Writing Done the Bones

[vaneramos]

Photo: Some of my roommates.

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"First thoughts have tremendous energy. It is the way the mind first flashes on something. The internal censor usually squelches them, so we live in the realm of second and third thoughts, thought on thought, twice and three times removed from the direct connection of the first fresh flash."

~Natalie Goldberg, in Writing Down the Bones

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This looks for a must-read for those who appreciate the mystery of books: The Logogryph, by Thomas Wharton. The first chapter is published on The Globe and Mail's site. Excerpts from more books are listed in Chapter One.

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I'm still sitting here at dinnertime in my white bathrobe. My forward momentum has dissolved to nil. I wanted to get out of bed and strike the day, but all I did was pour myself a glass of juice and drop into the chair in front of my monitor. I read a few journals, exchanged some emails. Before I knew it, 2 o'clock had arrived. I got up to find something to eat.

Grilled cheese, a comfort food since shildhood, had been on my mind. When we lived in Windsor, from kindergarten to grade two, I walked two blocks to school. I return home for lunch, and it always seemed I could smell Mom's food from the corner, four houses away. Mom was an excellent cook, but I even loved simple things like Kraft Dinner, pancakes and French toast. Grilled cheese was always high on the list. Brenna likes it, too, but I hadn't made it for myself in months.

What is it with this bread they sell in supermarkets these days? The whole wheat loaf I picked up at Zehr's on Saturday afternoon looked wholesome enough. But spread some butter on it, wedge some cheese between two slices and put it in a frying pan and it melts to a limp blanket flopping between my fingers. So much for nostalgia.

I finally settled down to write my "morning pages" at 3:55. This day keeps melting to nothing. I know what's on my mind: the appointment tomorrow with the intake worker at the mental health centre. That's a big enough first chapter to face, without tackling anything new today. So that's my excuse. Not really, the appointment doesn't worry me. I'm just tired and a little intimated by the project at hand: finishing my novel. 20,000 words to go in nine days. Here I'm finally cutting to the truth.

After a coffee and some journaling, I decided to settle down on the couch with some inspiration reading, something to get the gears going. Immediately, the computer turned to a giant brain magnet, tugging me. I thought of all the things I wanted to accomplish today. My nervous energy told me I didn't have time to read. But I knew the real motivation of that nervousness was to lose myself in something mindless again, a computer game perhaps. What I really needed most at that moment was to read that book, give my mind some healthy stimulation. So I stuck to the couch, highlighter in hand, marking favourite lines.

This weekend I replaced my copy of Writing Down the Bones, which vanished several years ago. I don't know whether I loaned it to someone. Heaven knows I do enough preaching about this book. It's fantastic, a life changer, not something to be swallowed whole, but contemplated a page at a time. Do what Natalie Goldberg tells you and it will revolutionize your creative process, whether you're a writer or something entirely different. Bones is about writing, but it's applicable to any endeavour. This woman is a genious. I browsed through the first two chapters today, such a pleasure to read these words again, already familiar from several readings. Remind me never to loan my copy again.

It wasn't Goldberg who insisted on handwritten morning pages, after all. I realize that was Julia Cameron in The Artist's Way. Goldberg doesn't insist on anything, just flurries your mind with possibilities and ideas. You might write in a journal, or talk into a tape recorder while you knit. Whatever you do, get in the habit of expressing yourself and push past the internal censor, get to the throat of life and wrap your fingers around it. Don't let go.