Yet that protective barrier also hides the treasures that we labor to pour out onto the page. It doesn’t make sense that we cannot penetrate that barrier at will. So many other things we do, such as guiding our children to be good, seem to flow right out of the pipe. So it is not surprising that when we face a blockage to writing day after day, we turn away from our own futility. We can tackle some other task that we might even be able to accomplish before the end of time.
An author might be likened to a small mill set up on a large river. We are posed to capture its great flow of possibilities, if only we could corral that current to spin in our wheel and grind our corn into perfect sentences. What happens most of the time, however, is that we are too timid to face the onslaught. We understand the mechanism, because the gears make logical sense. The problem is, our natural tendency for self-protection keeps us inside our tawdry little house as the majestic river sweeps past.
You have to devise a logical plan to tap the flow. The only way to make the great wheel spin is to expose yourself to the river’s current. When the wheel creaks from the load, oil the gears to make it run more smoothly. As that happens, you become more proficient at understanding the ebbs and flows of your subconscious.
You cannot always expect to perform on demand. One morning you wake up feeling great—but your natural barrier is firm and your efforts at penetration result in a trickle. The next morning you feel like crap—but the writing flows out effortlessly. The important point is, you are a conscientious miller. You keep to the task, day in and day out. And pretty soon the world that you can break into sensible little pieces becomes less attractive than the castles you create in your free-flowing mind.
“Inspiration is wonderful when it happens, but the writer must develop an approach for the rest of the time.”
Copyright @ 2016, John Paine