Slow and fast

A short post about running and writing

Slow

Sometimes when I’m running, and I’m not feeling it, and I kind of want to stop, I offer myself an alternative: run as slow as humanly possible. I slow down (I don’t know what humanly possible is), and this helps me catch my breath, but mostly it takes the pressure off. Pretty soon I’m back running at my normal pace (which is slow).

I find a similar approach helps with writing. If things aren’t going well (the process feels labored, life keeps interrupting), and I want to give up, I lower the stakes: just focus on this one sentence. Just aim for five minutes today. Sometimes that’s all I do, but sometimes I get some momentum and do more. Either way, keeping my practice going, even if only a little bit at a time, keeps my morale up, so I’m less likely to completely quit.

Fast

Other times when I’m stalled in my writing, I find it helps to go fast. As fast as I can.

Let’s say I’m at a loss with a metaphor or what happens next in a story. I put mental blinders on and write as many potential solutions as quickly as I can. Almost all of them are terrible, but usually I find one good one in the mix and that is my unlock. I thought I invented this technique when I worked as a copywriter and had to churn out taglines, but it turns out writers like Elizabeth McCracken do it too:

If you suffer from a block of any kind—if, for instance, you can’t even think of a title, never mind a good one, never mind the right one, it helps to generate as many as you can. Some will be laughable, and the laughable ones will lead to something interesting. Event can work this way, too: write at the top of a page, What can happen next? and then a list. Your first answers may involve extraterrestrials in a piece of fiction that previously has been entirely earthbound, but eventually you will write something plausible for the work, meaningful. I still do this; it works for me.

How do I go fast when running? (Do I go fast when running?) I listen to music. A beat provides mental blinders. I may actually start to think, aw yeah, I’m fast. And then, who knows, maybe I do go a little bit faster. It helps that I don’t track my pace.

Stopped and restarted

Sometimes when running, I try music, and I try going as slow as humanly possible, and I still want to stop. So I do. I used to think stopping was weak, keeping going was strong. Now I think that what’s strong is starting again after stopping. So when I stop, my thing (I won’t call it a rule) is to eventually get going again. Then I can think, aw yeah, I’m strong.

I never think Aw, yeah anything when I’m writing (I’m not that weird), but the same principle applies: whether I’ve been away from my desk a few days or a few months, starting again is what counts.