Finding the Time

Sometimes I go into the bathroom to write. The bathtub can be an especially helpful container, I’ve found, and seems to be pretty helpful for the lower back as well. I live with children but what I’ve found is most adults, regardless of their home lives, have to be clever and resourceful in finding time to be creative.

In different times in my life I’ve gotten up religiously every day at 5am to write. Other times when I need more sleep, 6am at the latest. I’ve spent so many mornings before the sun comes up scrawling or typing away, and that has felt great, right and true: both the writing itself and the discipline of it. But I’ve also learned/am learning that one can’t get too dogmatic about their writing ritual, or maybe some people can but it hasn’t served me. Life changes, and then what do you do about the routine that used to serve you but no longer does? You, sometimes, may find yourself hiding in a bathtub where you’ll definitely be found, but maybe/hopefully not right away.

Toni Morrison often spoke about writing her first novel (age 39 by the way!) in 10-15 minute stolen chunks of time, on the bus, while simultaneously cooking dinner for her two young sons, or right before bed, exhausted. Stolen moments. She created her literary masterpieces, in some ways, on the schedule of others. And it worked. She made it work. She said once, “I have an ideal writing routine that I’ve never experienced, which is to have, say, nine uninterrupted days when I wouldn’t have to leave the house or take phone calls…But I am not able to write regularly. I have never been able to do that—mostly because I have always had a nine-to-five job. I had to write either in between those hours, hurriedly, or spend a lot of weekend and predawn time.”And, “Sometimes something that I was having some trouble with falls into place…so I’ve written on scraps of paper, in hotels on hotel stationery, in automobiles. If it arrives you know. If you know it really has come, then you have to put it down.“

A San Francisco acquaintance of mine—who threw the loveliest house parties in a warm, old Victorian in the Mission, and who always made everyone feel so special and welcome—Beth Pickens, is now a consultant and coach for all kinds of artists, leading workshops and offering different kinds of support and encouragement. Though I’ve never worked with her directly, I remember reading something from her book “Make Your Art No Matter What” about how it’s easy to romanticize, say, being independently wealthy and not having to work, to imagine a life where you have no real obligations and can just spend all day daydreaming and being creative. The dream! Or is it? Similarly, thinking about people who get months-long artist residencies where they get to be in solitude and make art, write, and create with hours and days and weeks and months at their disposal. With both of these examples, Beth made the point that these situations do not make better, more prodigious artists. In fact, the lack of time constraint, in and of itself, can cause a kind of vacuum of apathy. (I’m summarizing from memory but this was what I got from it.)

In other words, creating art is beautiful and challenging and it’s hard to find the time and the motivation to really do it, and that is usually pretty much true across the board.

One thing I have found that has been really helpful for me is going on writing retreats. It’s kind of the best of both worlds because you get to immerse yourself in a community and culture of writing and literature and inspiration for a short time, and then you’re back in your regular life, but the magic lingers. I try to go on some sort of writing retreat (with other humans, as opposed to just renting a cabin somewhere for a weekend) because there’s a creative alchemy that happens in those conversations and time spent with diverse strangers (who usually become, if not forever friends, definitely people you appreciate) about writing, about stories, about process, about how to keep it going. I can personally count on being very inspired for many, many months after returning home from a writing retreat. There’s a magical thing that can happen there, that I’m not sure I can describe, but that I hope you get the opportunity to experience.

And then you return home, and maybe you discover that someone has found your secret writing spot, and maybe you can admit that the tub was never that comfortable anyways, and maybe you can’t believe how ever-changing and strange and beautiful life is, and how lucky you are to get to experience so many things.