Preexisting Writing Conditions

 

Julia Cameron defines divas as those artists/creators who have to have everything JUST RIGHT before they can create. She notes that there's power in being able to create anywhere under any condition. I used to be that nimble, adaptable artist. Now, I'm not. I never wanted to be a diva, but I'm a diva.

I have a list of things that must be true before I can write.
1. I must be migraine free, or at least moving in that direction. Migraine directly and adversely impacts the language center in my brain. Words cannot escape the electrical storm inside my head to reach the external world. Some days, I lose speech. So really. To get words on virtual paper, not writhing in pain is strongly preferred.

2. I must be alone. Buckle up. This is a long one. Maybe you've noticed the long fallow period writing and I have been mired in. I sure have. Part of it is having four adults in the house at all times, thanks to a pandemic (and Dad's health issues.) I've always known I need a lot of space. A Lot. Prior to Covid, I got all of my alone time while people were still commuting to offices for work and the parents were out in the world going on adventures. When that shut down, pressure and heat and terrible stuff began building inside me. It drowned out the voices of my characters. After a while, it drowned out me altogether. It was at that point that my headache specialist noted I am suffering far more sensory issues than can be attributed to migraine. I mentioned it to a friend. This person reached through the internet, shook me and said, "You're autistic AF, and you're in autistic burn out." Uhm. WHAT? Found a therapist who broke it to me that my friend is right and it's time to learn what that means for me and how I cope with it. It's a great big rock dropped into the still pond of the life I thought I had. Lots of ripples, lots of reframing my past, lots of 'Oh. THAT'S why that happened that way.' With help and resources, I've learned what masking is and, in part, how and when to stop doing it. I've figured out what my stims are, and I'm allowing myself to use them. Most importantly, the reason I need to be alone is so I can drop all the masks and not have to worry about what someone else sees or feels as a result. It seems to be working and actively helping. Words are flowing again. Characters are talking to me and volunteering scenes. I'm hopeful.

3. A locking door. This goes back to being alone. Fortunately or unfortunately, my cats are clever enough to open a latched door. There's something about me writing that makes me popular to ALL the felines. Never am I so loved as when I dare to pay attention to something without fur for two hours a day. How dare my every waking thought not be about the felines? They tag team surfing the desk and my keyboard. They headbutt me in the chin. Hard. They flop into my arms and deploy the weaponized cute. They shake their tails in my face while blocking my computer screen. When the weather is reasonable, I can go out front into the enclosed porch. A bunch of accusing eyes glare at me through the sidelights. If they see me look their way, they add in their mournful wails of anguish that I don't love them anymore - alas, Mother! Why do you hate us so that you have shut us away from your loving embrace?? And maybe the lizards out front. It's very dramatic. When the weather is messy for one reason or another, I lock myself in my bedroom where I have a desk set up beside the window. I can chase cats out and close and lock the door - yes, I have an actual office, but there's no door on it. It's out there in the middle of the house with no means of shutting out the TV or attaining any kind of privacy. Not to mention the attention of every last cat in the house. It's a no go. Shutting myself in the bedroom results in Corvid rattling the door knob, body slams against the door in forlorn protest, and the occasional hissy scuffle while someone jockeys for the best position.  

4. Quiet - as part of the autism discovery process, it's clear I have auditory processing issues. Competing sound (TV on, someone talking to me at the same time) sends me right over the edge. If I'm trying to listen to voices in my head, I really need to not hear other voices. The closed doors help with this a lot. Ear plugs and/or noise canceling headphones playing ambient music drowns out the stray bits that leak through. I'm on a Wardruna kick at the moment. Yeah. I know there are voices, but I don't speak the language they're speaking. It works and I don't question.

I'm  going through a process of giving myself permission to need what I need. Even if it makes me a diva. I've had to give up any notion that I should be able to write the way other people write - either in word count or in when and where I *should* be able to write. Rather than trying to guilt myself into 'write anywhere, any time' I've tried making space for being weird. Embracing that has finally fixed the long-standing impression that I'm broken somehow. And hey. Words are happening again.

I'll take it.

What Jeffe Has to Have in Order to Write

Greetings from a gorgeous autumn in New Mexico!

This week at the SFF Seven we're talking about preconditions - what must be true before you go to write.

I changed it from "sit to write" because I don't sit - I work at a walking desk. So, that's one thing for me, is that I'm happiest standing or walking to write. I've gotten so sitting to write doesn't work very well. In fact, I'm super happy to have hit on a solution of a portable tripod and desktop to make a standing desk for a retreat I'm going on after Thanksgiving. I can stand to write! Perfect solution.

Otherwise... 

It used to be that I had fairly elaborate rituals for getting into writing. I had LOTS of preconditions. I had to be sitting at a certain desk (not my work-from-home desk) at a specific time of day (morning) listening to a particular soundtrack (The Mission). I even had a favorite blue jersey dress I had to be wearing. When my husband, with considerable exasperation, pointed out that the dress had more holes than fabric, he countered my plaintive argument that I needed it, by saying "the writing comes from you, not the dress."

That's really stuck with me. I remind myself of that truth often. 

(And I put the dress in the rag pile.)

All of those rituals helped me in the beginning, when I really needed help establishing a writing habit. But now I know they were just things to help me along. Because the writing comes from me. 

The only precondition I have? Myself, present and accounted for.

 

The Drive to Develop a Writing Practice

Look for the cover reveal for SHADOW WIZARD, book one in Renegades of Magic, the new trilogy continuing the Bonds of Magic epic tale! I'm getting the preorders set up today and plan to do the cover reveal on Instagram tomorrow, August 11, 2022. Members of my private Facebook group, Jeffe's Closet, may get a sneak peek ;-)

This week at the SFF Seven, we're asking: how has your writing practice changed over time?

It's interesting because the topic-suggester framed it as "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose" - my college French demanded I get the saying correct - which is a French saying that acknowledges that the more things change, the more they stay the same. In other words, that surface details may alter over time, but the essence of the thing, the recognizable cycle of events, is fundamentally inalterable. Often it's applied to history. So this suggests that our writing practice may change over time, but it also stays the same. Is this this case?

I'm saying no, at least for me. My writing practice has changed considerably since my newbie days. I was reflecting recently that, as a teen and young woman, I didn't really know how to apply myself to improving at a task. This largely came from the fact that, in school all the way through high school, I could get by without really trying. I had a good auditory and visual memory, and I tested well, so I didn't need to work hard to get A's. (Except in math, which I thought I wasn't good at, even though they put me in accelerated math classes. Turns out I likely wasn't good at it because I didn't like math, so I didn't listen in class. Oops.) In college and grad school, a number of professors began riding me to apply myself, to study and do the practice problems. I kind of tried to - especially when I had to retake Immunology for my biology major and really didn't want to have to retake second semester of organic chemistry - but there was a major problem: I didn't know how to study.

I remember thinking I needed to learn how to study, but I was mostly flailing about. It was only when I had novel deadlines to meet that I got very good at refining my ability to work in concentrated ways, incrementally, day after day. I don't often think of messages I'd like to give to my younger self, but I now wish I could advise that college student, that graduate student, to develop the habit of working for a couple of hours every morning. This is my best brain time. If I had done that in school, if I had spent just that much time working practice problems and reviewing the material, I likely would have done much better.

Of course, then I might have ended up as a research scientist after all, when I'm so happy as a novelist. Maybe it took working on something I truly cared about to inspire me to develop the practice to do it. Que sera, sera!