A writing a day keeps the doctor away. There's more to that than meets the eye, at least where writers are concerned. If I don't write I get crabby, and I'm sure that's not good for those near and dear to me. It's not good for me, either.
The act of writing is uplifting, even if I am not in the mood for it. If I write before I go to bed at night, by morning there is more than enough grist for the mill to keep me happy as a writer the entire day. The words flow, the pen moves with lightning speed, and I have more than my self-imposed three "morning pages" that Julia Cameron, Virginia Woolf and others recommend.
A truly marvelous little book that first came to my attention because the introduction was written by John Gardner, a poet, essayist, novelist and teacher I've long admired, is Dorothea Brande's
Becoming A Writer. See this book for her recommendations of training oneself to write. Her advice and its results will amaze and please you.
When I read "A Room of One's Own" by Virginia Woolf, I set about creating my own little writer's space in a sun room/computer room that was (and still is) exploding with books on sagging bookshelves, boxes of letters and memorabilia inherited from my parents, violin-making supplies, a few old pillows and several chairs. It's comfy, believe it or not. Although I admire the beauty of a monastic cell in its simplicity I am afraid I shall be dealing in future with acquired items I'm not sure what to do with. And that's not a gracefully grammatical statement, but it's the truth.
However, the space is all mine. I have hunted for thirty years for a desk that would give me the same feeling of wonder and excitement every time I opened its fold-out top and sat down to work. My first desk was a wooden one painted green and had been inherited from my brother who got it from our mother. I don't know what happened to it. But it could have resurfaced as the metal office desk I now have, only now it has a different life as teacher's-desk-cum-writer's desk. It has so many deep drawers as well as regular drawers, and a thinner, longer middle top drawer with dividers. It has lots of room on top for a row of books I'm currently reading, a file holder, a globe, tape dispenser, a wonderful green banker's lamp with pens my husband bought to encourage me, and even more space, but I like to keep most of the unclaimed area for laying out papers and books I'm working on.
With a wide tall window on my left through which I can see the quiet garden where birds sing before the first rays come up and the sky is revealed in its periwinkle intensity as clouds wander in and out I feel I am abreast of the day's progression. With a window before me through which I see a fence covered with climbing cool green ivy, rosebushes framing the windowsill, I have the reflective green that does not distract, on which to focus my thoughts. With little notes to myself on folded index cards propped where I can see them, I am the Writer Maman taking care of my artist child. I am becoming an advocate, ally, best friend and critic to myself when needed. It has helped make me stronger. Prayer, coffee, and a lot of pens and recycled paper help too.
I love to write for the sheer pleasure of writing. I love putting the pen to paper and feeling the words as they come into contact with the paper. Everything about writing I enjoy. A few essays have been published in a small way. But nothing compares to the actual writing and yes, re-writing. Page by page, I am creating the habits of a writer. I read more - and with concentration and pleasure, even joy at times. Writing and reading have almost become spiritual experiences. And why shouldn't they? God, who gave the gifts in the first place, is pleased , I think, when these gifts are used well.
It's time to sleep now, but I look forward to writing in the morning just as I have enjoyed writing in the (almost) last moments of my day. In doing so I look forward to a healthy tomorrow - filled with writing and life.
