Writing Updates (Part 2)

I often rely on the written word to pump the brakes in my anxious OCD mind (see previous post). With frequently overlapping thoughts racing around like motorcycles in a globe of death, writing forces me to pluck out one idea at a time and examine it intimately. To pull the motorcyclists aside and say, "Listen, this is clearly an insane career choice... is this really what you want to do with your life?"

It's not difficult to understand why writing is commonly used as a therapeutic technique, and why we often feel a profound emotional release when we express ourselves on paper. No one can write as fast as they think, which is particularly true for anyone with an anxiety disorder. Writing forces me to stop the entire stunt show, bring the house lights up, and get real with the motorcyclists zooming around the rickety cage (usually accompanied by heavy metal and extravagant pyrotechnics). It has been a reliable outlet for me since I was a kid, and my mental health has undoubtedly benefited since I began writing regularly as an adult.

Still, as one might imagine, it's not easy to stop the show halfway through when you consider all of the components that go into its production. It's one thing to stand outside the cage waving and shouting for the motorcyclists to stop, and another entirely to shut off the flame cannons and Metallica and have a candid dialogue with the drivers. Even if I'm able to get to that point, the drivers may just laugh, spit in my face, and continue zooming around recklessly. For me, this overwhelming push and pull is what tends to cause the dreaded "writer's block" that everyone is always talking about. 

While writing does force me to pump the metaphorical brakes by nature, it's nearly impossible for me to force creativity in those elusive moments of focus. Of course, it strikes organically from time to time, but that mostly seems to happen when I'm in no position to sit down and write (half asleep, in the shower, working, etc.). Shoutout to Google Docs and my Notes app for always being there during my time of need!

In order to overcome the block and produce something I'm remotely proud of, I typically have to create my ideal writing conditions: snuggled into my big yellow chair by the window, at least one beverage nearby, a pillow behind my head, a blanket over my legs, a lap desk and laptop in my lap, binaural beats playing on my noise cancelling headphones, ideally with at least one cat in sight. Bonus points if its raining and/or a candle is lit nearby. I'm not generally a high maintenance person, it's just rare that I get into the proverbial "zone" without at least some of these conditions in place... what with the globe of death and all.

While I'm fortunate enough to work part-time as I try to establish myself as a writer, toss in the added elements of self care, errands, temple, appointments, housework, etc., and you can probably guess that my ideal conditions are hard to come by. Even when I do get a chance to settle in for a solid few hour stretch, it's difficult to keep the big picture in mind. I know that I need to progress the plot and complete my draft, but it's challenging to avoid getting trapped in an internal debate over miniscule details like the "perfect" word choice, character name, or chapter title. However experienced I may be with the technicalities and the craft of writing, I've never conquered anything of this magnitude. I'm making this up as I go, and my OCD knows it.

Prior to beginning my novel, I envisioned myself spending early mornings with a cup of coffee and the sunrise as the words poured out of me. I saw myself typing away at my laptop like an impassioned concert pianist every day, for multiple hours, without interruption. My fantasy self would shut my laptop with a contented sigh and skip over to the kitchen to make a warm dinner. The reality is, as much as I love this life, it isn't at all what I'd expected. I am generally happier and healthier and than I've been in a long time, and I don't take that for granted; nevertheless, I still have to do mental gymnastics to live with the racing, blazing, bass-thumping stunt show that is racing through my head.

I am still not a morning person. I haven't woken up with the sun a single time since I started this process. I did it for so many years as a student and teacher, and it's time for me to admit that it's just not my natural circadian rhythm. The words probably "pour" out of me about once a week, and even so, I don't always feel confident in what ends up on the page. The balance of work, life, and writing is trickier than I expected, and your girl is not making warm meals from scratch every night. Dinner is often leftovers or delivery so that I can reclaim some of my writing time at the end of a busy day. Some days are so busy that I don't write at all. Logically, I know this is a normal and acceptable part of the writing process. Sadly, OCD doesn't care about my logic.

OCD is cruel, and it loves to latch on to any shred of doubt. The creative process is inherently full of doubt for anyone, which makes it a veritable feeding frenzy for my OCD. It's a great opportunity to practice my exposures, but it's also deeply exhausting for my mind, body, and spirit. OCD knows just what to say to make me feel ashamed for not writing as much as I'd like, or in the way that I'd like, or on the trajectory that I planned, or with the wording I envisioned, and so on and so on throughout all of eternity, amen. BUT I am still moving forward. Even if the drivers spit in my face. Even if OCD doesn't like it. Especially if OCD doesn't like it.

As of now, I'd estimate that I'm about 50% of the way through the first draft of my novel. In all my years of studying and teaching writing, I've never resonated with the phrase "rough draft" more than I do right now. Reader, my draft is certainly rough; however, I'm happy to report that there are some sentences that I'm happy about. There's some dialogue I don't hate. I honestly think my main character is pretty boring, and I don't know if she's believable yet, but her closest friend is as clear to me as any friend of my own. 

Here are some other baby steps I'd like to celebrate:

• I wrote a personal essay about a freaky event from my childhood that is going to be featured on the podcast Rattled & Shook!

• I submitted a short story to a competition, and I'm really proud of what I wrote. I can't share it yet as the competition is still ongoing, but I will post it here once it closes.

• I submitted a small collection of poems to a poetry competition. I didn't win or place, and I only feel medium proud of what I wrote, but I still did it. I'm so brave! 

• I'm still posting here and on my poetry page (@disorderedpoetry) on a semi-regular basis, which allows me to stretch out some different creative muscles and take a productive break from my novel when needed.

Acknowledging even the smallest of achievements such as these is crucial to staying motivated. Regardless of what OCD tries to tell me, and whether or not my novel ever gets published, I already have work that I'm proud of. Tackling smaller pieces alongside the long term process of my novel has taught me that the only way to end up with something that I'm proud of is to keep writing. Easier said than done, but foolproof nonetheless. 

I may struggle to parse my true thoughts and feelings from OCD's vitriol, but I haven't let that keep me from moving forward. I write as often as I can for as long as I can. All the while, I am slowly but surely getting better at working alongside the globe of death racing inside my mind. I may not be able to stop the motorcyclists on command, but I'm learning how to drown out the noise. It's not easy, but I am anchored in the belief that I have a story to tell, and that my words have value. As my Grandma Mary always says, "Time marches on. Take it one step at a time," or, in my case: one paragraph, one sentence, one word at a time.