Clearing the Decks

            Great ideas hit us at the most inopportune moments-- while showering, washing dishes, driving down the freeway, having a romantic dinner with our spouse.  These are times when it’s more than a little difficult to jot down your inspired lines.  We scrunch up our brains and try to remember long enough to dry off, pull over, or somehow get to a pen and paper where we can capture our thoughts, worded exactly right.

            And yet we can sit for hours staring at our computer monitors and nothing will come to us.

            There’s a reason for this.  It’s because our brains don’t work as well when they’re in a knot of tension, when we’re forcing the issue, when we’re anxious and troubled.  Take the pressure off and suddenly the faucet pours forth.  This is also why we get ideas at two in the morning.  Saul Bellow said, “You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write.”  And it’s amazingly true.  Somehow the sleeping brain has been able to discard all the mundane concerns of the day and focus upon creating magnificent stuff.  Invariably we think more clearly, we organize automatically, we simply rise to higher level when we aren’t cramming our task in between phone calls and to-do lists.

            So how can we take advantage of this relaxed condition, and even find some it during the day?  First of all, let’s talk about bedtime.  Keep a notepad and pen on your nightstand for those sudden bursts of brilliance in the night.  I know, I know—sometimes you’ll wake up and read, “Fljbter gst hbnizxl.”  But usually you’ll be able to scribble down enough of a note to prime the pump in the morning.  When an entire essay or chapter or scene occurs to you, get up.  Go to your computer and type it out.  Don’t think you’ll remember every phrase the way it comes to you in the night; you won’t.  And you’ll wish you had written it down when your brain was more eloquent, your wit a bit sharper.  I wear contacts, but I had a pair of glasses made just for this purpose, and I keep them on my nightstand for those times when I don’t want the hassle of putting in my contacts to talk me out of going to my work station and hammering out the idea.

            Second, program your brain to work while you sleep.  You can actually do this, you know (and it works on problem-solving as well).  Simply assign your brain the task of coming up with the next bit of dialogue, or the best description for the scene you’re working on.  Then go to sleep and let your subconscious get busy.  During the night, or in the morning, you might discover the shoemaker’s elves have been toiling through the night to surprise you.

            Third, practice shutting off outside interference during the day.  Set aside your concerns, your bills, the texting, the interruptions.  If you can’t do it at home, consider working elsewhere.  I know a writer who got an office away from his home for this very reason.  It also forced him to put in an honest day’s work of eight hours, then to be able to let it go and relax with his family when he got home.

            Fourth, meditate.  Find some time to de-stress, relax, and get your brain into a wavelength where it can create.  Slow down, breathe deeply, let go of unrelated concerns (they’ll wait for you).  Like tuning into a radio channel, find a way to clear the signal and access your own best ideas. 

            Fifth, cut back on things that sap your creative strength.  When I was producing and hosting my own daily TV talk show in L.A., I found it much harder to generate creative writing ideas because I was already spent, putting the show together.  If you’re involved in other creative pursuits, you may need to make some hard choices and sacrifice one to benefit the other. 

            Last, if you’ve been mentally pushing yourself too hard, ease off.  It’s not a race.  You don’t have to sell your novel by X date.  Yes, it’s good to set goals and give yourself deadlines.  But not if they work against you.  Lower the heat and realize that a rolling boil might not be the climate for creativity.  Try a low simmer and see what happens.

            When I was in college one of the professors showed us a picture of the famous bronze, “The Thinker,” by Rodin, and asked us what was wrong with it.  None of us knew.  The problem, he said, was that the man was tense and uptight, his brow furrowed, his body a knot of worry as he struggled to think.  And, ironically, you can’t think when you’re like that.  To this day I catch myself being “The Thinker” and I back off, relax, and let go of the angst.  And that’s when my thinking is actually its best.