The Artist's Way of Hand-Holding

If you're an aspiring writer and wondering how to get started, there's no shortage of places to look. Julia Cameron's "The Artist's Way" has definitely helped me take myself seriously as an, ahem, artist. David Allen's "Getting Things Done" (which I always misremember as "Get to Done") has lots of good advice on managing workflow. Recently, a buncha screenwriting websites have been pointing readers to this list of fixes for writer's block, courtesy of Maggie.

But there's another condition that I only recently discovered. I'm used to procrastinating, I'm used to writer's block, I'm even used to all-consuming self-doubt. Yet until last week, I had never experienced what I like to called "my inner freaked out 12-year-old."

If you've ever known a 7th grader to spend an entire day constructing a diorama on the subject of photosynthesis or glaciers or Pablo Picasso, despite the fact that one's junior high GPA has little/no bearing on one's long term success in life, then you've probably witnessed the freaked out 12-year-old phenomenon.

Sometimes there are warning signs. Spending 30 minutes in Walgreens, unable to decide between the six pieces of posterboard available as a possible backdrop for the aforementioned project. A particularly intense posture--sitting on one's knees, forehead braced on your non-dominant hand, eyes boring into your work as you veeeery carefully print a caption underneath a printed out picture of an aloe plant/moraine/palomino. An exasperated note in your pre-adolescent voice as you tell your well-meaning parent to "go awaaaaaaay."

Certain preconditions can indicate an increased probability of freaked out 12-year-old. I did not have high powered, Harvard-educated lawyers for parents, but apparently some individuals of this stripe can drive even the most laid back 12-year-old into a frenzy inside of two hours.

I was not such a 12-year-old, for the simple fact that I was so convinced that I was a total genius, and as such, should not have to work hard to get good grades. Hahahahahaha! Yes, well, that's what I thought. And given that I was reading at a 12th grade level by age 9, it must be admitted that a lot of the time, I didn't have to work hard to get good grades. (As long as you don't count math as a subject. Or science. Or music.)

But even though I wasn't that kind of kid at age 12, it turns out, I very much am that kind of kid now. For weeks now, I've had this perpetual weight pressing me into the ground--I have so much to do, I have so little time, it has to be good, it's not good enough yet, how am I ever going to get this all done.

And the truth is, when you get to this place, all the morning pages and action lists in the world will not help you. It's not about procrastination or being blocked--it's about feeling like you have more work to do than you have breath in your body. Which, in fairness, you probably do. I think the leading cause of freaked out 12-year-olds isn't a lack of perspective, but unfortunately, an excess of perspective, an overwhelming awareness of exactly how much you have ahead of you.

It helps if I think of my workload as a plate full of Brussel sprouts. When they're well made, I love Brussel sprouts, and I love having eaten Brussel sprouts--nothing makes me feel more virtuous. But even so, a heaping plate of one food, any food, can be overwhelming.

1. Throw in some treats. My mother in law has a kick ass recipe that involves bacon and, I think, balsamic vinegar. So one way to keep moving forward is to throw some treats in there. Maybe a short nap, or a latte that, strictly speaking, you don't especially need.

2. Bite size pieces. My to do list at the start of this month had, like, four things on it: Thesis, Grey's spec, Hitchcock paper, pilot. By last week, I was so sick of staring at those same four items I could have screamed. So I turned it into a much longer list of smaller tasks.

3. Do the easy stuff first. Once in a while, I'll order Brussel sprouts and find that only the outside of each little sprout tastes good--the insides are bland and unpleasant to chew. So I start with the littlest sprouts, the ones that have the best surface-to-volume ratio, to build up my enthusiasm. This month of blog posts has served much the same purpose.

4. Cut corners. Okay, I'll eat the sprout, but I'll be damned if you can make me eat the stalk. So when I'm feeling overwhelmed, I trim off the particularly firm base of each sprout and hide it under a bread crust. Similarly, I've found that I can get through anything if I just flail away at it, with no thought of whether it's actually good. Good is for second and third drafts. With first drafts, I'll settle for done.

I'm sure there's other stuff I could try. For weeks now, I've refused to go to the movies, or hang out with friends, or generally socialize for more than 10 minutes, and in retrospect, that's probably been less than productive. But my spec has been mailed off, my Hitchcock paper is a thorough proof-read away from being done, my pilot is coming along and my thesis ... isn't due for two more weeks. Point being, my inner 12-year-old has come very, very, very close to freaking out, bursting into tears and locking herself in her room, but she hasn't done it. Bit by bit, sneaked viewing of "Prison Break" by piece of peppermint bark*, she's hung in there. And that's enough for me.

*I don't, as a rule, recommend sweets. When your head feels like a Cadillac Escalade, the last thing you need is a blood sugar crash.