Posts for category ‘psychobabble’

Maybe in this day and age of instantaneous everything, January 4 is a little late to be posting a welcome to the new year, but I’m old fashioned. I’ve been thinking a lot about the coming year while I was away. My main priorities:

Getting my the contents of my creative/personal well up above drought levels.

Actually, that’s the only one that matters for the purposes of this blog and its audience. Everything else I’m going to be doing relates to that. As far as it is in my control, all of my decisions in the next 12-36 months will be oriented around making space, and figuring out what to pump into that space. Otherwise it’s going to very soon be:

No one wants that.

It will not be an instant or smooth or linear process. After all, I have two books to finish and edit this year, and some speaking and teaching gigs. I’ve got a bad back and some depressiony issues, and of course my old pal the diabetes, which is always full of fun surprises. So it’s going to take awhile to clear a noticeable amount of space.

But, I have decided to be patient rather than to employ the other model I’ve been considering: total core meltdown, changing my name, and running away.

No, I’m going to calmly face this project of recovery, and do my best to love it and tend to it with good humor and a light touch. I’m going to try to be more Frog, and less Toad. (If you don’t get that reference, you need to read the wisest book of all time, Frog and Toad Together.) I’ve got friends to support me and, hopefully, soon, pharmaceuticals.

I know a lot of writers who are in the same boat right now. Or in similar boats, floating nearby, on this choppy sea. (Can I use a sea metaphor when I’ve already used a drought metaphor? Hm. Well I just did.) I feel like there’s a collective weariness out there among friends and colleagues. If you are feeling that, hey, hi, let’s take care of ourselves, shall we? Do something for you and your creativity (not your career) this year. Start planning it now; don’t put it on a wishlist and expect it to magically happen.

If you are not feeling that, if you are full of energy and excitement about your creative life, and are engaged with the things you are making and thinking about making, if you are feeling the love and the wonder and thrill of it all, may you continue to be blessed! Protect and cherish those things, tend to them.

If you’ve been to the desert and made it back out, share your story, somewhere. It helps others, it really does.

Me, I sound a little tired, I know, and I am tired, but also I’m excited, because I know this won’t be forever and I know it’s within my power to change. Not everything in life is, but this is something fixable. And there is much to look forward to.

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Related, around the web:

Stephanie Perkins on delaying her next book to make sure she’s sane, and it’s good

Stephanie Kuehnert on the weight of “being a writer” baggage

Don Miller on living this year like a pro at living this year

Me on realizing (spoiler alert!) that I’m not God and don’t have to be

The ever-popular Elizabeth Gilbert TED video, which Stephanie P. said I should watch again

Nova Ren Suma always has some good conversations about creativity going on

Dear Sugar at The Rumpus with surprisingly deep words on mortality and how we rob ourselves of living while we’re alive

Okay. Remember: Most of the time, maybe all of the time, there is no such thing as “too late.”

Over this past weekend, we watched The Fantastic Mr. Fox. Which was great. And I sat there imagining the moment Wes Anderson came up with the idea to adapt the Roald Dahl story into stop-motion puppet animation. And all of the things I would have said to myself, were I him. Like:

That sounds really hard.

I don’t know anything about stop-motion animation.

There’s not really a place for it on the market; it doesn’t fit into any viably marketable category.

No one will like it.

No one will back it.

People will think I’m weird.

I should just make Rushmore again.

But if he had any of those thoughts, he made the movie anyway. (Against obstacles.) And it’s delightful. It’s so totally out there in some ways, and in other ways so recognizably his work. You can see it in the way objects and music and even the puppets’ clothing evoke that Wes Anderson mood. Or maybe it’s the objects and music and clothes that are themselves the beginnings of what Anderson seeks to create. Definitely a Wes Anderson movie in any case. But still, it seems to me it was probably a big risk.

Which inspired me.

I want to be the kind of creative person who is not scared off by possibly-crazy ideas and doesn’t smother every spark and crackle with a host of “yeahbut”s and “ifonly”s. Now that I’m in my forties (or, as a woman I sat next to at a dinner recently said to me, “the [eff]-you forties”), I’d like the kind of creative nuts, rocks, balls, stones–and the accompanying work ethic–that lead to cool stuff like Mr. Fox.

And that movie is just one example of what I’m talking about. Same goes for anything that doesn’t fit into an obvious slot in “The Marketplace,” which sometimes can feel like the mortal enemy of true creative passion as publishers, production companies, record companies, and TV studios wring their hands over the bottom line.

