I am your classic
writing-procrastinator. I even procrastinated writing this blog, which, among the
many high-pressure, intellectual, career-affecting writing a graduate student
feels she must produce is pretty low on the “drudgery” scale. Yet as the title
of Boice’s book recognizes, writing truly is “A Psychological Adventure.” For
me, this means that writing has progressively become harder as I grow older and
more “educated” (example: I’m re-reading the sentence I just wrote and
seriously doubting whether it is grammatically correct or not; you’re
re-reading this sentence and deciding it’s not). Thus Boice’s chapter on “Motivation”
seems not only the perfect place to begin How
Writers Journey to Comfort and Fluency but also a perfect way for me
personally to begin afresh in this new PhD program.
Boice begins his piece with an
epigraph that describes Jane Austen’s (think a poorer-man’s Downton Abbey) writing
environment – the idyllic late-eighteenth century English countryside of the
landed gentry. Quickly rushing over this epigraph in my reading, I did not even
realize it was about Jane Austen until Boice states, “When we write with both
calm and confidence at hand, we work in an ideal state of motivation, one
marked by patience and enthusiasm much like Jane Austen’s” (2). At this point,
I noted that “reading” could be interchanged for “writing” in this and many
other places throughout this first chapter. The word that comes to mind is “ruminate.” I
thought about this concept as Boice goes on to describe why motivation thrives on “calm
and confidence.” “First,” begins Boice, “positive motivations originate in
self-assured emotions. Doubt is no friend of motivation. Second, emotion in
writing functions best at Moderate levels. We do our best problem solving in a
state of mild happiness”(1). If “doubt”
is no friend to motivation, then how am I, as a very self-doubting graduate
student, ever supposed to discover the motivation to write in a calm,
scheduled, and confident way? I also felt as if Boice was not speaking directly
to the place I am as a writer or the expectations that are placed upon me as a
graduate student in English. Unlike the writers in Boice’s workshops, I have
never felt “guilt” after a late-night writing marathon or weekend-long writing bender.
This is perhaps because Boice’s primary audience in this piece seems to be
adults writing as a profession, particularly adults who write creatively as a profession. While I as
an (aspiring) literary critic may hope that Virgil’s Muse graces me with her
presence as I summarize the scholarly conversations I am entering and as I craft (sometimes)
nuanced positions of my own, I have certainly never expected it.
Focusing on audience also helps
clarify some of the myths that Boice wants to dispel: “The belief that good
writing must be spontaneous” (2) or that “most writers write only because they
have unhealthy motives and personalities” (10). If there’s anything that
graduate school convinces you of, it is that good writing is never best
when it is spontaneous. And while I’m sure all of us have read a scholarly
article or two that seems to have come from a pretty dark place in an academic’s
life, I do not assume that “unhealthy motives” inspire my
colleagues. So, in my reading, I was
compelled to examine my own perceptions of some of my favorite contemporary
American authors (who I do assume
engage in unhealthy behavior and some pretty manic-depressive writing practices
at times), and Boice’s answers to the “forcing” that I’m sure every writer (no matter
the genre or purpose) has felt at times.
As Boice discusses, “Most of us
know the familiar, somewhat diabolical scenario of forcing: We wait until the
last minute and then we write at breakneck speed, defying our internal editors…to
keep pace with our frantic outpourings” (3). The result is physically,
mentally, and emotionally taxing, which anyone who has written a seminar paper
in twenty-four (or even forty-eight) hours can tell you (not that I have done
it, I am just saying). The result of
such writing is that it is “hurried, under-revised and under-edited” (4). Ideas
are not allowed to take full form, sentences are verbose and sloppy, and the
vocabulary we use is often imprecise. While forcing is different from other
obstacles writers face, such as the notion that they must “wait” for
inspiration, the two work hand-in-hand. Thus, when Boice states that he wants
to “salvage some parts of waiting and forcing” (14), my attention is
immediately piqued. His answer to the conundrum is “moderation,” a beautiful
word for those of us with obsessive-compulsive tendencies. “We conclude the
discussion by recognizing the possibility that ideal motivation comes with
compromises between forcing and passive waiting. That is, we recall the famous
writers who employ a modicum of forcing moderated by habit (‘they just do it
because they are used to doing it’) and of waiting enhanced by preparing (‘by
the time they start, they are already doing it’)” (18). Boice’s encouragement
toward moderation, which involves “regular work in daily sessions, regardless
of mood”(15), and is expressed in his Rule #4, “Practice a regular habit of
writing to instill reliable motivation” (31), reminds me of advice that one of
my professors gave our graduate seminar a few years ago. He told us that if we
started treating our graduate education as a “real-world” job now, we would be
in the habit of reading, writing, and engaging our field’s conversations before
we even dreamed of applying for an academic position. He compared this habit to
spiritual disciplines or habits, not in order to argue that academia should
become a religion, but rather that the process of consciously forming our identities
as individuals in society requires meditation, repetition, and ultimately,
dedication.
For me, this is
the same idea I am attempting to instill in my students when I write syllabus
sequences for assignments that stretch out the writing process to a series of
calculated steps that require a habit of writing. Somehow I have also found this idea comforting
when thinking about the overwhelming amount of reading one must complete for
each graduate seminar in any given week. If I am in the habit of reading for
6-7 hours a day (and oh, how easily can I slip out of this habit?), then it
will be more manageable to imagine having to read for 10 or 12 during crunch
times or in preparation for writing articles or exams. What is helpful about
Boice is that his focus on writing in particular helps me begin to imagine how
I can set writing goals for myself during any given period of time as well
(what he would call “brief, daily sessions”). Why delay beginning those big
papers I have due in November until Halloween? As Boice and the participants in
his workshops realize, these resolutions are easier said than done. This is why
Boice turns to Donald Murray’s advice to “wait.” The word alone reminds me of a
song titled “Wait” on the band M83’s 2011 album Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming
(referenced in the title of this post). “Wait” is track no. 5 out of eleven, an
interesting position for a song that both lyrically and sonically implores the
listener to wait. The lyrics, while
simple, still remind me of the desperate urgency I feel sometimes when faced
with writing deadlines as the chorus repeats “no time, no time, no time” (you
can watch an unofficial video here: http://vimeo.com/28418196). The song’s
position on the album also reminds me of Boice and Murray. Just when a writer
feels the overwhelming urge to tensely type away on an ill-conceived argument,
these process-focused practitioners encourage us to “reframe,” to literally
take a breath and pause. This is all part of a long process of what I would
think of as prewriting – the bulk of the work that goes into a “final” piece of
writing. As Boice states, “We agree that above all we need to practice patience
and a willingness to try things” (23). My writing will continue to happen in
frantic writing-binges after bouts of guilt-ridden procrastination unless I can
learn to practice patience (to wait!) while ALSO developing a habit of writing.
There is something paradoxical about such advice, which makes me wonder if
Boice will continue to elaborate on the steps in this writing journey
throughout the rest of his book.