The theme this week is maintenance. However you put it—upkeep, chores—we all have stuff that needs to get done, pretty much all the time. Dishes, laundry, bed-making, grocery shopping, working. Not all chores are necessities, but some are. Not all chores are boring or inconvenient, but some are. Chore lists are like minimalists: no two are alike.
What’s on my chore list? Those five above rank pretty high on my daily & weekly lists. I’ve also got feeding the cats, watering the plants, vacuuming, balancing the checkbooks, paying the bills. And writing.
Yes, you read that right. I put writing on my to-do list. Every single day.
I wanted to be a writer because I love words, I love language, I love writing. I became a writer by making a daily practice of it. Equal parts passion and persistence. Both are important. Persistence maybe more so.
So, yeah, sometimes writing feels like a chore. Some days I’d much rather park myself in bed with my clowder of cats and a good book. Some days I’d actually rather do laundry and dishes and grocery shopping. Putting writing on the daily to-do list accomplishes two things: it brings writing out of the imaginative, perfect ether into the real world and it creates the space I need in my day to actually do it (I hate an unfinished to-do list).
In the opening chapter of The War of Art, Stephen Pressfield details his day. The most important sentence on that first page—“I sit down and plunge in”—pretty much says it all. Those six words embody the most straightforward way to creativity. Anne Lamott, in Bird by Bird says, “Writing is like milking a cow: the milk is so rich and delicious, and the cow is so glad you did it.” In other words, writing is a chore the writer must do—and chore it may be, but the result is filling and nutritious, and the relief is incredible.
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Depending on your personality, this might be the easiest of all the steps. If you’re already a committed minimalist or simplicity-seeker, you might know what I’m about to say. You must dedicate/designate/devise some sort of space in which your creativity is going to happen. It could be your desk. It could be your bed (preferably when your loved one is not sleeping in it). It could be in the bathroom (not as uncommon as you might think). It could be on the floor next to your desk (that’s where I do it). It could be on the couch, at the kitchen table, or in your walk-in closet (but, wait, you’re a writer, so you can’t afford a walk-in closet). Honestly, it doesn’t really matter where you choose, so long as it’s a comfortable spot where you don’t mind spending a lot of time, and if possible, a spot where the people in your house will leave you alone while you’re in it. Think of it as a sacred meditation spot.
You want the space to be clear of clutter. It should be a reasonably open and empty space. If you’re a mess-making creative, pick up after yourself when you’re finished with each session so that every time your return to the space it is clean and ready to nourish your creative desire.
Making Space
This one could take a little bit more work, and might require some collaboration. Space is different from place, in that place is tangible, and space is not. Space is where the writing lives, but place is where you go to open up the space and let it come out. Space is a mental thing.
Do you want to write? Paint? Draw? Take photos? Learn the art of flower arranging? Play music?
Good. The first step is figuring that out.
The second step is admitting it (it helps to admit out loud, to others, preferably at a large social gathering where most everyone you know will hear you and ask follow-up questions the next time they see you). The third step is thinking about how you’re going to make it happen—maybe you need to make a place, maybe you need to make time, maybe you need both. Perhaps you need supplies or a creativity partner.
Lastly, you’ll want inspiration, and that’s a daily process. Seek inspiration everywhere. In uncooked vegetables and radio broadcasts and poems and the feel of your pet’s fur. In the opening chords of a song you love and the smell of baking bread and the contrast of colors available all around you, if you’d just look. There is a lot of space in inspiration, and a lot of inspiration in space.
Making Time
Busy is a busy does. A lot of us live our lives as though we are in chronic deficit of time. Which isn’t exactly true. I understand that life is a big, complicated, crazy thing. I understand work and commuting and kids and pets and families and chores. With the exception of kids, I’ve got all of those too. I understand the concept of busy. I used to be busy myself. I’m still often busy—though now I’m usually busy writing something or other.
Here’s the thing about time. If you let it get away from you, it gets away. If you pretend like it doesn’t exist, you’ll never accomplish what you want to accomplish. There are 24 hours in the day, and you need to find a way to devote at least one of them to your creative pursuits.
I find the to-do list very helpful: I put writing on there as #1, and 9 out of 10 days, I make it happen. On the tenth day I don’t kick myself. I rest. And then I get back to it.
Put creativity on your to-do list, or on your calendar, or on a sticky note attached to your computer/bathroom mirror/refrigerator. Write in big letters. In pen. Even better, in permanent marker.
And then do it. Over and over and over again, until it becomes habit—because habits are really just behaviors that you’ve given a lot of time.
(PS. Things to eliminate in order to make time for creativity include: television, drinking, cleaning (believe me, the dirty dishes will still be there in an hour), shopping, Facebook, email, any and all work you might bring home from your job. Make sure you continue to make time for talking with your partner, playing with your kids, petting your animals, brushing your teeth, eating healthy meals, getting exercise, and relaxation (because usually making space happens when you relax).
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Space, place, time: plunge in!
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