“When you’re writing, a kind of instinct comes into play… It’s a matter of deciphering something already there, something you’ve already done in the sleep of your life, in its organic rumination, unbeknown to you.”
Have you ever had the feeling that the story you’re writing is already there?
When I read the above passage by Marguerite Duras (from her wonderful book of very short essays, Practicalities), it struck a chord. Sometimes when I’m involved in everyday activities – like going for a walk, taking a shower or doing the dishes – pieces of a story take form in my mind, as though they’re already written.
The late, great screenwriter and film director, Anthony Minghella, had a similar experience when he was writing the screenplay for the film, “The English Patient.” He had the sense that the finished script already existed in his desk drawer. When he sat down to write, sometimes the drawer would open a little, sometimes a lot – though he never lost faith in the process. As he put it, “I’ve stopped unraveling every time I’m unable to write. I wait. The drawer opens. Waiting is part of writing.”
When I get blocked or stalled, I often find it helpful to lean back instead of forward. I show up at my desk at the appointed time and invite the story to reveal itself on its own terms, in its own time.
Are you game? Willing to give it a try?
Go to your writing place and sit quietly. Feel the weight of your body in the chair. Listen to the sounds in the room. After a few minutes, imagine your story is already there. Quietly, extend an invitation. Then pick up your pen, or turn on the computer, and receive it: word by word, sentence by sentence. Let yourself be surprised.