves on the path to the last sentence we write.”
Beautifully put, Barbara, and so true. Thanks for an all-around great post, with lots of good reminders and insights that I appreciated today.
Interesting question, Vaughn. I don’t have a tai chi answer, actually, though I will pose it to more knowledgable souls when I have a chance.
I would say that the answer anytime this comes up in a non-editorial session is to avoid judgment. That is where the anxiousness comes from, and judgment opposes creativity. There is a time for editing (and the ease there is in allowing the order-markers to do their thing).
Yoga does the same thing. And keep in mind, there are 8 limbs of yoga and competition combined with yoga is an oxymoron. Yoga is where we’re supposed to leave the ego at the door and simply show up as the observer without judgment or attachment :-)
Exactly the point.
The only time (other than in stray moments) that I ever felt the ease you describe was in the writing of my first book–before I knew what I was getting myself into :). I am at the beginning of the process again now, and I think it’s all about learning to trust yet again. Strange how we sometimes have to teach ourselves the same lessons over and over. Thanks for this inspiring post!
You know, Barbara, so often here on WU I see folks say, this is just what I needed today. Well, this is just what I needed today.
Ease.
Yes.
Thank you. Namaste.
Namaste.
Yes, for me, too, your essay showed up right on time. Divinely orchestrated, I believe. And now to begin, with “illuminated trust,” my word/phrase for the year.
Barbara, when I lived in San Francisco some years back, I used to walk to work and always passed a couple of parks where groups of people (usually older Asian women) would be doing tai chi, and I always stopped for some moments to watch.
It occurred to me that watching those slow, synchronized motions was a kind of meditation in itself, like watching soft waves lapping at a shore. I always felt a bit better having watched those women, absorbed in their discipline.
I never did take up tai chi, but now I meditate every morning before I do any writing, and it’s simple: one breath after another, much like your great “I can only be present for this very sentence I am writing in this moment. I can only write this one.”
I have a legion of demons that beset me on various counts, but the meditation, and the practicing, practicing, practicing of writing do help. (And when they don’t, there’s always bourbon.)
Meditation is a gift, Tom. Tai chi has taken the place of meditation for me first thing in the morning. I do it other times, but I find it hard to sit still so early and going through the warm up allows me time to focus on that internal monitor.
I love this whole concept. And it’s inspired me to look into Tai Chi
Heartwarming piece, Barbara. I’ve just returned to tai chi after a hiatus of nearly 30 years. The drop-off occurred because I first learned tai chi in Columbus, Ohio, in the early 70s. There was one instructor in town, a man named Doctor Wu (and yes, I’m a Steely Dan fan: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hk04jBuyO10 )
Then in 1976 I moved to Berkeley, where there seemed to be a tai chi instrocutor behind every bush. I didn’t know where to turn, so I did nothing.
Bozo that I am.
The thing I love is its embrace of the contrary aspect of all things: the strength of gentleness. The courage of acceptance.
The worth for a writer seems obvious: be gentle with yourself, but do not stop.
Thanks for the lovely elegant reminder.
That’s the thing I love, too, David. Embracing the contrary. Writing even if we always know there is more to know, a day when we’ll be better than we are today, but only if we don’t stop practicing.
Great post Barbara. I did Tai Chi for fifteen years and stopped because of a bad back and politics within the group. (That’s so sad.) but it stays with me and I do it in the water now. It only becomes easy and freeing when you’ve done it enough that body memory takes over and you get in the zone, the flow, call it what you want. Suspend the inner critic. Like writing.
Your post made me realize that Tai Chi taught me to get there quickly. I have never had writer’s block. I don’t really understand it. I think that’s the Chi of writing. That’s not to say everything I write is worth reading of course, but you sit, or stand, and write.
Thank you.
Sorry to hear you had to quit tai chi over politics, especially. Water is a good choice (my aunt teaches Ai Chi in the water).
Yes, the Chi of writing. That’s what we’re looking for. Thanks for putting it into words.
My inner life is moving at breakneck speed right now (creative ideas bouncing around like ping pond balls). I rely heavily on Eastern philosophies and meditation techniques to keep me free of stress and in balance. If I don’t maintain a smooth rhythm or steady, calm pace I stress out. I’ve always thought I’d like to take up Tai Chi (someday when I have a moment to put my full attention to it—groan—there’s another idea to add to that full plate). Your post is a soothing reminder and encouragement. (I decided the words needed to be on a post-it-note plastered to my computer.) “One step and then the next.” Each day—next step. The visual being a path of stepping stones across a garden pond—or as in your article, a slow, smooth transition from one move to another. Thanks.
Love your Post-Its. I do the same thing. :) I also love the visual of the stepping stones across a pond. Beautiful.
Nice when something resonates. The idea of ‘practice’ is not intimidating. Dance practice. Band practice. Write practice. I think I also have suffered from wanting to be the writing genius out of the gate. Need to learn and grow.
Interesting. One of the greater challenges I have while writing is…my neck and shoulders. Seriously. My comfortable chair doesn’t have a head brace, so my neck and upper shoulders and head aren’t supported, even though the rest of my body is perfectly comfortable. This leads to minor pain, and I find myself clenching my jaw and cracking my neck and shoulders, and…now I’m not focused. And then an avalanche of other things unfocus me even more. When I’m physically comfortable, I write more and have more fun doing it. Never really realized this before!
I’m not sure one can master an art as broad as writing. I’m just happy when it’s done. Then I’m happier when it’s done well. Then I’m happiest when it’s done well and I’ve been paid for it.