Friday, September 13, 2019

Subconscious as Superhero

These are my fleshed out notes from a talk I presented to the High Desert branch of the California Writers Club on September 14, 2019.


This talk is the result of a long email exchange between author Michael Welker and myself. Michael wrote Blockbuster Blueprint, and if you write fiction, it's a how-to book you definitely need to have on your shelf. Michael is also a former student of mine. He's one of those whiz kids who knows so much about everything it's hard for him to focus on the one thing that he wants to pursue that will change the world in a positive way. He's currently living in Japan and working for Universal Studios, but his plan is to retire when he's forty.

Anyway, Michael and I have kept up a regular email correspondence since he graduated high school in 2003. At some point a few years back, we were both chastising ourselves for not spending more time on our professional writing, and we asked each other why. At the time, Michael happened to be studying neuroscience. Not in college. Just recreationally. Because he was interested. When I was in college, I majored in literature but I minored in psychology. So, between the two of us in our email discussions, we came across some steps that have worked for us to enlist our subconscious minds in making us more productive as writers.

Three years ago, I was so happy to be able to start saying I was "retired." Until I got to thinking: No, I'm not. I'm not retired; I've just transitioned to my dream job, which is writing full time. From home. In my pajamas. You are not retired, either, if you're writing.

I want to change your brain about that.

Of those of you who are... self-employed as a writer... How many of you are writing 1,000 words a day?

Why not? Go ahead, think for a minute of all the reasons you're not writing a thousand words a day.

I want to change your brain a bit.

More specifically:

Help you change the story you've been telling yourself so you can be more productive in your writing.

This time, I'm hoping you'll be able to include your own personal superpower in that story.

What I say today will sound a bit like New Age-y Hocus Pocus. It's not. It's based on neuroscience, which is the science of how your brain works.

I just ask that you listen and keep an open mind.

Having said that, let me say this:

The Buddha said: Our lives are shaped by our minds; you become what you think.

Have you ever written the beginning of a story or the first chapter (or three) of a book but then stopped and never finished.

What did you tell yourself when you didn't finish? 'When I get time, I'll get back to that.' 'When I figure out what happens next, I'll get back to that.' 'When I edit what I've already written and I'm satisfied with that, I'll get back to that.'

Sound familiar?

My personal favorite is: "When I get time...." I've been keeping a personal journal since college. Some years ago, I spent the summer re-reading my journals back for ten years. And let me tell you, I had ten years' worth of long, repetitive journal entries--written out in cursive--wherein I complained vociferously about not having enough time to write. Seriously. See where this is going? 'I would write that novel if I only had time to write'—I WROTE REPEATEDLY FOR TEN YEARS.

Why is this?

Our subconscious minds are protecting us, sometimes in a gentle sweet way, and sometimes viciously.

My current dog, Thomas, is a cattle dog mix. If we are hiking, and he senses something that he perceives as potentially dangerous, he leaves my side and walks directly crosswise to my path, attempting to gently turn me away from danger.  This is quite different from the behavior of a dog I once had and loved dearly. Alex Haley was a Rottie-Chow mix who was, most of the time, a huge, lovable, shaggy puppy. Unless a stranger came around, at which point he would bark! bark! bark! to try to keep me protected from the danger he perceived.

To both dogs, this was just doing their job as loyal canines, but in different ways.

Your subconscious does the same. It protects you.

In psychology, this is called a defense mechanism, and this concept has been around a long time. When your subconscious wants to protect you from something that will cause you anxiety, it throws up a defense mechanism.

I don't want to spend time explaining defense mechanisms if you're unfamiliar, and I'm not an expert on them anyway, I just find them fascinating. With a simple online search, you can find out a lot more about them.

Relevant to our purposes today: Your subconscious is either your villain or your super-hero. When you begin a project or have an idea but don't follow through, most likely it is your subconscious stopping you from this anxiety-producing activity, either in a gentle way—"Here, why don't you click over here and scroll through Facebook while that idea gels some more"—or in a more direct way by barking at you—"Why waste your time on that? No one's going to read it anyway. Remember what happened the last time you finished something and sent it out? Nothing. Nothing happened. And nothing will happen again. So why don't you grab a beer and turn on Dancing with the Stars?"

It's not the writing itself that produces anxiety—it's the potential finished product that scares us into stopping (or not starting at all).

