The Pause Between
By Barbara O'Neal | September 26, 2018 |
I am restless today. It’s been three weeks since I emailed a draft of my new book to my editor and agent. I’ve been dreaming in plots for a few days now, and I have done all the things I said I would do “when I finished the book.” Well, not all of them. Turns out I don’t always want to be in the garden.
I want to write. That’s pretty much what I always want to do. Write books, columns, essays, journals, ideas, plans—whatever. Writing is my natural state.
But just now, I can’t really get my mind to settle into anything. I can only write this piece because I’m observing my own process. Like Vaughn last week, I’ve started and abandoned several columns, unable to stick with any of them. One has potential and maybe I’ll get back to it, but I just don’t have the wherewithal to do it justice right now.
This is what I’ve got today:
I’m creatively exhausted. The final push for the most recent book was brutal, mostly because the subject matter was so intense that the girls in the basement arranged for me to only know everything in the final three weeks of the book, which means I lived a bunch of revelations and reversals right along with my characters and wore myself out physically as well as emotionally.
That’s fine. It’s just that now I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I take long walks and listen to podcasts. I play with the dogs. I read. Paint. I’m taking a watercolor class online which has a fair amount of homework, and that allows me to indulge in some kind of creativity.
It’s been three weeks. That seems like a long time. In terms of the outside world, a three week vacation is a very nice break indeed.
Clearly not long enough.
Realistically, however, I’d like to get going again soon. How can I help the girls in the basement get the renewal they need? I’ve decided to give them one more week of intensive well-filling.
I’m going to read. Non-fiction about things that have nothing to do with my work, and fiction unconnected to anything I’d write. I’ll watch another three or four movies, I suppose, even though I’ve started to feel like a sloth over all the watching I’ve been doing. It’s a fast, direct way to mainline a lot of story.
This would be a good week to browse garden shops before they close for the season, just to get an injection of color and peace. Maybe see what’s showing at the museums here and in Denver. See my friends. Take a lot of photographs of the trees changing and then paint them. Listen to music.
One big thing I’m going to do is nail down the details of the trip to India I am finally going to take after Christmas. There’s a lot to dream about, a lot to arrange, and I am both thrilled and slightly nervous. More on that later, but planning a trip is a great way to fill the well. Even imagining other places is a healing activity (for me, anyway. Obviously if you don’t like travel, it wouldn’t work for you.).
I can also give myself the joy of moving—some extra tai chi classes, swimming, hiking. Moving the body heals the mind, after all. The puppies will be more than happy to assist me in this pursuit.
It also appears I’m going to sleep a lot. It makes me feel guilty sometimes, but this week, I’m just going with it. If my body wants chocolate, I’m going with a bit of that, too.
What I will not do is feel guilty about any of it. Producing creative work is a very intense process. It’s magical and strange and beautiful—and taxing. To respect the work, I have to respect the pauses in-between as well. If I get to the end of this week and I still need another, I’m going to brace myself–and take it.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a movie to watch.
Do you feel guilty taking down time? What do you do when you’re creatively exhausted?
[coffee]
Photo by Uriel Soberanes on Unsplash
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.
Morning, Barbara.
As I read your post I thought of the poet, David Whyte, whose work often renews and inspires me. Whether I read it myself or listen to one of his CDs, I find myself seeing everything through new eyes.
I often go back to his book THE THREE MARRIAGES (prose) in which he writes about our three commitments – work, self, other. He says that, “Work is a constant conversation. It is the back and forth between what I think is me and what I think is not me; it is the edge, between what the world needs of me and what I need of the world.”
It sounds like your time right now is an exploration of that edge, which is not always a comfortable place, but a necessary one.
And for the record, your posts also inspire me. Thanks very much.
That’s lovely, Carol. Thanks so much for sharing it.
You too, Barbara? Glad to hear I’m not alone this month.
I’ve decided there’s something about September. It’s emptied out around here (most of the tourists and folks who “summer” here are gone). It’s still fairly warm during the days, but the nights are brisk. Autumn is definitely in the air. And is there something about the angle of the sun? Everything seems… crisper. Leaves covered the beach trail this morning, and the lake’s roar beckoned. I was glad I wore a sweatshirt.
I’ve been repairing and restaining my garage doors all week. It’s so quiet that I turn to check each of the handful of cars that pass, sort of incredulous over the intrusion. Evenings, I’ve been reading and watching a lot of movies, too. I’ve been devouring this fantastic book on steppe warrior women, by Adrienne Mayor. Did you know that mares produce almost as much milk as cows, and are even easier to milk? Why, in the name of Ares, haven’t I been using that?! And how about the deliciousness of Qi’ra, in Solo? I mean, she clearly still loves Han, but she is driven to do what she does… for some reason. And she’s so sad about it. Leaving an exquisite and unrevealed mystery.
All of it – I mean *all* of it: the weather, the quiet, the books and movies… the sweatshirt – it’s all filling my creative well.
When I wrote my post, I was all twisted up, not really sure where I was going story-wise, and feeling very blah about it. Now I’m champing at the bit, ready to dive deep again. October is full-on fall. And I’m going to be in full-on writing mode for it. I feel it bone-deep. Makes me want to put my sweatshirt back on.
Wishing you a brimming well, Barbara. Here’s to well-rested and feisty girls in the basement this October.
I love the visual of you working on the garage doors in the newly shifting weather. Glad you’re feeling so energized to plunge back in October.
The restlessness you describe feels so familiar, Barbara, as does the bone-deep exhaustion. I’m nearing the end of a late revision and watching the story I’ve wanted to tell for many years now become real. Odd things have been happening, sensations of the novel moving from inside of me to outside. I feel sad, panicky, thrilled. Empty and full at once. When I’m in need of grounding,(which is often these days) I go out behind my house into the woods. Three streams run there and I walk them, sit on rocks, pick up stones. The sound of the running water has become my medicine. I’m fortunate to have this at my doorstep. Fortunate and grateful. And I hear you about travel. I’m missing the Western Isles. India sounds awesome and life changing.
