There is a part of the writing process where asking the right questions is the best thing you can hope for…and also, all you need.
The whole point of asking a question is you don’t know the answer. And if you want a real answer, it can’t be something you already know — therefore, you have to wait. And sit with the question, and not whine, and not short-circuit the period of not knowing by a desire to be comfortable/rush through discomfort by getting easier answers that are not yet full ones.
People who like certainties won’t like questions. People — like writers — who enjoy discovering new things…just might.
After thirty years of studying the craft, I finally get it. It’s about the reader, not the writer. Your work has to reach the reader, it has to open out to the reader, it has to be about the reader, even just analogically.
No one really cares about you. When I say this to clients, whether they are writing memoir or prescriptive non-fiction, there is a gasp or a moment of uncomfortable silence while this fact is recognized and accepted.
Once it has been accepted then we can take the next step and say, it may not just be about the reader. It may look more like this (Venn diagram alert!):
Sometimes in revision, we have to go the long way around until we get back home — but then we recognize it as home. That’s a thought I had last month, seemingly for the first time, so I was surprised to come across this meme:
I did not make this. I didn’t even know what it was from until a search revealed it was something I wrote in my first book. Which might be a meta-case of what this idea was pointing to in the first place. Trippy.
How’s that for a bold title. And now we only have 120 words left!
Quickly: meditation for writers involves following the breath. You follow the breath, you settle into concentration, you release the ego, you open up to your inner prompter spooling out the words into your mind just as you become conscious of them.
Good? So the secret to meditation is your posture, specifically one thing: opening your bottom belly. Find the place two inches below your navel which is the lowest your breath goes. Below your chest where you hyperventilate or fight on Facebook, below your upper belly where you wax poetic but are still somewhat on the defensive.
Find the bottom belly. Stay with it. And now write what comes to you in the order in which it comes to you.