FACING THE BLANK PAGE, WEEK 2

Snag number 2 in my daily writing program occurred on Memorial Day Weekend, the beginning of Week 2. Early Sunday morning I took Megabus from Philly to New York to spend the day with my friend, Big D—too early to have time for my morning writing stint. For Sunday I chalked up a zero on the chart.

A holiday, I told myself. And I did have a good time, getting a tour of D’s childhood neighborhood, a picnic in Riverside Park, a stroll through a street fair on Broadway, a walk around Chelsea—we walk a lot, D and I—topped off with a sushi dinner—we eat a lot too—before grabbing the bus back to Philly. It was worth it.

Monday I was back with the program, writing 700 words of biography plans. But nothing on Tuesday, and, because I didn’t write it down, I don't remember why. But I do remember a feeling of drudgery setting in, a sense of nothing worth writing. Had my day off Sunday been a dangerous interruption in the pattern I was trying to establish? Was this writing program going to end in a fiasco, as others had in the past?

I pulled myself together, recollecting that the point was to write something, anything. Just write. It worked. On Wednesday and Thursday I wrote journal entries of 750 and 1220 words each. On Friday and Saturday, inspiration still flagging, I was reduced to writing several lengthy emails I’d been putting off, 800 and 650 words each.

Nothing much, but I was writing. One thing I noticed was that I still felt my power drain and a concomitant urge to stop at around 500 words. I once had a regime of long, early-morning bicycle rides. Just as with writing, I’d start out strong, but feel resistance around the five-mile mark and want to quit. Once I pushed past that point, however, my muscles loosened up. I got into the rhythm of the ride and rode effortlessly for many miles more. So with writing. Once I wrote 600 words or so, the ideas seemed to come more quickly and the words to flow with ease.

I’d gotten myself back on track. I was writing, though I wasn’t writing publishable stuff.

FACING THE BLANK PAGE

The writer’s block thing had gone on long enough. Supposedly I was developing a proposal for a YA bio of Edna St. Vincent Millay. But the two half-finished chapters I planned to include had been half-finished for a year. I live alone and work at home. My time is my own. I’d returned to this project in April. Yet here it was almost the end of May, and I was getting nothing done.

I was writing, I told myself. But I wasn’t. I was researching, jotting down notes, attempting some revision. That was on the good days. Other days, I read books on writing. Or I scoured my email for hints and chat from online writing groups. I was doing everything a writer should do—except write. And although I started this blog, which does require actual writing, it was a hit-or-miss affair. I wrote for it when the spirit moved me. Otherwise not. Obviously some bootstraps needed pulling up.

Then, on the Cath in the Hat blog, I saw an interview with children’s writer Kate Di Camillo (see it here), who was asked about her writing habits. Quite simple. Every morning she gets up at 5AM and, cup of coffee in hand, goes into her office and writes. She sets herself a modest goal, one she knows she can meet:  write two manuscript pages, single-spaced, or revise two pages, double-spaced. Every day. Two single-spaced pages can add up to over 1000 words. Not bad for a couple of hours work.

If Kate DiCamillo can do it, I told myself, so can I. After all, a few years ago, when I had a full-time job, I’d completed a 500-page novel by writing every morning before work. I’d done it once. I could do it again. To insure success I decided to begin with a goal even lighter than Di Camillo’s. I’d aim for 1000 words a day, but would be satisfied with 600.

I gave myself a few simple rules:
• I would get to work first thing in the morning, when my mind was most open to the subconscious and its creative power. No checking the weather. No peeking at email.  Grab my coffee and get to work.
• This would be first-draft raw material. No worrying about grammar, punctuation, or even style (a difficult rule for a former editor to follow).
• Whatever I wrote should have the potential to be revised into something useful—preferably for my Millay proposal. I didn’t have to work on the two sample chapters, not at first. Instead, I could write about structuring the biography, ruminate on Millay’s character, pose questions, devise ways to find out what I needed to know. Or I could write blog entries or scenes for other fiction and nonfiction I’d been working on. Or, if all else failed, I could respond to email or write entries in my journal.

Having heard that it takes three weeks to establish a habit, my first goal was to face the blank page every morning for three weeks before taking stock. Today was Thursday, May 26. I was due to attend a Biographers International Organization Conference in Washington the next day. On Sunday, May 22, the day I returned, I’d begin.

Clearing my computer desktop of all but a few essential file folders tucked away in a corner, I set up a new folder, THE BLANK PAGE, centered so it would jump out at me as soon as I opened my laptop. Inside was a blank document titled, 5/22/11.

Did my scheme work? I’ll be reporting on the outcome in subsequent posts.