Last night I dragged out my well-worn copy of Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. What is it about that woman that just cracks me up immediately? Maybe it’s the too-familiar recognition of all those neurotic tics around the writing process. Whatever it is, it’s a great way to end the day…with some laugh-outloud guffaws at how weird this whole processof writing is. When her students in her writing classes ask how, how do you actually do it? Her reply on page six is,

“You sit down, I say. You try to sit down at approximately the same time every day. This is how you train your unconscious to kick in for you creatively. So you sit down at, say, nine every morning, or ten every night. You put a piece of paper in the typewriter, or you turn on your computer and bring up the right file, and then you stare at it for an hour or so. You begin rocking, just a little at first, and then like a huge autistic child. You look at the ceiling, and over at the clock, yawn, and stare at the paper again. Then, with your fingers poised on the keyboard, you squint at an image that is forming in your mind-a scene, a local, a character, whatever–and you try to quiet your mind so you can hear what that landscape or character has to say above the other voices in your mind. The other voices are banshees and drunken monkeys. They are the voices of anxiety, judgment, doom, guilt. Also, severe hypochondria….”

You see what I’m talking about here? This woman nails the whole experience of writing like it’s making a bad child sit on a chair until something good comes of it. It’s so strange.  

I’ve read writing books that call all of this bunk. One author  in particular said that writing was a wonderful, unadulterated joy every single time she did it and if you found it difficult you should go do something else and quit whining about it.

This is obviously her experience, and I think, an exception. Because I have certainly read many more writers that sound like Ms. Lamott and for that I am truly thankful. Amen. Because there is great comfort in knowing that others have to work at it too. That it doesn’t come easy but that because of that very fact, it is so wonderfully rewarding. 

Why else do we hike up forest trails or cycle long mountain passes except for the joy and intrinsic reward of struggle and accomplishment? It’s pretty natural in other areas of our life so why would writing be any different?

Of course, this is really just a personal pep talk, though public, as I’m trying to psyche myself into some sort of action and to dispel my own crazy drunken monkeys.