by Amanda Smith
One of the ladies in my ceramics class, let’s call her Dee, recently made a set of cat dishes for her friend, each dish featuring one letter of the cat’s name, Mozart.
One fine day in class, we were all struggling. Like really struggling. Unable to center. Unable to throw. Exasperated, Dee left her wheel for the kiln room to check whether the set of dishes had been fired. She reappeared, holding four dishes that spelled Z-A-R-T.
“We’ve lost Mo,” she said. “That’s what’s wrong. Our Mo-jo went missing.”
And we were stuck with Zart.
Let’s be real. The last couple of years had offered more than enough incentive for Mo to pack his inspirational bags and seek greener pastures. Some of us lost our creative Mo early on in the pandemic, while others had managed to hold on, tooth and nail, for longer. But I haven’t met a single creative over the last two years that hadn’t at some point felt stuck with Zart. Deflated. Incomplete.
So what happened in the studio when we discovered the loss of Mo? Each of us dealt with the bad pottery spell differently. Dee is a power-through kind of person. She kept throwing. At the end of the three hours, she had four sloppy piles of clay drying on the plaster table – evidence of four collapsed pots. But she also had two lovely bowls.
Peg decided to abandon the wheel for the day and instead focused on glazing some of her vessels that had been bisque-fired– a differently challenging skill, and a good change of pace.
I turned my back on the blasted wheel and affixed handles to mugs that I had thrown and trimmed previously. On a whim, I decided to carve designs on the mugs. I got lost in the joy of line and form and measurable progress.
The next open studio, Mo was still missing. Dee, Peg and I together decided to hand-build little cheese boards. Collectively we figured out the process, fine-tuned each other’s technique, got expert tips from our studio’s resident master hand-builder and made something pretty cute. Confidence somewhat restored, and bravery bolstered by mutual encouragement, we left the studio rejuvenated that day.
So why am I sharing my ceramic woes with you, dear writer?
Because, just like me, you might have lost your writing Mo. What to do until Mo returns?
Along with the lost bowls, our Mo-jo returned.
Did it have anything to do with those cat dishes? Likely not.
Did it have everything to do with not giving up even when we felt like it? Absolutely.
Keep writing, work on other writing related stuff, fill your well with the frivolous, and commiserate with co-writers. But don’t dare give up. Like a stray cat, Mo will return!
(With special thanks to always inspirational DE and PC.)
Guest blog by Elisa Boxer
First of all, I’m delighted to be here! 24 Carrot Writing has felt like a friend from the very beginning. It was the first blog I turned to for insight, inspiration and community when I was pre-published, fielding rejections (that one hasn’t changed), and wondering whether my words would ever become books.
With two picture books in the wild, three on the way this year, and three more under contract, I’m here to tell you to keep at it, and keep the faith!
In this busy year of launches, writing, and revising, I’ve had to be extra diligent about organizing, prioritizing and protecting my writing time. And while I wasn’t completely aware of any concrete process I’d been using to do that, thinking about a topic for this blog post has actually helped clarify a three-pronged method that I have been loosely following, that I will now follow even more specifically, and that I am happy to be able to share!
I’ve broken it down into three questions:
1. What wants to be worked on?
2. What time can I carve out for it?
3. What intention do I have for it?
What wants to be worked on?
I’ve phrased that in the dreaded passive voice for a reason. To me, each project has its own feel; its own energy. Like a living thing. And it’s our job to tap into that energy.
Try this: Think of one of your works in progress. Really focus on it. How do you feel about it mentally? Emotionally? Do you feel a sense of possibility? A spark? A readiness to connect with it and move it forward, even in some small way?
Or do you feel resistance, like this one might be better put aside for the time being so you can work on something else?
Now how do you feel physically? I measure this by a sense of expansion and contraction in my solar plexus. When you think of this project, do you feel lightness and openness (this is the one!), or tightness and constriction (maybe not this one right now).
I go through each project and assess each one, paying attention to these feelings. Kind of like I’m opening the door to check on them. This all goes out the window, of course, if I’m meeting a deadline. Then I just have to plow through any resistance. But for example, I’m writing this blog post two weeks before it’s due, because I woke up and felt that niggle of “write meeee!” even though I had planned to work on something else this morning.
What time can I carve out for it?
This is a helpful re-frame for questions like: What do I have time for? and Where can I slot this in? The truth is, we’re all so busy and have so much going on, the only writing time we get is the time we proactively carve out for it.
Writing time, in my experience, doesn’t ever present itself. It has to be actively dug out of a busy schedule. So, each week and each night, I will look ahead and pen in blocks of space for works in progress. Some days it’s only a 15-minute block for a writing sprint in between calls, meetings and appointments. Other days it’s a 2-3-hour block for deep work.
But if I don’t commit to carving out time in advance, specifically for writing, other things will move in and take over that space.
What intention do I have for it?
Once I’ve identified the project that’s calling out for progress, I set an intention for it. Sometimes that intention is a short writing sprint where I set a timer, close all open tabs, turn off all notifications, and write nonstop, as much as I can, in the allotted minutes. Examples of other intentions include: Writing a thousand words, brainstorming titles, doing a revision, coming up with a more detailed secondary character, or putting together a bibliography.
Some days my intentions are things like securing photo permissions, organizing my research files, or lining up interviews with sources. The key to setting intentions, for me, is to make sure they’re do-able. Kind of like writing items on a to-do list that you know you can complete. If something is more of a stretch, I consider that a goal, rather than an intention. Goals are great too, but intentions, to me, are more manageable day-to-day.
I am sending you so much good energy for whichever project wants to be worked on, the amount of time you can carve out for it, and whatever intentions you decide to set for it!
Elisa Boxer is an Emmy and Murrow award winning journalist whose work has been featured in publications including The New York Times, Fast Company and Inc. magazine. She has reported for newspapers, magazines and TV stations, and has a passion for telling stories about people finding the courage to create change. She is the author of The Voice That Won the Vote, A Seat at the Table, and the forthcoming One Turtle's Last Straw. Elisa lives in Maine, and she has several more picture books on the way. Visit her at https://www.elisaboxer.com/ .
Pre-Order Elisa's upcoming 2022 books, ONE TURTLE'S LAST STRAW coming in May, SPLASH! coming in July, and COVERED IN COLOR coming in August, at Print: A Bookstore and get pre-order bonuses like prints and stickers!
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