Weird

how I can walk for
so long without thinking
about push pins, thumb
tacks, and all the points
that penetrate paper
just to have
documents hanging
on a wall, in a
cubicle, hanging
on my every verb.
There is nothing
to fear but everything
itself.

When I teach composition, I often have students do free writing in class, and this is one of my suggestions for getting started. They say, “I don’t know what to write about.” So, I tell them to write that, and sometimes we go back and forth for a bit about whether I mean to write literally that or I literally mean to write that, and the question is sometimes followed by, “The whole time?” or “But….” What I find when I read them later is that very few students will spend ten minutes writing “I don’t know what to write.” The more persistent ones might make it through four or five before they move on. Those who feel like they need to make a point will quickly transition to, “This is so stupid. Why is he making us write in class? This is like the biggest waste of time ever.”

To be honest, I would consider it a success if they managed to stick with that for ten minutes. That is free writing, or at least this particular version. It has no restrictions or qualifications for content. It just requires that you keep going for a specific amount of time. What I often find, however, is that even the writers who most want to show me how useless the exercise is, those who write about the exercise itself to prove a point, even they don’t stay stuck there for long. They transition from “This is so stupid.” to “It’s like that time….” And, then, by George, they’ve stumbled into a narrative. (This excludes those who simply do not write at all. They manage to prove their point and also not get credit for the exercise.)

What surprises me is how often I forget the effectiveness of this simple strategy. When I am staring at a blank page, thinking, “Oh god, I don’t have anything to write about. Solomon was right! There is nothing new under the sun.” etc., etc., I don’t remember that getting my fingers moving is important. It is not the same to think, “What should I write about?” You have to actually write it. It is a small difference, but it is essential. When you are facing writer’s block, the simple act of writing is often enough to move you past it. While you’re sitting there mentally bemoaning your inability to write, your fingers are actually writing. And that action gets your neurons firing; it gets the brain into writing mode.

It also moves you beyond the blank page. You might be thinking you have nothing to write about, but right there on the screen, or on the page, you have managed to put some words together. It didn’t even take that much effort, and there they are. You must have something to write about because you’re writing. I am not certain if this is the exact process that your brain goes through, but I think it is something like that.

As always, the big question is, “But does it work?” It works for me. Sometimes what immediately follows the, “I don’t know what to write.” stage is not very good. The first thoughts that come are often jumbled and not actually to the point, but they often provide the spark for something I can work with. So, if you feel like you have writer’s block, try writing. Hopefully, that won’t sound so facetious at the end of this.

Seriously, try writing, “I don’t know what to write.” or “What should I write about?” or “I have nothing to write.” over and over. Let me know how far you can get before you move on. And no, copy and paste will not get you anywhere.

Happy writing.

Even this morning I felt the impulse to hide. I had just finished getting up and getting ready and was considering what I should do with the first minutes of my day. Instinctively, I unlocked my phone and began to look for something to occupy my thoughts. I wasn’t even considering games or videos or something else that would have been a real waste of time. But I was looking for someone else’s content. I thought about listening to a podcast or reading a blog post from someone I respect. This content would be my shelter, the words of someone else that I could hide behind instead of exploring my own. I was running.

Luckily, I realized that was what I was doing. Instead of giving into the impulse to consume, I climbed out of the couch, poured a cup of coffee, and wrote this little post. It isn’t much, but it is mine. I like it because it is bitter, and because it is my heart.

The hope is that the creating becomes familiar, that the act of doing, and the product of doing, become something to run to. Through habit and practice, the writing forms the shelter. The fear doesn’t go away, but we embrace it as a part of the process.

What strategies do you use to make yourself make something?

Let’s begin by saying a thing that should go without saying: this is not actual swimming advice; this is what we call figurative language. Swim at your own risk.

Safety limits progress.

Like most of our reassurances, lifeguards hold us back. They keep us comfortable in the knowledge that someone else is taking care of us. They allow us to believe that everything will be fine as long as they are there.

