This weekend, I took an overnight trip to Nashville, TN for a friend’s wedding and *gasp* I did not bring my laptop.  It made sense, after all.  I was going to be gone for less than 36 hours and while being away from my computer should be no big deal, I must admit I had some trepidation.

First, this was going to be a whole day and a half with no email.  What if something happened and everybody else knew about it, except me?  Also, no web browser to ask for directions when I took a wrong turn in a Nashville suburb while looking for said wedding.  (Three times this happened–we made it to the wedding 30 seconds before the procession started.)  And of course, no FaceBook where I would stealthily be able to look up people I saw at the wedding if I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember their names.

But the biggest problem had nothing to do with lack of internet.  Alas, it was lack of word processor that had me freaking out.  And yet, though I am loathe to admit it, this has been one of the most productive weekends–both in terms of writing and generating ideas–that I’ve had in a long time.

Which got me thinking about this idea of computer deprivation.  Sometimes all the technology in our lives stifles our ability to think creatively.  This isn’t because computers are evil and all technology is sending our culture straight to the underworld.  Rather, computers and other electronic devices simply train our minds to think in only one direction: forward.  When we’re browsing through the internet or looking for files in a computer, one click leads to another, which leads to another, and another.  Even if the cognitive path squiggles around or comes full circle, the direction of motion is always the same.  Computers train us to look for the next step in the path, but sometimes the path can be limiting.

But what if instead of following the path, we step on the grass and cut across the lawn?  What if instead of thinking only forward, we think sideways, or backwards, or up and down?  Someday, perhaps there will be computers that allow us to think this way and that mimic the beautiful, disorganized thing that is the human mind, but for now the best solution may be simply to turn the computer off.

My challenge to you is this: give yourself the gift of one computer-free day (or if you’re really brave, a computer-free week) and see what crazy connections and wild ideas come up when your mind isn’t always moving in that same forward direction.

As for me?  Who knows.  Maybe I’ll do this every weekend.

Last week Lady Glamis at The Literary Lab raised an interesting question about critique and how many times we writers are conditioned to look only for the negative.

In response to this thread, I started pondering how we critique not just other writers’ work but our own.  Just as I am a believer in focusing first on big picture issues when I read pieces from other writers, I find that approach also works best when revising my own work.

As a former student of psychology, I’m reminded of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, where humans will fill their most basic needs first (food, water, shelter) before trying to fill needs that fall higher in the pyramid (love, companionship, success).  My own revision system falls into a similar pyramid shape:

Character: Whose story is it?  This is the most basic part of the book.  If you don’t have a compelling character, then the rest of the pyramid will fall apart.  (Notice I say “compelling” character and not “sympathetic” or “likable,” but that is a topic for another post.)

Plot/Story: What story are you going to tell?  Now that you have a character in place, the character needs to want something and that want will drive the story.  Things need to happen to get in the way of that want.  There needs to be conflict.

Structure, POV and Voice: How are you going to tell this story?  These are the main choices you make when you decide how to tell the story.  The voice of the narrator ties in directly with point of view and the structure you choose for the story.

Description and Dialogue: Decisions made at this level are less about “big picture” and are smaller in scale.  At the same time, though, they are not as nitty-gritty as the revisions at the top of the pyramid.  Description and dialogue also tie in closely with character development and elements of story so this is why they are in the middle of the pyramid, serving as a bridge between the macro decisions at the bottom and micro decisions at the top.  Description and dialogue also clue in the reader to Where and When the story is taking place.

Theme: This is all about the Why.  Why are you telling this story?  Why do we want to read it?  Usually these answers only come together once you’ve written a draft, maybe two, which is why theme falls at the top of the pyramid.  Very rarely do stories start with a theme and grow from there.

Language:  At the very top we have the micro decisions.  Word choice.  Grammar.  Spelling.  Small stuff.  Just because the writing might not be super-smooth on the language level doesn’t mean it can’t shine at the character or plot levels.  What I try to stress to writers is that the bottom of the pyramid is the hard part.  If you nail that, you’ll have done the hard work.  Language is just a matter of using spell check and keeping a copy of Strunk & White’s Elements of Style on your desk.  And getting a trusted friend to proofread when you’re through.

Basically, revision all comes down to this:

Don’t sweat the small stuff until you’ve dealt with the big stuff.

I have hit the wall.  Actually, “hit the wall” would imply that there is something in my way that is stopping me from writing but that’s not quite the case.  Instead it’s the nothingness, the absence of writing momentum that is keeping me from getting back into my daily-story discipline.

It started last week, when I stalled in the middle of a story.  Then with my thesis and other obligations in the way I decided to give myself a few days off.  Big mistake.  That’s the thing with writing; it’s all about momentum.  Just as writing can lead to more writing, not-writing can cause inertia so bad that it would take a volcanic explosion of creativity to get out of it.

Of course, the worst part about not-writing is that it can be a hundred times more painful than it is to just do the writing in the first place.  Between the guilt and the endless rationalization, writing usually ends up being the easier path, even if it’s not the one of least resistance.

To that end, I’ve come up with a few small tricks I use to cheat myself into writing when I don’t want to do it.

1. Set small goals.  I force myself to sit and write even if it’s only one paragraph or ten minutes.  Usually once I get going, the momentum kicks in and I’ll write much longer than I originally planned.
2. Write something easy.  I start with the easy scenes or mindless assignments first, leaving projects that require more planning and thought for when my mind has loosened up.
3. Write first.  The days I’ve been successful with the Story A Day have been those when I’ve done my story first thing in the morning.  With the story out of the way, I could then get on with my day and get on with my life.  If I let the story hang over my head, it inevitably doesn’t get done.

Anyone else have some good tips on how to break out of writing inertia?

Sometimes it feels like getting any writing done is this Big Screaming Deal.  Those are the times when writing feels like work and I need to force myself to sit and hammer out a certain number of words.  A lot of times I end up wasting time, procrastinating, doing everything else I need to do but not writing.  This is because the writing feels like such a insurmountable hurdle that I psych myself out before I even get started. To get out of these slumps, my only solution is to let iggi take over.

iggi Tips for Making Writing Less of A Big Deal

1)  Write NOW.  iggi is impulsive; when it wants to do something, it has to happen right that second.  Thing is, when it comes to writing, iggi has a point; “now” is always the best time.  Instead of waiting for a four-hour block of time to free up before I sit down and write, I’ve started carrying a notebook so I can jot down things in those snippets of time between all the “life” in my life.  While 4 minutes of writing might not be as long as 4 hours, it’s certainly longer than no writing at all.

2)  Make a mess.  I have to learn to embrace the supreme ickiness of my first drafts.  I shouldn’t try to make a masterpiece on my first go-round because masterpieces are hard.  iggi tells me just to throw some words on a page and not be afraid of what comes out.  I can always come back later to revise.

 3)  Me, ME! MEEEEE.  iggi is all about iggi and iggi knows everything.  Trouble with me is that I’ve turned second-guessing into an art-form.  What I need to remember is that even the worst verbal spillage can contain a nugget of something beautiful if I take the time to look.  I have to trust that I’ll be able to find that one treasure amid the junk.

4)  Stuff.  iggi liking stuff. The blank page freaks me out so I’ve had to learn to avoid blank-page-syndrome.  If I’m working on paper, I scribble or doodle on it first.  If I’m working on computer, I put something in the document (quote, prompt, assignment, idea…)  The point is to have something already on the page before I start to write.

In the end, the important thing is that I’m writing, whether it’s fifteen minutes of total garbage or fifteen pages of lyrical goodness.  I will now sign off and go write today’s story.

Happy writing!