Writing loosely

On not being strung too tightly

Not long ago, I read an interview with Zen priest and novelist, Ruth Ozeki, called ‘The Writer You Are is Enough.’ What’s stuck with me is what she had to say about her writing process.

Mornings are for writing. I like to get up, make myself a pot of black coffee, and go straight to my computer while I’m still half asleep. In that liminal space, when my writing mind is still dreaming and my critical mind hasn’t yet woken up, it’s easier to slip into a fictional world. I work for a while, have a second cup of coffee, and after an hour or two, when I’m awake, I take a break and sit zazen.

I have long been a big believer in writing first thing in the morning. (It’s one of the reasons I created Creative Caffeine Daily.) Still, I’d never done more than 10 or 15 minutes of free writing on any given morning.

But reading about Ozeki’s routine made me wonder what would happen if I copied it. If I got up each morning, made myself a thermos of green tea (my version of black coffee), and wrote while my critical mind was still sleeping.

As a result, over the past weeks, I’ve been experimenting with what I’ve taken to calling ‘writing loosely.’ Rising early, and going straight to my desk (after that detour for tea), and letting the words flow without judging them.

I think there’s a real freedom in just keeping your hand moving. In not stopping to decide which is the better word or phrase, but putting them all down, knowing you can decide later. In trying out more than one way of saying something.

In the Buddhist literature, there is a sutra (teaching) called the Sona Sutta about a monk who practiced walking meditation with such intense effort, the soles of his feet became cracked and bloody.

When the Buddha saw this, he asked the monk if he’d ever played the vina (a lute or guitar).

The monk said he had, and the Buddha asked him if it was possible to play on it if the strings were too taut.

'“No,” said the monk.

“And if the strings are too loose?”

“The instrument is also unplayable.”

“And what if the strings are neither too taut nor too loose?”

“Then one can play.”

“That then,” the Buddha told the monk, “is how to practice. Neither making too much effort, nor too little.”

This seems to me, a good analogy for the kind of writing I’ve been practicing in the morning. The kind of writing that is only a little controlled. Only a little effortful. That is loose enough to allow for anything that might come up. (Which I suppose, takes the analogy back to meditation.)

All I know is, I’ve been that monk with the cracked and bloody feet. Cowed into some kind of writerly paralysis by a tightly-strung critical mind. Which is why I’ve decided to stick with this practice of writing loosely. Of allowing my sentences to play out a little more freely, and keeping the judgment for another time. Hoping that sooner or later, I’ll end up with a playable tune.

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