Yeah, so I heard that some of you aren't into this whole mind/body thing. And that you'd rather buy a Fab-Ab-Cruncher than my writing/exercise game theory. So I'm going to play hardball today. That's right, I'm hauling out the METAPHORS. (Be afraid. Very afraid.)
Ever think of....
Writing as Boxing:
Looking for a win? Fine, but don't rig the fight. You need a genuine opponent, not a weak premise that exists only so you can score a quick KO. You need something heavy and well-anchored that pushes back when you give it hard jab. Look at that picture...he's
fighting, not "working out." Pick a worthy subject. Get into the ring. My money's on YOU.
Writing as golf:
Putts add up. So do details. If you play eighteen holes as an amateur, putting is half (or more) of your score. So forget the overblown drivers and the sweet hybrid irons. Read the greens (and the dictionary.) Know how your putt (and your characters) will break. And the right bit of dialogue will sink the ball into the cup every time. At least that's why I keep talking to
my ball. (Go in! Go in!)
Writing as yoga:
Corpse Pose. Also known as the nap. Performed correctly, this pose enables a writer to solve complex plot problems and find missing scenes. This pose may also be used to fake actual death should someone ask you to read their 75,000 word picture book manuscript. But you'll have a tough time explaining those short shorts. (Really, they're literary!
The Guardian publishes them!)What about you? How is writing like your favorite sport? Liz is playing this game today, too.
Go see her!P.S. I'm doing a roundup post here on Saturday, so if you have a blog entry that deals with "The Exercise of Writing" or you interviewed a writer who mentioned their physical routine or you read a book that developed this theme---or even if you want to scramble and write a reaction post double-quick---please
send me the link.
"I think the healthy thing for man---for reflective nature---is to think with the whole body; then you get a full harmonious thought, like violin strings, vibrating in unison with the hollow box. But I think that when thoughts come from the brain alone...they are like tunes played on the squeaky part of the first string..." Stephane Mallarme, writing to Eugene Lefebre, May 17, 1867
I stumbled upon that magnificent quote many years ago in the book
Finding Your Writer's Voice by Thaisa Frank and Dorothy Wall. The authors go on to say:
"Like Mallarme, you can make your voice resonate from different parts of your body...Imagine that your entire body is a vehicle for speech and sound---a luminous and versatile transmitter. Let your stomach write a paragraph. Then your heart. Now let your forehead speak. Does your writing change as your body focus shifts? Are the rhythms different? The emotions? The sounds?"
I've been an exercise addict for years now. I'm a much more disciplined and intuitive athlete than I am a writer. All right, I didn't start out so disciplined...
...but hey, my instincts were to make that couch work for
me and not the other way round, you know?
It continued with my love of gym class. P.E. was fun for me---we did jump rope, and square dancing, and learned how to play volleyball and had races. I treasured the ribbons I won at field day, and competed vigorously to earn the coveted Presidential Physical Fitness Award.
Field Day Loot
In college, I took classes in modern dance, fencing, and racquetball. I rode my bike to class. My husband and I went on hikes as dates. After college, I joined the aerobic dance craze and did Jazzercize. When I got pregnant, I walked for miles and miles and asked my mother-in-law to insert a stretch panel into the belly of my favorite leotard. There's a picture of me, somewhere, after my daughter was born, with her on my stomach while I'm doing sit-ups. In the years since, I've tried skiing, boxing, yoga, weight-lifting, spinning, boot camp, running, golf, ballroom dancing, and Pilates.
Oh, how I wish I had been writing all those years with the same intensity that I was exercising! What masterworks I could have produced! But somehow, it took me years and years before I transferred the wisdom of my body to my writing life.
What my body told me:
1) Have fun.
2) Be brave.
3) Go beyond what you think you can do.
4) Don't worry if you mess up. You'll get it, eventually.
5) Nourish yourself. It's not optional; you must do it to stay strong.
6) Cut out the negative self-talk. Turn your critic into a coach.
7) You must be willing to look silly to learn something new.