When I wrote the prologue to Tainted Legacy, it was one of the scariest writing projects I ever undertook. That memoir is about my mother and her childhood and her beloved grandmother--who was, of course, accused of multiple murders--and my relationship with my mother had always been tenuous. What if I hurt her deeply? I put off starting for months--telling myself I didn't have time. And then one day I had to have work done on my truck, and I had to wait for it, so I grabbed a notebook and simply began writing the book. I wrote for over an hour without stopping. My hands never stopped shaking. But I knew better than to put that notebook away when I got home. I kept going. Three months later, the book was finished.

As for those people who say, "I don't care if it gets published, I'm just writing for myself, so I don't worry about that," okay, that's fine. But if you're saying that, you should know that it's probably "denial," a clearly defined defense mechanism. It protects you from ever having to suffer rejection.

Writers write to be read. That's the truth. You know why? Because we're sublimating.

Sublimation is a very positive, very effective defense mechanism. Writers take all the experiences that have caused them pain or anger or grief and they turn those feelings into poems and stories and novels and memoirs. It's very powerful.

So we need to write, and we need to write every day, and don't get me started on having the discipline to put your posterior in a chair every day because that's a whole other talk but trust me, you just have to.

Think about this:

If you write a thousand words a day, in 60 days, you'll have a novel.

Catherine Ryan Hyde, author of Pay it Forward and a gazillion other novels, manages to write two books a year and still have time to ride her horse every afternoon. She's 64. By the way, she started writing full time in 1980. Pay It Forward, her first real commercial success, was published in 1999.

Author Douglas Clegg said: "I believe the great American novel will be written by someone who writes." Not the smartest, most educated person with an MFA from the best program, but simply the person who writes and writes and writes.

Consider that young Southern woman who wrote that one bestseller. You know, Nell Lee. We know her better by her middle name, Harper. Talk about the great American novel! To Kill a Mockingbird is still in print, sixty years after its debut.

How do we do that?

Harness your superhero. Make your subconscious work for you. It's that easy. You become what you think.

1. Decide that you're going to have a time and place to write—uninterrupted—every day (or six days a week or whatever).

Be reasonable but also be resolute.

Also be goal oriented. (A word of advice: Never use time as a goal. Use a tangible accomplishment: One page a day. (It's how a young lawyer named John Grisham wrote his first novel, A Time to Kill.) Five hundred words. A thousand words. Three paragraphs.

2. Show up. This used to be the hardest one for me until I heard Harry Cauley speak. Harry said something I immediately wrote down and I'll never forget it: Writing is one of the loneliest professions there is. No kidding. I'm older and single. My kids are busy living their best lives, and my grandkids are working or in college or both. I spend a lot of time alone. Sometimes the only people I talk to for days have fur on them. Scrolling through Facebook makes me feel less alone in the world. It is also a bottomless rabbit hole, a giant time-eater that calls to me early in the morning. After all, who doesn't want to look at photos of a friend's new puppy? Or kitten? Or grandchild? Or their breakfast plate?

3. Be aware that your subconscious is going to block you at every turn—because it's protecting you from anxiety—because WHAT IF you sit down and there are no words or what you write is terrible or what you write is wonderful but you can't figure out where to send it to get it published or you do send it out and it gets rejected? Huh? What if that happens?

4. Take a few really deep breaths.

5. Narrow your focus; you're not sitting in the writer's seat to consider what may happen in the future with this particular piece of writing. You're sitting there to express your true identity, to be your most authentic self. Be present in the moment and let that sink in.

Just as a side note here, I highly recommend ten minutes or so of meditation. Not the sort in which you attempt to reach Nirvana or 'clear your mind of all thoughts.' Writers are intelligent, curious, creative people; our minds are constantly awhirl with thoughts and questions and ideas. Meditation in the sense of allowing your brain to begin ignoring all outside distractions and focusing on the task at hand. What do you want to write today? Focus simply on that and nothing else in your meditation. Keep breathing.

Did you know that when you are fully immersed in writing you are in what's called a "trance state"? You may think of it as being "in the zone," and you may have had one of those experiences in which you begin writing and everything else fades away and you look up some time later and realize you've been writing for three hours and you've missed lunch. The quickest way to enter a trance state (no, you don't have to wait around for it to happen) is to meditate.

6. Give yourself a mantra and say it aloud or write it down. My favorite: I'm just going to write one sentence, and I'm perfectly capable of writing a decent sentence. A neural pathway opens in your brain every time you speak an affirmation aloud. (Now there's some New Age-y hocus pocus for you.)

