In the movie Shrek, my favorite character hits a moment when he’s a donkey-on-the-edge, screeching “I can’t feel my toes!” I’ve been Donkey these last couple weeks, waiting on an email for a name I can pitch my novel to next. What do writers do during times like this? I’m likely to do too much of the following:
- Second-Guessing. Which hardly even seems dysfunctional. I mean, revision itself is second-guessing of a sort, so writers are wired for this. But I step easily from revising the manuscript to revising myself. I still think my novel, My Glass Eye, is damn good, but this past week I questioned whether it had the right author. My fear peaked Thursday night in my class at the Attic, which is chock-full of talented (young, hip, MFA-wielding) writers. 80% of them, after free-writing for only 7 minutes, each produced unique characterizations and complete narrative arcs in response to the prompt: “George was unlike anyone else…” I’m sure their feedback to each other would have been equally intimidating if only they’d spoken loud enough for me to hear them.
- Self-flagellation. I wish this burned calories! Opportunities abound to beat yourself up if that’s your kinky thing. This past week, my punishing mantra was “I’m Getting Nothing Whatsoever Done!” Eight years ago, as I dashed from meeting to meeting, I felt primly competent each time I showed up on time, at the right place with a prepared agenda. I’ve been slow to unlearn that work style.
- Sinking. If you second-guess and flagellate your neurotransmitters enough, one day you’ll forget why you should get out of bed in the morning. A lot of writers I know struggle with depression, an occupational hazard when your work is turning your soul inside out in relative isolation. It’s the spiritual equivalent of crumbling yourself into a wad and tossing it at the nearest trash can.
But, since I’m blogging about things not to do during an edgy week, I suggest instead:
- Don’t Give a Damn. I didn’t give up tenure to stress out when dreadlocked, pierced, and tatted 30-somethings don’t think I’ve quite captured an adolescent voice in my first 350 words of novel #2. I spent decades trying to make straight-A’s and decades trying to convince my students real life wasn’t about grades at all. As the only student I have now, I should listen to myself. The test comes on weeks like these.
- Don’t punch a clock. Once you figure out writing is much different than other work you’ve done (see “salary and benefits”), you can celebrate how much you accomplish even on off-days. Dani Shapiro (Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life, 2013) has pinned on her bulletin board these instructions by poet Jane Kenyon:
- Protect your time
- Feed your inner life
- Avoid too much noise
- Read good books
- Be by yourself as often as your can, (but see below*)
- Walk
- Take the phone off the hook
- Work regular hours
3. * Don’t isolate. I learn this over and over, (thanks to you, yes you know who you are.) Those invasive species above (second-guessing, self-flagellating, sinking) wilt in the sunshine of my friends talking, laughing, and eating. And I say this as a rabid introvert.
What sends you to the edge?
What are your invasive emotional weeds?
What have you learned about staying healthy as a writer?
2nd Chapter 