8) Focus. Pay attention to the sun on your face, to the sting as your hand hits the bag, to the changes in your breathing. What you're doing right now is beautiful; everything else can wait.
I think the most important thing I learned was that my body was not my enemy. It was my teacher and my best ally. It knew more about what I could do than my head did.
Me, learning from my friend, Popeye
Likewise, good writing comes from what we know in our bones to be true. No matter how blocked or frustrated our minds are, our bodies know what we want to say. They're charged with it; they store every hurt and hope; and they literally
are the instruments that produce our voices. (Why do you think they call it "body language"?)
You don't have to be a fitness addict like me to learn something from your body. Try this: open and close your hands several times, so you make fists, and then release them.
I can't tell you what will happen next. But your body just said something to you. Listen. Write it down. Everything else can wait.
What's the point of writing about something that's been written about a thousand times? (I'm talking fiction here.)
This is why:
Because no two people stand at the same place in the circle.
Because what you choose to see is important.
Because I only get to live one life. If I can read what you write about, I get to cheat a little.
Go here to see how students in the Drawing Club interpret a 5-10 minute pose of "The Boxer."
I'll forgive you if you never want to talk to me again after I say this:
I love push-ups. (No, not the Popsicle kind.)
I mean the kind that
Arnold does. Or
Jack Palance. Or
Demi Moore. Okay, maybe not THAT extreme. But you get the idea that we're talking exercise here, not ice cream. (Or bras.) And we will eventually be talking writing, too, so stick with me.
What do I love about push-ups?
Well, they aren't weights, for one thing. Lifting weights is time consuming and incredibly boring, like writing a grade-leveled language arts textbook. Push-ups, on the other hand, are like pumping out a scathing, witty review of such a textbook. Sure, it's show-offy and quick, but oooh, the adrenaline rush!
Push-ups are also beautiful. They look like modern dance when you do them right, in
all their various forms. (Look at those alligator push-ups!) They remind me of poetry, which is strong, beautiful, and wickedly word efficient.
But the best thing about push-ups is that they don't mess around. You do them; they work. Everything, from your triceps to your core to your butt gets stronger. Where is the equivalent in the writing world? It takes so long to learn how to be a good writer! There is plot, and characterization, and sentence structure, and setting, and word choice, and the ever-squishy, resistant-to-training "voice." What I want is one ultra-cool writing exercise that will help me develop all of these things, all at the same time.
What say you? Do you have a secret writing training exercise I should know about? Because right now, I'm doing it the hard way: by writing one novel after the other. With some poetry thrown in so I don't give up and go home.
Oh, and for those of you who didn't run away at my first sentence: tell me what you think of these fitness gems:
From Mommy Muscle: Do Your Age in Push-upsMacarena Push-upsPush-ups in a muddy riverP.S. I think I'll be posting more on the physicality of writing. I like this topic.
P.P.S. I had to live up to this post by working out extra hard this morning. Thanks a lot, guys! I even tried the alligator push-ups. Verdict: fun, although I'm sure an actual alligator would have busted a gut laughing before he caught and ate me.
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Writing as Boxing:
Writing as golf:
Writing as yoga:
Hi Sara- Great post-- I love that your reasons can apply to all the arts. I've recently found your blog and am enjoying it immensely!
-Jennifer
This is great. This is one thing I love about picture books, too -- the artists' interpretation. What Trina Schart Hyman did with Little Red Riding Hood and then what James Marshall did with Little Red Riding Hood and how they are two entirely different books. Same text. Different artists.
Jules, 7-Imp
Welcome, Jennifer! Sometimes I find I get MORE inspiration outside my chosen field than in it. And I learn so much from other artists.
Yeah, jules. Isn't that fun? And did you notice how most of the boxer sketches kept a pop of red in them?
Enjoyed looking at the sketches. It's all about individual stamp. I get a lot of inspiration from the visual arts, too. Tons of it from music.
Thanks for this reminder...interpretation is key.
The Drawing Club looks awesome! Almost--but not quite--makes me wish I still lived in SoCal...
This is such a wonderfully encouraging post, and really reminds me why I write AND draw. Thank you.