When I first started writing fiction regularly (screenwriting, specifically), our first child was quite young — like 3 ½. I really had to “steal” time to make writing happen, mostly from my own sleep schedule (thankfully he was sleeping by that age so at least I wasn’t sleep deprived anymore and could “afford” it).
I got up every day at 6 a.m. to write for about an hour while my husband played with him and got him ready for the day, then I’d hang out with him for a while and take him to preschool. The rest of the day was for my “day job” (my work as a coach).
Later, during an extremely difficult personal life phase, I wrote a script in 15 minutes a day, often late at night just before bed. It took me about 6 months, but given the adversity I was facing, I was thrilled with the accomplishment.
Despite my progress and success (I was hired to write an original script for a producer-director based on a writing sample), I was longing for longer writing days.
Long writing days, or not?
Ironically though, pre-kids, long writing days did NOT work well for me, not at all.
If anything, they were abject failures.
Before having kids, I used to set aside every Friday as a full writing day.
And then when Friday would roll around I would do ANYTHING ELSE other than write.
Turns out those long stretches were stopping me from writing, by triggering huge amounts of fear and resistance. I didn’t understand that at the time. (The other challenge was the infrequency, but that’s a story for another time.)
I see this same issue come up around long writing days for my clients and community members too, especially for those who are retired, don’t have a separate day job, or who are trying to set aside big chunks of writing time. They often struggle to write.
Big blocks of writing time can trigger big time resistance.
It turns out those big blocks of writing time — as much as we say and believe we want and need them — can spark proportionate amounts of resistance and “blocking energy.”
Big blocks of time (often) => big blocks of resistance.
This is why writing for smaller increments of time can be hugely beneficial when building or rebuilding a writing practice.
And yet, … and yet!
Those big blocks of time are so satisfying! … when they work.
Especially while I’ve been in creative recovery over the last two years, I’ve found I need to write differently. I can’t and don’t want to “write on command” the way I could and had to when my kids were little.
I need and want those long days.
The magic of making space for “sideways drift.”
I especially need and want time for “sideways drift” built into my writing days, so I can get up and wander, ponder, shower, drift, walk, imagine, brainstorm, explore, and journal as needed. I’m also allowing myself time and space to “find” my way to the page each day. Sometimes this looks like goofing off, but it’s mainly about getting myself into the state I want to be in to write. Sometimes I’m listening to music, tidying up, or taking care of distracting tasks (something I used to avoid). The net effect is that I’m shifting from kid-focused morning time over to Jenna-focused writing time.
This helps me move into a potent, liminal space that opens up story ideas and possibilities unlike anything else.
I also want enough time to get something on the page, too, in addition to the drift space.
In order to have both, I’m back to designing long writing days into my schedule now.
My sideways drift approach to these long days means fear and doubt don’t get triggered the same way any longer. Partly this is because I’m not currently using definitive time, word, or page goals (though they can be useful tools at the right time).
Instead I’m focusing on progress wherever I am in the process with a particular story.
For example, with the script I’m currently working on, I’m in the midst of reverse outlining the story so I can evaluate it for a rewrite. I’ll keep working on that each writing day until it’s complete, then move on to the next step.
Taking the focus off specific goals and putting it on making progress overall takes the pressure off me, and makes more space for that magical sideways drift.
So does setting aside long days to write.
It’s a kind of double magic: long days plus space to get into a liminal flow state.
Bliss.
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