Sometimes I wish we lived in the days when it was a given that artists and writers would not be making a living without a patron. You went into it knowing it was all about fingerless gloves, lumps of coal, and slaving over candle stubs as you contracted consumption before dying in obscurity. You knew you were doing it because you could do no else, not because you might be able to quit your day job and get more time to tweet.

But, that’s a bit ungrateful and distorted. Like wishing for “simpler times” when actually slaves and women were doing all the work and there was no such thing as antibiotics.

I’m very glad to be making my living as a writer, and know how fortunate I am to do so, and believe artists should be paid. I just don’t want to cling to my situation so tightly that I forget to make at least some choices based on passion and joy and the desire for adventure, growth, challenge. To take a chance now and then.

One piece of advice I got a lot when I was starting out was that I should treat writing like a job, like a business. I understand the spirit behind that advice, and there are ways it’s wise. And yet…I don’t know. Because after over five years of treating it like a job, guess what it feels like? Often the fearful, bill-paying, Business Minded Sara is in danger of completely taking over. And that makes me more than a little sad.

But – hope!

If there’s one unifying theme to the upcoming year, it’s that I’m working on changing things that I’d like to be different. (I know. Innovative!) Maybe there will be a kind of Mr. Fox in my future, in my eff-you forties, or my fabulous fifties. Or sordid sixties. Or sexy seventies. It’s never too late, or–as I more often need to remind myself–too soon.

Two words: “ego depletion.”

No, I’m not talking about what happens when you check your Amazon ranking too often (don’t do that!). I’m referring to the stuff in this essay (adapted by John Tierney from his and Roy F. Baumeister’s forthcoming book, Willpower: Rediscovering the Greatest Human Strength). The focus here is on something called “decision fatigue”, the real physiological/neurological aspects involved in the decision-making process.

There’s a lot of fascinating research covered in the essay, which encompasses everything from judges deciding who to parole (and how if your case is up around tea-time, and the judge hasn’t had a snack, you’re screwed), to the brain-whipping effects of filling out a wedding registry, to why people in poverty are more likely to grab a candy bar from the impulse-buy section when checking out at the grocery store.

Basically–surprise!–we are limited in our ability to make carefully considered decisions. Our brains, making decisions big and small all day, eventually reach a point of surrender or collapse, where we are more likely to say OKAY WHATEVER I’M TIIIRED.

The article got me thinking about writing. What is writing if not a constant series of choices? Writing is decision-making. This word, not that word. This much detail, this emotional moment, this plot point. Though it may look like we’re just sitting on our asses doing nothing, we are engaged in a very taxing mental activity that calls on a “muscle” that can poop out just like your quads at the gym. Which explains why I (and a lot of other writers I know) find it difficult or impossible to work more than two or three hours a day before the law of diminishing returns kicks in. That number of hours is of course different for everyone, but it’s infinite for no one.

I liked this:

“Part of the resistance against making decisions comes from our fear of giving up options. The word ‘decide’ shares an etymological roots with ‘homicide,’ the Latin word ‘caedere,’ meaning ‘to cut down’ or ‘to kill,’ and that loss looms especially large when decision fatigue sets in.”

In other words: If “killing your darlings” or, less violently, “cutting,” is a necessary part of good writing, that gets harder to do as the work day wears on, and you are less likely to make good decisions, and more likely to spend ten minutes deleting that semi-colon, putting it back in, deleting it, putting it back in, etc. At that point, you might as well call it a day and go watch some Kitchen Nightmares.

Or, have a snack! The brain runs on glucose, and if your body is depleted, your ability to make decisions will be compromised. Research shows that eating gives a temporary boost to flagging decision-making capabilities. If you were at SCBWI-NY, you may recall that I suggested writing with your hand in a bowl of M&Ms wasn’t the best idea, and that solid nutritional habits are an asset to the writing life. Perhaps I spoke too soon.

Oh, wait!

“The problem is that what we identify as sugar doesn’t help as much over the course of the day as the steadier supply of glucose we would get from eating proteins and other more nutritious foods.”

I love it when science-y people tell me I’m right. But, yes, there is a physiological reason for that weirdly intense need for snacks while engaged in under-deadline revisions and longer than usual writing days.

This all goes back to my recent posts about the importance of taking care of yourself, thinking about what you say “yes” to, separating the real “have tos” from the imposters, and accepting limitations. If you feel, somehow, that you’re a slacker if you’re not writing six to eight hours a day, and that if you only had more willpower, you could just do it, science says you’re wrong.

Tierney writes that successful decision-makers “structure their lives so as to conserve willpower. They don’t schedule endless back-to-back meetings. They avoid temptations like all-you-can-eat buffets, and they establish habits that eliminate the mental effort of making choices… Instead of counting on willpower to remain robust all day, they conserve it so that it’s available for emergencies and important decisions.”