Your forest sounds like an exquisite retreat. And I love the way you describe the feeling of the book moving from within you to outside of you. That’s it exactly. It feels so odd.
I’m just finishing a book that has taken me a year to write. It’s finally done. I’ve wanted to write this story for years, and when a book contract was cancelled this time last fall, I decided that it was time to switch gears, move forward, be brave, take a risk, and try something new. It’s been a terrifying year, full of self doubt and uncertainty and very, very little money. Now the new manuscript is about to go off to my agent, who liked that idea last year, but now, who knows? And a volunteer position that was supposed to morph into a paying part-time job has now fallen back to moneyless work, and much more of it. Like you, in this lull between books, I’m thinking of the next story. Should I step back into that old comfy genre, hope for a quick sale and a bit of cash (and maybe more success this time), or continue on in the new direction, take another year to write the next story? Some days I wonder if I’m ever going to write again, defeated by worrying if anything I’ve written will ever be successful. And then, story ideas start to hit my brain like a meteor shower, and I know I’ll be back, that no matter what else I do, I cannot NOT write. What a strange career we’ve all chosen!
Sounds like the cancelled contract led to something even better…
Good luck!
Dear Barbara!
Boy oh boy, does this hit home for me right now!
I laughed when I read about your “girls in the basement,” because I always think of my “folks in the attic.” They’re always shifting around up there.
This post is validating for me, as I find it hard to think of writing as “work.” After all, it’s also my greatest joy.
And like you, I think, I find resting from writing harder than writing.
Balance is a good thing, they say. But writing is even better.
Thanks for writing this.
Love that: balance is good but writing is better. My mantra.
I’m so glad you’re giving yourself the time to rest and relax. Sleep. But I hear you on wanting to write because it *is* your natural state. One of the best things of working on multiple projects is that if I need to let something lie fallow for a while, I can work on something else.
But no, I don’t feel guilty when I take a break and I’m a good Catholic! I’m already in a weekly rhythm of keeping Sundays free for leisure. I recognize that creativity ebbs and flows and it’s best to go with the natural flow. I like to recharge with other activities–playing piano, making some word-art (I love calligraphy but never spend enough time with it because it is so time consuming), binge-reading, tidying up, trying out new recipes. This week we made a batch of pickled peppers! Owwww!!!
I’m soooo jealous you’re going to India. The things you’ll see and hear and eat!!! You’ll have a wonderful time!!! I just applied for a new passport (mine had expired way back when and I turned into a hermit after the children arrived) and thinking a trip is long overdue…it’s been 20 yrs already.
Calligraphy is a beautiful art, and I envy your patience. It’s challenging!
Yes, I’m so excited about the India trip. At long last.
Barbara,
Creative exhaustion can be seen as a good thing. You created big time! Good for you. The well will refill in time.
Hey, Barbara!
Why is it that we feel guilty when we’re not writing? I dunno, but we do. You’ve helped, though. Thank you so much for giving us permission to goof off in the name of regrouping, rekindling, and refueling. And there it is. Did you see it? Goof off. *Sigh.*
I so appreciate that you are sharing your journey. Thanks again. Enjoy the movie!
Now, go goof off! :)
When I need to replenish the well, I love going to art galleries and museums. It’s best to go mid-week when it’s not as crowded, and early in the morning. I can’t paint in the city. There is not enough room and the smell is too annoying. I paint in the summer in the country. I will always go to the gym, even when I really want to stay in the chair. My back and hips need to unflex and movement is a necessary relief. I never stop reading. I do like to read in the genre of psychological fiction in which I write. Also my writing takes a lot of research – this WIP is in Peru – Machu Picchu and the Q’eros Nation. It’s time consuming to cover the terrain, the mountains, the people, the food, the ceremonies and beliefs of these Inca descendants.
Luna, your name is so beautiful!
Your research and your project sound fascinating!
Thank you for sharing, Barbara. Been shoving writing to the side lately. Always working on the house and surrounding geography, I dove into four solid projects this summer. Here in Wausau, WI we get nine months of winter and only about three months of poor sledding. Gotta cram stuff in when I can. That includes mountain biking (sold my canoe and motorcycle but got another new mountain bike this summer). Rode the historic Elroy-Sparta both ways for 71.28 miles. At 74 I try as much as I did at 21, but need a bit more recovery time. Thanks for letting me know I am not alone and needing respite time (often for weeks) is not outside the parameters of those plagued with ADD & a creativity, meandering, open-to-the-universe mind. But passionately pursuing all those tangent adventures spanks me into writing like a madman when I do finally get back into the saddle.
You sound like a man who lives exuberantly, Michael. And yeah, part of my thing is that it does take me longer to recover these days, but well…that’s the way it goes, and I’m still here. That’s a lot.
Elizabeth Gilbert once threw a book away and planted a garden. When it was harvested, she found the first line of her next book. In between she only grew plants. Sometimes we have to ride mountain bikes (hard work, that!) or putter in the garden or cook a lot, but the writing and creativity is all there, waiting, renewing itself.
Barbara,
I like Julie Cameron’s advice (The Artist’s Way). She says to schedule an artist date with yourself every week – something you do to feed your creative spirit. Visit a museum, tour a garden, go to a concert, visit a bookstore – anything that serves as an outlet for you. I have found this to be very rejuvenating.
This summer was extremely busy for me writing-wise. I got a lot done and now I’m taking a break–working on my blog but feeling like I should really be doing more writing. Your wise words are exactly what I needed to read right now, Barbara.