One definition of writing: there are 37 different kinds of patience required. Let’s start off with the good kind. “One of the strange laws of the contemplative life,” the monk, mystic, and poet Thomas Merton said, “is that in it you do not sit down and solve problems: you bear with them until they somehow solve themselves. Or until life solves them for you.”
Just what I needed today! Thank you. … Since you asked, here’s my latest impatience:
I’m concerned research and feedback has lead me astray. Meanwhile the clarity and passion that ignited writing this memoir fizzled. I’m impatient to get on with the second draft. But first I must block out other voices and trust my stories. This means I have to trust in me and that I can do this—and that the stories know best how they want to be told.
When I see "I have to trust in me and that I can do this," I think you're taking the right path. I wonder if the patience that is best for you is to nourish that "clarity and passion" that initially ignited your writing, to let all of those other voices fade. I often do this just through taking a break and reading. It's nice that you're listening to how the stories want to be told.
Grant, Thank you for confirming I’m on the right path. Thanks also for mentioning in similar situations you take a break and read as reading replenishes and inspires me. I also like to work on other projects (visual or written). I find sometimes other creative work is a vacation from what is stuck and sometimes when this other work is done, it informs the work I set aside. … I’ll revisit dream that lead me to write these stories. What lurks in corners in dreams often provides juicy information.
Years ago when I was a contract writer for a children's intellectual property, the art director of the animation house we were about to enter into a contract with, offered some wisdom. "If ever you get lost in your creativity or writing, go back and hold the spark that lit the flame that inspired you in the first place. let it warm your passion. Begin again" So true. Besides believing in yourself, believe that your passion for writing is a unique gift given to you. I always say--your gifts become grace when you give them away. On the lighter side, after I completed my first memoir manuscript, my daughter gave me a bracelet I wear. On the inside, close against my wrist, it says, "You friggin' (except the real word) got this." I gave it to my daughter to wear into the delivery room a few weeks ago. Now I have my first grand child, three states away, and the bracelet is back on my arm.
At the moment I feel like all 37 kinds of patience are in a depleted well. I teach, which requires patience with students and the learning process. I take care of my 88-year-old father, whose failing cognitive abilities and protracted divorce require more patience than I can ever actually manifest. There's the usual patience required for life--those traffic jams, etc. And then we come to the patience required for my writing--the actual writing and the efforts to get published. I can manage patience for some of this but not all of this all the time.
We have similar lives, Marta, so thanks for pointing out all of the areas of life that take up our patience. It's not an endless well, after all, so we have to give ourself a little grace for the patience we use for work and the care of others (oh, it's tough taking care of the elderly, and I never truly have quite enough patience or the right kind for my mother, who is 90). Hang in there, and I hope you find pockets for your writing, or that if you do it, it can nourish other types of patience.
I could write five essays spun off this thought provoking newsletter. Yet, instead, I'll choose brevity as I'm still playing catch-up after returning from a two week road trip. One of the major things I've learned about patience (which I now call, taking my hands off the wheel) is that more times than not, the universe if you will, presents another option, path, a person, place or thing of influence, that enriches my life and storytelling, than anything I'd envisioned. I also find, it helps to holler up-show me the next step, reveal to me what I didn't see before. I used to be a terrible waiter. Now I trust, everything happens on its own time, in its rightful place. And in the meantime, instead of waiting, I keep building my body of work.
Sounds like you have the perfect approach. I love your "taking your hands off the wheel" approach to patience. It's true, those other paths have a way of showing up, or perhaps we just notice them, either by virtue of patience, desperation of impatience, or both.
Me, too. A lot of show me how to do this or say this. The more you ask, the more the portal stays open. I also often start my day asking the universe to co-create with me. Damn. It works.
I’m arriving into writing late and I feel the existential pressure daily; yet the lesson I’m learning is that’s precisely what’s also getting in the way. So I sit and sit and allow space and wait…
It's really true: that sense of urgency, while sometimes motivating, can also be a block, a hindrance. Sitting and allowing space and waiting ... and then writing, of course, sounds like a better approach.