But that isn’t a great way to push your limits. It actually prevents you from knowing where your limits are. And until you know that, you won’t be able to stretch them. It is important to know we were are nearing exhaustion. It’s important to know that we can go a little further if we have to. There is a huge difference between “I’m too tired to swim anymore, but the lifeguard will save me.” and “I’m too tired to swim anymore, but if I don’t I will drown.” The path will be hard, there will be obstacles, and we need to practice overcoming those without relying on someone else to save us right before we do.

When I was in school, I was often writing for the class, for the workshop. I was writing because I had assignments. This is not a sustainable model unless you are always in school, always under someone else’s direction. Our motivation has to come from within. We write because we enjoy writing, because we appreciate what writing does for us, because we are good at it. At least, we should. If we write because someone tells us to, because someone is looking over our shoulder requiring a certain number of stories or pages, we will stop writing when that person isn’t there. I have done this too many times to list. The more you can rely on internal motivation, however, the more you can swim without supervision, the more you will grow.

Safety limits opportunity.

Some of the best places to swim, some of the best times to swim, do not have lifeguards. Nightswimming, secluded beaches, private pools. When you rely on the lifeguard for safety, you limit your exposure to new experiences. If instead, you rely on your swimming skills, and you know your limits, you can swim comfortably without the lifeguard there. That is freeing.

When we are looking to take risks, we often want someone there to tell us it will be alright. We want someone to reassure us that we are making the right decision. I often experience this feeling in the middle of a project. After I’ve had the idea and made the first few attempts at it, I begin to doubt myself. I begin to reach out to find examples of other people who have written about my topic, or written in the style that I’m attempting. Or, I seek advice. I am searching for reassurance. I’m looking for the lifeguard.

But if we are really wanting to create something new, we won’t find the lifeguards. We won’t find the examples that tell us it’s possible. We can’t expect greatness to come from the water where everyone else is comfortably swimming. We have to try, and we have to fail. That’s how we learn; that’s how we stumble onto something new.

Safety limits invention.

Lifeguards have whistles and rules and strict ideas about running around the pool. They have to because they are GUARDING LIVES. They are there to ensure no one gets hurt. Or, in the case of many swimming pools, they are there to ensure that the pool owners liability is limited in case of injury or death. But we’re there to learn how to swim; we’re there to have fun; we’re there to explore. And we can’t do that very well when someone’s constantly blowing a whistle and saying “don’t.”

Running around the pool can lead to serious injury, but it can also teach you how slick the pool deck is. Diving in the shallow end might result in some scrapes and bruises (or concussion), but it can also show you the mechanics of the dive, the way your body moves through water. We have to risk injury to find new ways to have fun, to play. Great ideas, great writing often come from play. They come when we don’t expect because we’ve allowed our minds to focus on the fun.

What is your lifeguard?

Find a way to identify and remove one of your creative lifeguards. When you write, do you hear the lifeguard blowing the whistle, telling you no? (Hint: we all do.) Those warnings often keep us from something great. Try silencing them, or at least turning down the volume. I had to do that a few times with this post. I heard my lifeguard saying, “You can’t write that. You’re a father.” or “Good god, man, think of the children!” Maybe it wasn’t that clear or dramatic, but you get the idea.

Channel your childhood self, the mischievous one who enjoyed pushing the limits, who would dive in from the side of the pool when the lifeguard wasn’t looking. I realize that could just be my personality. Not everyone had this instinct as a child. Maybe you followed the rules even when no one was around. If you did, then this is probably even more important for you. So channel the kid who did. You know who that was. Get inside his/her head and cause a little ruckus.

Try writing in a different genre without first trying to learn all the rules. Maybe you were beaten over the head with, “NEVER START A SENTENCE WITH A CONJUNCTION.” So start every sentence with a conjunction. Or try the George Constanza method of doing the opposite of every instinct you have. You probably won’t write something great, but you might learn something. Have fun taking small risks so you’ll be more comfortable taking bigger ones later.

I want to hear about your lifeguards, about the rules that prompt whistle blowing for you. Leave a comment below and maybe we can find a way to push your limits.

Disclaimer Two: I appreciate lifeguards, and I am very glad that they work hard to save lives and protect people.