Kevin and I met at the coffee shop last week to talk about our writing processes. It’s undeniable that all writers face their ‘blocks’, whatever they may be. Some are obstacles that are shared by many – lack of inspiration; life situations; fear of commitment. (The love between a writer and his work certainly can be a torrential or, at times, a caustic one.) The particular obstacle we discussed that day was not having a place or state-of-mind in which to write.

I’ve read articles before about authors who are so passionate about their craft that they write whenever they can, wherever they can. Busy single parents with full-time jobs, people who are struggling with time just to get by with their rent; the list goes on. I admire these people greatly for the devotion they have for their work and their ability to write under such stressful, time-constraining conditions. Kevin and I came to the conclusion that we are probably not as flexible as they are.

We have problems writing under certain conditions, and we broke the problems down into not having a ‘good’ place and not being in the ‘right’ state-of-mind to write creatively. In Letters to a Young Poet, a collection of inspirational letters sent by Rainer Maria Rilke to a young and hopeful poet name Franz Xaver Kappus, there is a line which says…

This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must,” then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your while life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.

When I ask myself the question of whether or not I must write, the answer is still the same, and it comes as naturally as it has for the past six years – yes, I must write. But while I still have the passion to write, the words don’t come as easily as they used to (even if the ideas do). One could probably make the argument that I’ve lost those urges to put my fingers to the keyboard because I’ve lost touch with the stories that I truly aspire to write, but I’m not so sure this is the case. I guess it’s open to debate.

Anyway, when we come home from work, from a day out with friends, or from whatever other activity that requires our full attention, we’re hardly ever ready to just walk through the door, ready and willing to jump back into our projects. At times, we’re just mentally exhausted, never mind physically. In my case, I feel that I need a cool-down time with some TV or simply a nap. Kevin mentioned chilling out with some music until he’s in the right mood for writing. But, remember, this is just one part of our problem.

There are a limited number of places we can go where the conditions are right for writing. At home, it can be tough with family members being around, asking you about things every few minutes. When Kevin and I brought this up with Dan, he expressed his mental association of ‘Home’ with ‘Bumming around’. This is also a problem I often encounter, where I’m sitting in my room, in front of the computer, and feel the incredible urge to turn on the TV (which is only inches away) or surf the web. There are a few possible solutions for this:

1. Head down to the University and search for a quiet, empty classroom, sit in the lobby, or take a seat at the computer lab.

2. Go to the local coffee shop during off-peak hours.
3. Rent an office.

Of course, no solution is ever completely perfect.

1. Sometimes, total silence is eerie and unnatural, and can be even more distracting than a thumping washing machine. The lobby is hit-or-miss; more often than not, it’ll be too distracting with so many people walking back and forth and chatting. The computer lab with those greasy keyboards elevated on the tables to about neck-height… let’s not go there.

2. The coffee shop can get busy, depending on which one you go into. If it’s Starbucks, or any other national chain, don’t hold your breath waiting on some peace. It takes just one jabber-mouth with a cell phone to ruin your day.
3. Having an office would be ideal. You’d just have to get over the bit about paying anywhere between $500-$10,000 per month (here in the NJ/NY area).

In our efforts to find encompassing solutions to our writing block, we associated the two parts (the mental and spacial aspects) with each other. To be more accurate, we reasoned that the place in which we do our writing and/or the lengths we go to to get to that place has a direct affect on our mental state at the moment we arrive.

For example, Kevin works at the Courier News as a sports columnist. His office is out of town and a 45-minute drive is required to get there. The moment he gets into his car and starts driving, his mind shifts into a specially focused mode whereby he processes what exactly he’s going to write for the column – topics, phrases, possible headlines. In those 45 minutes, he has already gone over much of the material.

Yes, it’s a given that writing a column is different from writing a creative narrative, but I believe you can train your mind to apply that 45-minute process to different contents. In Kevin’s case, it is almost like a reaction, when he gets into his car to drive to work, to think about his column. If he wants to apply the same prep process to writing, say, a short story, he can try getting into his car just to go for a soothing 45 minute drive to clear his mind and focus on his story. Then, it might come to a point where he doesn’t even have to get into his car. He might just sit down on the couch (TV off and no other distractions) to think about his characters and their situations. Eventually, after a week or two of getting used to this process, those 45 minutes of sitting around might turn into half an hour, and the next time around, 15 minutes. It would come to a point where he could just sit down and immediately begin writing.

Of course, this is just a crack theory of mine, but I’m willing to wager on its effects. In fact, I’ve begun testing it myself. Instead of holing myself up in my room or driving five minutes to get to the coffee shop like I normally do, I now walk to a newly opened coffee shop that’s about three miles away from my home. Man, the first time I walked there, I was exhaused and had to have my friend drive me back. It was grueling. But the second time around, it really wasn’t that bad.

It takes me about an hour to make a one-way trip, so I rack up a walk-time of at least two hours by the end of the day. This benefits me in several ways.

• I have that first hour to clear my head. Most of the time is just spent enjoying the scenery and breating in the cancerous, albeit refreshing air. Otherwise, I’m thinking about the main character of the story I’m writing that day, and how his/her adventure will play out in the soon-to-be-written scenes.

• When I’ve arrived at the cafe, my mind is preped and in the right state to jump right into the story. (Though, I usually take a few minutes to relax with a cup of tea or coffee because I’m beat from the walk.)
• While I’m writing the story, I know in the back of my mind that I’ve eventually got to make that exhausting 1-hour walk back home, so I feel a bit of reluctance about putting a stop to my work. It’s like fighting fire with fire; I convince myself to continue pouring my efforts into the writing by forcing upon myself a task I’m even more reluctant about doing. Way to put one over yourself, Ray!
• On the way home, I have that hour again to clear my mind and enjoy my surroundings. Sometimes, my story is still in my head when I leave the cafe (after I’ve gotten tired of writing or if there’s something important I need to attend to), so I might even continue writing later on.
• An hour of continuous walking burns a whole bunch of calories. Forget Jared and Subway – you won’t get a self-made literary masterpiece out of that deal.

Via this ongoing experiment, I can formulate that (Amount of Time * Amount of Focus = Proportion of Productivity). (Man, I hope I got that right. I’ve always been terrible at math and sub-par at science.) That’s a simple way to think of ‘the process’, but there are other unforseen variables at play. My forays to the coffee shop only work for me because the place is newly opened and tucked away amidst a little strip mall to the side of a railroad overpass. The area is a light commercial zone, so there are hardly any residents coming in, and there are no towering office buildings filled with people who need their afternoon caffeine fix. Furthermore, Java’s Brewin’ is a local chain (as far as I know), as opposed to being a Starbucks, so people passing down the road from out of town usually don’t know to stop in. All these things add up to a relatively peaceful, clean and productive atmosphere where there may be one or two people sitting around with me, but I’m not being bothered.

When it comes down to it, it really is the harmonious combination of a focused prep process and a workable atmosphere that brings me to a state of Writing-Zen. I’m lucky to have found such harmony, but I feel that anyone else can be just as lucky, if they put enough elbow grease into satiating the two parts of this particular type of writer’s block. (Sticking with that thought, keep in mind that one man’s coffee shop may be another man’s library or home office, and one man’s 1-hour walk may be another’s 20-minute jog or leisurely bike ride. It’s all about who you are and what works for you, but don’t kid yourself into believe that you’ve found your Zen when you can only bring yourself to write 25 words a day.)

I’ll continue walking to the coffee shop to see if I can slowly wean myself away from such a long period of mental preparation. Though, I might just continue on with it anyway, for the exercise.

Ray