Thank you for your raw honesty! I needed to read this writing truth today. Never thought about writing as sitting by the bedside of a dying friend before, but it was a beautiful metaphor.
This aligns with something I've been thinking. I have been self-punishing over the TIME it's taking me to write this work in progress. But I see it as making a really good stew. Each ingredient needs time in the pot, low heat, tasting, re-seasoning, not to mention wondering what it goes well with.
I so needed to read this this morning! I am impatient with my lack of energy to write. For the last several weeks, I have been thinking, when am I going to be still enough to sit and write? When are the words going to flow? Hah! I’m not sure what kind of patience that is, but it’s definitely somewhere in the murky middle of 37. Thanks for giving perspective Grant.
Thanks for sharing, Maureen. I hope this helps you find the stillness necessary to write. I'm trying to lower my expectations—e.g., 15 minutes of writing instead of longer sessions, using the nooks and crannies of my day a little more, trying to build some momentum, or just some words on the page. I think you phrased it right, though: finding that stillness.
I haven't read your piece this week yet, but I'll be there soon ... I love so much about John Cage. Wish I could go mushroom hunting with him and play the I-Ching.
Thanks for this. I'm exploring making friends with my impatience as I'm writing a memoir , at almost eighty. Pretty funny when I stop taking myself too seriously.and keep writing even though what I'm writing seems off topic, it seems to lead me somewhere , somewhere useful to me in the moment. maybe useful to someone else later.
Feeling you on the long wait of submission (which has so many meanings now). And my typewriter guy just delivered on an impeccable Hermes 3000 that's been sitting in an attic in Cedar Rapids since its retirement by a single owner. Here's to good waiting, and to the end of it, Grant!
I so relate to this. Like you, I’ve been writing for decades and I too thought I should have a brilliant novel published by the time I was 30. That’s why I got my MFA, right. I’m 60 and just published my first chapbook and my first poetry book will be out next year. Patience, perseverance, and then letting go and breathing.
Right now I’m waiting for my copies of the chapbook to arrive. It’s been two weeks since they were sent. And I’m pretty sure they are lost in the mail and I’ll never see them. It’s always something. If there’s one thing I’m powerless over, it’s the USPS.
Here's to those brilliant novels that didn't quite arrive on time! But more importantly, congrats on your chapbook and poetry book! I bet they will each contribute to future momentum. And damn the USPS—if they only knew!
I, too, graduated from college just before the personal computer became ubiquitous and the internet arrived to change everything. It was 1990. I loved my Smith Corona typewriter and the smell of Wite-Out. Jump ahead 30 plus years. My first novel was published in my 50s. My second comes out this year, still in my 50s. I can’t say I’m impatient…but rather irritated with myself for thinking I “should wait until I’m good enough” — whatever that means. I wish I’d jumped sooner, not given myself so much time to “practice.” Or maybe that I’d born down on it harder and become better sooner. Now I feel as if the world of publishing has “moved on” to something different from that for which I’d prepared. So I’m not impatient, unless there is a kind of impatience that is really more like mourning lost time. Maybe the word for that is regret. Or nostalgia?
Thank you for your perspective here. I enjoy your podcast, too. Wishing you peace in your impatience. (Everyone always says just keep yourself busy writing the next thing. I’m sure you are. And honestly? Isn’t the writing the fun part?)
Thanks for your good words, Shelley! They are heartening. I do think you nailed the recipe to impatience: writing. Just write and don't worry about all of those things we can't control. Happy (patient) writing!
Loved this (the way you love something touching that makes you cry or feel understood or less alone). Could so relate, as I'm sure most writers can. Beautifully written.
Just what I needed today! Thank you. … Since you asked, here’s my latest impatience:
I’m concerned research and feedback has lead me astray. Meanwhile the clarity and passion that ignited writing this memoir fizzled. I’m impatient to get on with the second draft. But first I must block out other voices and trust my stories. This means I have to trust in me and that I can do this—and that the stories know best how they want to be told.
