My Summer Vacation

How Middle School Writing Exercises Still Help...

Just what does it take to, you know, write every day? Some of the greats say you need to do it everyday, and when I hear that, I cringe. Everyday? Like, do I have something to say every single day? Some days I don’t, and because I don’t does that mean I’m not a real writer? What if I need to brood first?

If I wrote every single day, I wouldn’t have published, and I wouldn’t have manuscripts currently awaiting their editing phase. I did not (and still don’t) write everyday. The magic takes time. The creative space happens in my mind first, like a movie.

So, how does a writer write? I don’t know if there’s a way to do it with any level of sanity no matter how you broach it. I don’t know if this question can be answered easily since we all approach our writing differently. But I can tell you a new thing I did that worked like magic for me. Before I do, I have to share what didn’t work for me.

Morning Pages

I saw Julia Cameron’s The Miracle of Morning Pages floating around social media for a while, so I got the 60-page book and loved her suggestions, her approach. It seemed simple enough, foolproof even. I grabbed the notebook my stepson gave me and planned to start the morning after I read the book.

Well, I made it two days before I ditched the whole thing. I loved the idea, but some things just didn’t work for me.

1. Use an 8.5 x 11 notebook

2. Write three pages by hand–no more, no less

3. Write as close to waking as possible

4. Write even when nothing comes out

5. Do not use this time to record dreams

6. Do not spend time brewing coffee or engaging in other morning routines

7. Write even if you don’t want to, even if it’s nonsense

8. Stop writing even if page three brings a breakthrough

   
   

This writing prescription isn’t total trash, and I was able to adhere to all except numbers two, five, six, and eight. I used the aforementioned notebook, wrote as close to waking as I could, kept going even if nothing good was coming up, but I recorded dreams because my night life is rich, I did it with coffee, and sometimes wrote ten pages instead of only three. Sorry, Julia. My pay dirt is buried deep.

Turbulent Writing

Then I read Natalie Goldberg’s Wild Mind, and her writing exercises tore me wide open. I managed to finish a notebook in less than a month. I had no idea what was waiting to get out until I succumbed to Natalie’s suggestions. What got out? Things I knew were there but was afraid to let loose. Feelings before, during, and after my brother’s recent death; feelings on death; odes to death (that one threw me, like, what do I have to say to death that’s poetic? Turns out plenty); things I was ashamed to say. Natalie gave me permission to write utter junk and she showed me how—middle school style. She kept it simple and all I did was:

• Get a fresh notebook

• Have sharpened pencils on the ready

• Be willing to get really uncomfortable with my “first thoughts”

• Stay with my thoughts and let them lead me anywhere

• Give myself permission to write total crap

• Start with words like “I remember” and write

• Then go to the dark side with “I don’t want to remember” and write

• Set a timer for ten minutes to see what comes out under pressure

• Write about random things like sleep, teeth, the idea of home—then write them from someone else’s perspective

I don’t know. The latter worked for me. I felt a sense of freedom that I didn’t feel with the first set of suggestions, and I was never one to do writing exercises. I haven’t wanted to write about “My Summer Vacation” since middle school, but the way Natalie presented writing makes me want to. Who knows what would come up?

The Old Big Banana sign on the way to the beach? The tiny cottage along Weirs Boulevard? The way the chlorine of a small, indoor, baptismal pool smells? A can of Shasta? The sound of a video arcade? The scent of Love’s Baby Soft mixed with Baby Oil my mom used in the 80s? Neon one-piece bathing suits? Listening to Bon Jovi while sunbathing in my back yard?

Maybe I’d finally find that place I long to go back to—the one between my heart chakra and solar plexus. It falls between two physical locations—Weirs Beach in Laconia, NH and Natick, MA at the Assembly Hall for Jehovah’s Witnesses. Can’t explain why, but maybe if I keep writing, unbridled, I’ll figure out why those places call me home.