I add: Every page of good writing is the result of good decision-making. It’s real work. Do what you can to conserve that energy. Respect your brainz. Sustainability. Slow and steady wins it.

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Speaking of resting, I wrote a bit more about my time off and what I’m doing for my brain and spirit, here at Good Letters.

Also, I’ve got a contribution to this LA Review of Books Blog appreciation of Charlotte’s Web.

See you back here next week!

I recently made this video blog (I somehow am incapable of using the word “vlog” naturally) for WriteOn Con, on pacing in contemporary YA fiction. It’s something I try to pay a lot of attention to when I’m writing and revising.

And I’m thinking about pacing in the writing life, too. How do you know when you need a break? And when you’re ready to get back to it? And what your expectations of yourself should be, generally, about how much you’re producing? Here’s how I knew I needed the break I’m currently wrapping up: I couldn’t stop crying for like a week. My tears weren’t just about writing, but that experience was a prettttty good tip-off that my needle was in the red zone. And, as per my last couple of posts, I’m learning to respect those symptoms.

Now, as I ease back into it (gently! don’t spook the animal!), I’m thinking about the pace of the scope of a book–the pace of a first draft, the pace of a workweek within that draft, of a day, of an hour. Where does useful productivity stop, and the law of diminishing returns kick in? How can I avoid Total Core Meltdown in the future by employing a more reasonable pace in my writing life?

I’m also thinking about the pace of a career. It’s amazing, when you think about it, the pace at which YA authors tend to work. I look at the lives and schedules of writer friends like Ally Carter and Lauren Myracle and I know if those schedules were mine, I’d have to be institutionalized. But I also understand the business, and all the moving pieces of keeping a healthy YA career going.

I’d like to somehow bring SUSTAINABILITY and PRACTICALITY and CREATIVE FULFILLMENT into a perfectly balanced trinity. Or, no,  I’m supposed to be working on banishing ideas of “perfect” from my expectations. So, I guess: a progressively more balanced trinity. I’d like to hit the sweet spot in there somewhere. The topics of my two previous posts: saying no, and respecting limitations, are part of working that out.

I’d love to hear what you do to bring better balance to your creative life.

So, in an indirect way, that last post was about limitations. We all have them. Recognizing them, for some of us (especially us perfectionists and achievers), is another story. And then, respecting them and submitting to them is the real challenge.

I haven’t updated you guys on my diabetes lately. I don’t like to be identified by that word – diabetic. It provokes assumptions that are usually wrong, it conjures up images that I don’t associate with  me and my life, and it sounds…limiting. Oh how we hate to be limited!

Anyway, I’ve struggled to keep control this year, though I have done everything I possibly can. Despite being right in the middle of “normal” BMI range, and taking excellent care of myself with diet and exercise and rest (most of the time, most of it, as much as I can as a human being), my numbers just haven’t done what they need to do for long-term health, what I thought I could make them do by being perfect. All of the time.

In recognition of my limitations and as part of my commitment to my health, I’ve taken some new steps. I got a new doctor whose communication style and approach to disease management is more like mine. We are doing a battery of new tests to try to figure out what’s going on with my body. I’m implementing some new stress-management stuff (which includes only being online a couple of times a week). And, right around this time yesterday, at my doctor’s office, I gave myself my first insulin injection.

There was a time, not long ago, I saw having to go on insulin as a failure and a judgment, not to mention “the beginning of the end.” Now, I can’t describe the happiness I felt as I watched that needle go in, surrendering to the need for some assistance, admitting that I can’t control everything. Accepting what I can’t change. Courage in changing what I can. (It didn’t hurt, by the way, and it worked like magic to bring my blood sugar exactly where I wanted it. But it did take courage.)

Maybe for you it’s something else. Quitting a “harmless” substance that other people can handle but you can’t. Starting antidepressants when you can’t self-talk your way out of despair anymore. Telling a boss or spouse that you’re at your limit. Pushing a book deadline out of insanity and into reality. Letting go of a relationship that’s bringing out your worst.

It’s okay to not be perfect, or to admit that there’s a gap between your best and what’s ideal. After the initial freakout, it’s very freeing to recognize and accept limitations, and then figure out how to move forward from there.

This, obviously, applies to writing as much as in any other area. Making this draft the best you can. Accepting the gap between your abilities and the ideal. Always striving to close it, of course, but knowing that even if you can’t right now, it’s still worth doing. You’re getting closer every time.