Showing Up

Studio and Finbar

So writing doesn’t just “happen. As with any prolonged effort, strength and stamina must be nurtured. The strength is of the "have faith in yourself" kind and the stamina is the "yes, you do have to go over this manuscript for the twentieth time and (fill in the blank) to make the story work." Writing a short story is a 5 Kilometer race.  Writing a novel is one of those crazy ass cross-country marathons people do wearing tutus and shoes made of tire rubber.  Even knowing these things there was a part of me that still thought that, now my life was calming down and my energy coming back, I could  pop out to my studio and get to work just like that.  So, like the New Year’s Resolution jogger, I set out, puffing resolutely.  (You know what happened to that jogger?  No, because you never saw them again.)     

The first few minutes went all right as I busied myself with housekeeping tasks: hanging up my coat, taking off my boots, putting on slippers, turning up the wall heater and unpacking the bag I had brought.  The difficulty began when I sat down at my desk, journal open, pen in hand. I got as far as writing the date, the weather conditions (always my starting gambit) but after that--nothing--no coherent thoughts at all, just blind panic.  After sitting there for another five minutes I leapt up and fled as if my pants were on fire. 

After this happened a couple more times, I came up with a plan.  We have a puppy that chases cats and I'm (trying) to desensitize him by sitting with him every day, leashed, near the cats until he completely relaxes.  All we do is sit quietly, being there. Could I do something similar for myself?  Find a way to go and just be in my studio, no writing or achieving required? I filled up a canvas bag with distractions, fun books, phone (for on-line scrabble), knitting, snacks.  Eventually, as I thought of more things to put in the bag it was as stuffed as the picture book The Mitten and so heavy I could barely carry it and the mug of coffee, oh and bring along the aforementioned puppy on a leash. 

My studio is about five hundred steps from the house.  Placed there because the idea was that it should be close to the house, but not too close so that once there I wouldn’t be tempted to run home for, say, a rubber band.  Likewise, so that no one from the house would bother walking out to pester me with idle questions (where is the spatula?) either.
Those work pretty well, but the distance has also meant that in the middle of a harsh Vermont winter such as the one we're in recovery from, or a three-day nor'easter, my studio can feel impossibly far from the house. 

For three months this plan did not work so as you would notice.  In January, February and March of this year I only made it out to the studio about ten times.   Of course, that was better than zero times, my previous record for about three months.  I would get out there, but I never could stay for longer than an hour or so.  Basically once I'd drunk my coffee and eaten whatever snacks I brought, I wanted to leave.  Most of the time I barely used a tenth of the stuff I'd hauled there. 

Then one day a week ago when it came time to pack up to go to work I looked at the heaps of stuff and thought:  Enough! 

I packed the journal, the laptop, my reading glasses, coffee in a jar, dog on the leash.  I did not bring any books, snacks, or knitting.  When I got there I did my housekeeping, gave the dog a biscuit hidden in a little toy, sat down and opened the journal.  

What did I write about?  This.  After I finished writing in my journal I thought, I'll be darned, here's what I need to write about on the blog.

Every how-to (write, practice, learn a language) book ever written contains one piece of advice:  "Show up."  

So easy to write those words, so hard to do.