April Newsletter

By Jessica Page Morrell

Resistance I've been thinking a lot about Resistance lately-the insidious malady that attacks writers, artists and doers of good deeds. It also daunts those making resolutions, embarking on programs for self improvement, spiritual growth or diets. While I can always lose a few pounds, mostly I've been facing this hideous demon as it relates to my writing, attempting to stare it down, marshal my forces, sneak up on it from behind. I don't address this topic from a high and mighty place, I write as one engaged in the battle. But I can report that since writing the March newsletter, I have written two articles about writing, a column, an essay, three articles for a newsletter and I've spent hours writing, fiddling with, and obsessing over a book-in-progress. But I estimate, that if I wasn't bucking Resistance on a daily basis, I could double or triple my output. Now it's true I also taught classes, coached writers, edited manuscripts and generally worked at keeping my head above water. But that's just life. Writing is about the quality of my soul. And yours. In The War of Art, Steven Pressfield defines, redefines and refines the truths about Resistance. He writes: "Resistance cannot be seen, touched, heard, or smelled. But it can be felt. We experience it as an energy field radiating from a work-in-potential. It's a repelling force. It's negative. Its aim is to shove us away, distract us, prevent us from doing our work." And so I write about this, and so I face this demon with a more profound sense of fight. It feels like it's him or me. Resistance wears many masks, feigns the most benign distractions. But we recognize it in our lives because when we're not writing or living our purpose, we're not liking ourselves. In fact, self hatred is entirely possible. I resist by procrastinating. Since I'm self-employed, I've refined procrastination to a high art. I create dramas that I play in or watch from the sidelines in which the act on stage steals my attention from the work at hand. I read, I talk about writing, I tell myself I've burned out (it's a bald-faced lie), I tell myself I'm a genius, I tell myself I'm weak. I follow the news on the war and all things political, I trim my toenails, scrub the kitchen floor, swab the bathroom. And hours pass and I'm not waging war against Resistance. My simplest and most effective battle plan is getting up early and writing first thing. It seems that Resistance rises later than I do. My second line of defense is writing in small moments and jotting down poems and thoughts and sudden hits of bliss or agony in my notebook I honor all parts of the process, but I don't kid myself. Writing includes an incubation period and mulling things over and bitching and taking walks. But this is the real thing. I'm addressing this topic here because I believe we should all commit to the fight. We all need a keen awareness of how Resistance sabotages our dreams and steals our glory. The answer is simple and amazingly difficult. Play for keeps. Or, as Pressfield advises, turn pro. This is about winning the inner creative battle. He writes: "We don't just put off our lives today; we put them off till our deathbed. Never forget: This very moment, we can change our lives. There never was a moment, and never will be, when we are without the power to alter our destiny. .... This second, we can sit down and do our work." ************************************************* Spring has arrived and the city is crazy with blooms. Soft- hued skies compete with gloom and gray as weather changes every few hours. Daffodils are rioting on the lawns; tulips are budding; trees thick with pink blossoms, nod in the sweet air. Any season would be an odd backdrop to war. We're living in strange times and instead of merely digesting the nonstop news, you might want to find a means to speak back to the state of the world. I'm keeping a war journal-jotting down news bites and data as I hear it. Capturing the most poignant and painful. Yesterday I wrote about a bombing that killed civilians, how Iraqis combed the wreckage, holding aloft severed body parts, wailing, "Allah is the greatest." As always, write it down, write it down. ************************************************** Fighting Resistance I fight Resistance because when I don't, all hell breaks loose. It sneaks in with an attack of the jitters. I cannot sit at my desk when it strikes, instead I pace like a caged panther. As I pace, I experience loneliness and cravings for carbohydrates, sex, red wine, anything that will obliterate my misery. I prowl the dark side of my heart (self-dubbed The Bridges of Madison County) noting the friends, enemies and strangers with more publishing credits and less talent than myself. I tell myself the gods must be crazy and it's my turn for fame. In this sorry state, I notice that my muscles are withering, my ideas are common, cobwebs dangle from my ceilings and my office is buried under papers and files. Resistance has a raw echo that rattles my teeth, my bones. It stinks of the grave. It is the enemy. So I stop myself, somehow, mid-jitter. It's not easy. I breathe. I realize that Resistance is dressed as anxiety-AGAIN-its favorite disguise. In the living room I slip in a few yoga poses-I recommend the Pose of the Child and Downward Facing Dog when Resistance bites. I return to my desk and gulp water wishing it was a Valium. I look at the photo of my grandmother on my desk. She loved me and believed in me and when Resistance attacks, I long for her soft gaze. I let my eyes travel over my collages, noting the messages I've embedded for just these low-down moments. From my latest collage, Julia Child beams, flowers radiate, a Buddha imparts endless wisdom, a mandala draws my eye. The books stacked everywhere seem to whisper and I read a few lines from a writer I admire. I start typing. Sometimes I start with an e-mail. Sometimes I can only write with a pen. Sometimes I write poetry. It's important that I stay seated. It's important that I try, that words simmer before me. I type a bit more. I find a perfect word to replace an imprecise one. An idea blooms. I'm doing it. I'm winning. I'm in love with this. I am a soldier. I am constant. If you have any suggestions for fighting Resistance, please send an e-mail. ********************************************** Inspiration: "If there is no wind, row." Latin proverb ***************************************************** "Are you born a writer? Were you put on earth to be a painter, a scientist, an apostle of peace? In the end the question can only be answered by action. Do it or don't do it. It may help to think of it this way. If you were meant to cure cancer or write a symphony or crack cold fusion and you don't do it, you not only hurt yourself, even destroy yourself. You hurt your children. You hurt me. You hurt the planet. You shame the angels who watch over you and you spite the Almighty, who created you and only you with your unique gifts, for the sole purpose of nudging the human reach one millimeter farther alone its path back to God. Creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. It's a gift to the world and every being in it. Don't cheat us of your contribution. Give us what you've got." Steven Pressfield, The War of Art, Winning the Inner Creative Battle ************************************************************* No portion of this newsletter may be reproduced without permission. (c)