When I see "I have to trust in me and that I can do this," I think you're taking the right path. I wonder if the patience that is best for you is to nourish that "clarity and passion" that initially ignited your writing, to let all of those other voices fade. I often do this just through taking a break and reading. It's nice that you're listening to how the stories want to be told.
Grant, Thank you for confirming I’m on the right path. Thanks also for mentioning in similar situations you take a break and read as reading replenishes and inspires me. I also like to work on other projects (visual or written). I find sometimes other creative work is a vacation from what is stuck and sometimes when this other work is done, it informs the work I set aside. … I’ll revisit dream that lead me to write these stories. What lurks in corners in dreams often provides juicy information.
Years ago when I was a contract writer for a children's intellectual property, the art director of the animation house we were about to enter into a contract with, offered some wisdom. "If ever you get lost in your creativity or writing, go back and hold the spark that lit the flame that inspired you in the first place. let it warm your passion. Begin again" So true. Besides believing in yourself, believe that your passion for writing is a unique gift given to you. I always say--your gifts become grace when you give them away. On the lighter side, after I completed my first memoir manuscript, my daughter gave me a bracelet I wear. On the inside, close against my wrist, it says, "You friggin' (except the real word) got this." I gave it to my daughter to wear into the delivery room a few weeks ago. Now I have my first grand child, three states away, and the bracelet is back on my arm.
At the moment I feel like all 37 kinds of patience are in a depleted well. I teach, which requires patience with students and the learning process. I take care of my 88-year-old father, whose failing cognitive abilities and protracted divorce require more patience than I can ever actually manifest. There's the usual patience required for life--those traffic jams, etc. And then we come to the patience required for my writing--the actual writing and the efforts to get published. I can manage patience for some of this but not all of this all the time.
We have similar lives, Marta, so thanks for pointing out all of the areas of life that take up our patience. It's not an endless well, after all, so we have to give ourself a little grace for the patience we use for work and the care of others (oh, it's tough taking care of the elderly, and I never truly have quite enough patience or the right kind for my mother, who is 90). Hang in there, and I hope you find pockets for your writing, or that if you do it, it can nourish other types of patience.
I am finding that writing my memoir is teaching me about patience—the kind involved when maybe the right timing has to do with forces outside of you.
I could write five essays spun off this thought provoking newsletter. Yet, instead, I'll choose brevity as I'm still playing catch-up after returning from a two week road trip. One of the major things I've learned about patience (which I now call, taking my hands off the wheel) is that more times than not, the universe if you will, presents another option, path, a person, place or thing of influence, that enriches my life and storytelling, than anything I'd envisioned. I also find, it helps to holler up-show me the next step, reveal to me what I didn't see before. I used to be a terrible waiter. Now I trust, everything happens on its own time, in its rightful place. And in the meantime, instead of waiting, I keep building my body of work.
Sounds like you have the perfect approach. I love your "taking your hands off the wheel" approach to patience. It's true, those other paths have a way of showing up, or perhaps we just notice them, either by virtue of patience, desperation of impatience, or both.
You can't see what's all around you or passing by, with your forehead pressed up against the windshield, body tense, hands gripping the wheel.
I do a lot of “hollering up” as you say here. <3
Me, too. A lot of show me how to do this or say this. The more you ask, the more the portal stays open. I also often start my day asking the universe to co-create with me. Damn. It works.
Perfect, I just wrote the same thing! HA!
I’m arriving into writing late and I feel the existential pressure daily; yet the lesson I’m learning is that’s precisely what’s also getting in the way. So I sit and sit and allow space and wait…
Thank you for these important words.
It's really true: that sense of urgency, while sometimes motivating, can also be a block, a hindrance. Sitting and allowing space and waiting ... and then writing, of course, sounds like a better approach.
Wise words.
Thank you for your raw honesty! I needed to read this writing truth today. Never thought about writing as sitting by the bedside of a dying friend before, but it was a beautiful metaphor.