We sometimes call this self-hypnosis or the power of positive thinking: Repeating aloud the sentence "I am a non-smoker" is how one of my husband's quit smoking when all else failed. True story.

Use whatever works, and, again, be mindful of those subconscious messages. As soon as they pop up—"Why are you wasting your time?"—smack them back down with a positive affirmation: "My writing is an important part of who I am."

That's a great mantra! If you say it every day, it will become embedded in your subconscious mind.

What's the story you've been telling yourself? That you're not good enough? You are. That you don't have time? You do. That it won't be perfect? It won't be. It doesn't have to be perfect. To Kill a Mockingbird is not a flawless novel. But it's beautiful and powerful and still in print after sixty years.

Our lives are shaped by our minds. We become what we think. Change the story you've been telling yourself. Unleash that superhero and feel the power!

Monday, September 2, 2019

Salinas: Part Three

I know, I know, it took me forever to post this last part (and I promise it's the last part), but I've been busy reading amazing books (In the Country of Women, News of the World) and watching the Gilmore Girls and having my heart broken a bit (don't even ask; it involves a dog). But I'm back. So here's what happened on my last day at the Steinbeck Festival in Salinas:

I met two wonderful men. Not one. Two.

The first being John Steinbeck himself:


Okay, that's not really John Steinbeck, obviously. (Look closely in the background and you'll see a photo of the real Steinbeck.) But there he was in the bookstore as a dozen or so attendees showed up early on Saturday morning for an event billed as "Coffee with Steinbeck." As we assembled, finding chairs and nodding to one another, he introduced himself to each one of us, asking for our names and where we were from, shaking our hands and saying, "I'm John." 

When everyone was settled, he began his talk by telling us that he couldn't stay long, that he had come from "literary heaven" and would have to return soon, but in his time with us, he wanted to answer any questions we might have about his books. He remembered our names and asked us, one at a time, why we had come to "his" center. The charming thing is, everyone played along.

"I came to see you, Mr. Steinbeck," I told him. "I read The Grapes of Wrath as a teenager, and over the years, I read the rest of your books because I love your writing. I couldn't wait to meet you." Everyone else gave similar responses, how a particular book of his had changed their life or made them see the world in a different light. He thanked us, humbly, sharing small pieces about how or why he wrote each book as we mentioned them. It was a magical hour that flew by and then he was escorted away quickly by staff because he had promised to give tours of "his" truck, Rocinante. (See previous post.)

Then I walked across the hall to hear another amazing man speak. If you read this blog often, you know how much I love dogs, so you can assume I would be drawn in by this recipe: writer + rescue dog + trip across America tracing Steinbeck's journey in Travels With Charley.

Peter Zheutlin (journalist and author of Rescue Road, a book about the long haul rescue work of Greg Mahle who drives dogs from the deep South to their new families in the North) decided to take his rescue pup, Albie, on a tour of America much like Steinbeck had with Charley. The book is titled The Dog Went Over the Mountain, and it is a memoir recounting Zheutlin's journey.

That morning in the Salinas Room of the Steinbeck Center, Zheutlin shared a PowerPoint presentation of his photos from the trip. Of course, he had me at "rescue dog," but seeing all those pictures of places I've been to and places I'm still longing to see, sweet Albie feartured in each one, made me envious of his trip. Everyone should take such a trip across this big, beautiful country, a good dog alongside as companion.

Afterward, Zheutlin did a signing in the bookstore--and sold out the limited number of early-release copies of the book his publisher had given him. (Did I mention that he is donating a percentage of the sales to animal rescue?) I hovered around until his wife began to look at me askance, and I had to explain that I was trying to get the perfect picture with Steinbeck's photo in the background to post on Instagram, at which point she jumped in ardently to do the same.



A dog show had been planned to follow Zheutlin's presentation, but only one dog--a glamorous white standard poodle--showed up to participate, so that dog walked off with a blue ribbon after performing several tricks for the small but enthusiastic crowd that had gathered.

After that, it was a beer and a quesadilla made with freshly grilled (while I watched), locally grown vegetables and a homemade (dear heavens, thank you) tortilla for me. Then I wandered back to my room to do some writing and plan my drive home the next day.

I'm already excited about attending the Steinbeck Festival next year. Who's with me?