The Artist’s Way Week 9: Recovering a Sense of Compassion

My enthusiasm is waning. I’m not sure if it’s because I feel like I’ve gone as far as I can with The Artist’s Way or if the continuing crisis is demanding so much of my energy that nothing else is getting a look in. I should have more time to myself and my work, but this is beginning to feel like one project too many. But I’ve come so far and I don’t want to be a quitter; I have made a commitment to be a writer and that means I have to see this through to the end.

This week we’re entering into the dangerous realm of amateur psychotherapy: the compassion we’re recovering is that which we have denied ourselves. We are not lazy, we are blocked and we are afraid. The fear of failure is an obvious one. The fear of success is trickier to swallow. As for fear of abandonment, well come on. Julia posits a theory that blocked artists are reverting to childhood dread about going against or letting down parents. My parents could not have been more encouraging and if I had to pinpoint a reason for me suppressing my dream – which I undoubtedly did – I would look to my schooling. Teachers offered plenty of support and advice, but at no point did anyone make it clear to me that being a writer or an artist was an option. That’s just the way it was in a state school in the 1980s and I wonder if it’s any different today.

But rather than dwell on it; rather than let regret or fear or anger block my way, I need to work on a project one small step at a time. I should focus on these steps and not the end point and I should apply this to the work on my second novel which remains stalled. All I have to do is get an opening scene down on paper and move on, but something is holding me back and I think it’s fear of getting it wrong. A piece of advice from Grayson Perry springs to mind: with a new piece of work, don’t begin with the most important bit. Maybe I’m approaching this project from the wrong starting point; maybe I should begin in the middle, or anywhere except the beginning or the end. My plan is to adapt a short story which has potential to be a full-length piece and because of this I already have the beginning and the end. What I need to do is play around with what happens in-between; have some fun with the characters; and let the story meander. Once again I’m being too hard on myself and I have replaced relaxation, play and enthusiasm with a desire for discipline. I hear Julia tut-tutting from the other side of the Atlantic and muttering something about creative u-turns.

A creative u-turn, as I understand it, is an act of self-sabotage at the point of success. For example, refusing to make alterations requested by an editor who wants to publish your story, but needs you to make a couple of changes. Guilty! I have also turned down opportunities and invitations to read and although I cannot remember why, I bet it was fear: fear of reading badly; being embarrassed by the sound of my voice; nerves; or a bad reception. What I need to do, according to Julia, is acknowledge these u-turns, face up to the fear and ask for help. How? We’re all in isolation at the moment, but I have fallen into the habit of thinking I’m alone. I have been worrying for weeks about an invitation to an online writing group because it’s a group I used to attend but had to give up because the travel was too difficult. But this involves no travel and it’s a chance to air fears, hopes and dreams and to talk about writing. What was I thinking, u-turning away from that?

The final part of this week’s chapter is about Blasting Through Blocks and I am intrigued by the opening sentence: ‘In order to work freely on a project, an artist must be at least functionally free of resentment (anger) and resistance (fear).’ Five questions or tasks follow and I decide to work through them in the hope of restarting the blocked second novel:

1. List any resentments you have in connection with this project.

I resent the lack of enthusiasm others have shown for the story. I think it’s one of the best and most promising things I have written, but the reception thus far has been muted. I resent the fact that a magazine or competition hasn’t picked it up and more to the point I don’t understand. I am angry that I’m questioning my critical and creative faculties when I should simply move forward with a project I believe in.

2. Ask your artist to list any and all fears about the projected piece of work.

I fear it won’t be good enough (nothing new there). I fear I won’t have enough material to adapt the short story into a novel. I fear no one will be interested in reading it. I fear the research I will have to undertake for the historical parts of the project. I fear failing to complete it.

3. Ask yourself is that all?

I don’t think I’ve left anything out, except that I fear it might be a bloody stupid story. Oh, and the subject matter and style of writing might be self-indulgent.

4. Ask yourself what you stand to gain by not doing this piece of work?

Well, I can’t fail if I don’t do it. It can’t be rejected if it doesn’t exist. I can dwell on what might have been if I leave it as it is.

5. Make your deal.

Okay, will do. I make the following deal with myself: I won’t be concerned with quality; I will do the work and see what happens.

POST-SCRIPT: I have read another book! Kit de Waal’s The Trick to Time left me encouraged and inspired to write...Not that it should matter, but the quality of my morning pages has nose-dived. I feel as though I wake up with nothing to say, yet still manage to fill three pages with writing...I grasped the nettle and attended (Zoomed) the writers group. How wonderful to see old friends, hear new work and to discuss our shared travails and anxieties. Reconnecting is so refreshing...I pitched a non-fiction project to an agent and publisher: what’s the worst that can happen? Rejection? Pah!

Read about Week 10 here.