This aligns with something I've been thinking. I have been self-punishing over the TIME it's taking me to write this work in progress. But I see it as making a really good stew. Each ingredient needs time in the pot, low heat, tasting, re-seasoning, not to mention wondering what it goes well with.
Good metaphor. I often speak of my writing as a process of marinating, so ... yes to "time in the pot." And ... no to "self-punishing."
I so needed to read this this morning! I am impatient with my lack of energy to write. For the last several weeks, I have been thinking, when am I going to be still enough to sit and write? When are the words going to flow? Hah! I’m not sure what kind of patience that is, but it’s definitely somewhere in the murky middle of 37. Thanks for giving perspective Grant.
Thanks for sharing, Maureen. I hope this helps you find the stillness necessary to write. I'm trying to lower my expectations—e.g., 15 minutes of writing instead of longer sessions, using the nooks and crannies of my day a little more, trying to build some momentum, or just some words on the page. I think you phrased it right, though: finding that stillness.
Spot on. Your John Cage quote speaks directly to my stack’s new post on noisy young folk at Columbia, elsewhere in NYC—and impatience with same.
I haven't read your piece this week yet, but I'll be there soon ... I love so much about John Cage. Wish I could go mushroom hunting with him and play the I-Ching.
Thanks for this. I'm exploring making friends with my impatience as I'm writing a memoir , at almost eighty. Pretty funny when I stop taking myself too seriously.and keep writing even though what I'm writing seems off topic, it seems to lead me somewhere , somewhere useful to me in the moment. maybe useful to someone else later.
It's funny how going off topic can ... somehow land you on topic sometimes.
Feeling you on the long wait of submission (which has so many meanings now). And my typewriter guy just delivered on an impeccable Hermes 3000 that's been sitting in an attic in Cedar Rapids since its retirement by a single owner. Here's to good waiting, and to the end of it, Grant!
Congrats on the Hermes! It might be a magic conduit of words ...
I so relate to this. Like you, I’ve been writing for decades and I too thought I should have a brilliant novel published by the time I was 30. That’s why I got my MFA, right. I’m 60 and just published my first chapbook and my first poetry book will be out next year. Patience, perseverance, and then letting go and breathing.
Right now I’m waiting for my copies of the chapbook to arrive. It’s been two weeks since they were sent. And I’m pretty sure they are lost in the mail and I’ll never see them. It’s always something. If there’s one thing I’m powerless over, it’s the USPS.
Thank you for this piece.
Here's to those brilliant novels that didn't quite arrive on time! But more importantly, congrats on your chapbook and poetry book! I bet they will each contribute to future momentum. And damn the USPS—if they only knew!
I, too, graduated from college just before the personal computer became ubiquitous and the internet arrived to change everything. It was 1990. I loved my Smith Corona typewriter and the smell of Wite-Out. Jump ahead 30 plus years. My first novel was published in my 50s. My second comes out this year, still in my 50s. I can’t say I’m impatient…but rather irritated with myself for thinking I “should wait until I’m good enough” — whatever that means. I wish I’d jumped sooner, not given myself so much time to “practice.” Or maybe that I’d born down on it harder and become better sooner. Now I feel as if the world of publishing has “moved on” to something different from that for which I’d prepared. So I’m not impatient, unless there is a kind of impatience that is really more like mourning lost time. Maybe the word for that is regret. Or nostalgia?
Thank you for your perspective here. I enjoy your podcast, too. Wishing you peace in your impatience. (Everyone always says just keep yourself busy writing the next thing. I’m sure you are. And honestly? Isn’t the writing the fun part?)
Thanks for your good words, Shelley! They are heartening. I do think you nailed the recipe to impatience: writing. Just write and don't worry about all of those things we can't control. Happy (patient) writing!
Loved this (the way you love something touching that makes you cry or feel understood or less alone). Could so relate, as I'm sure most writers can. Beautifully written.
Wonderful piece. Thanks.