I just got access to some footage of a workshop I did for the UCLArts and Healing Conference 2011. The workshop is Writing from the Senses: Quieting the Inner Critic, where I use movement and somatic awareness to help people access a deeper current from which to draw in their writing. It was an amazing workshop with incredible students. Click here to see the video. (It may take a while to load.)
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Go on a Writing Retreat to Kick Your Writing into High Gear
Late July 2012: Nomi heads for the hills to write (near Mariposa, California).
Can you spot my writing companion? (Thank you, Barbara, for hosting my retreat!)
Are piles of paperwork, screaming kids, and day-to-day responsibilities keeping you from your writing? One thing that has always helped me get back on track with a project is to get out of town.
Before I wrote on the computer, I loved going camping to write. (Yes, I used to write my first draft longhand!) One time, when I was having difficulty with a particular chapter, I went to Palomar Mountain (San Diego County). I set up my tent and made myself a promise that I wouldn’t leave the mountain until I had finished the chapter. I didn’t care how long it took. I ended up staying a full week but I headed down the mountain with a finished chapter tucked under my arm.
If cost is a concern (and you’re not the camping type), think about whether you have a friend in the boonies with a guest cottage or perhaps you know someone who needs a house sitter. Another possibility is a retreat center; some spiritual retreat centers are quite affordable.
It’s important that you go somewhere where there’s not a lot of cultural diversion (i.e., New York City is probably not the most conducive to a focused retreat). If there’s a choice of a room with no T.V., go for it and dive into your written world.
If you’ve done a writing retreat, please comment and tell us about it!
Distracted? Write in Bed.
“First I have to feed the cat,” I said when my mentor told me to write first thing when I got up in the morning.
“OK, so feed the cat. Then write,” she told me.
“But once I go downstairs to feed the cat, I get distracted.” (There were a myriad diversions downstairs—email, roommate, watering the garden, scrubbing the grout in the kitchen tiles.) This was a few years back and I was following a program of writing 30 minutes a day . . . period. (See my post “The Timer Is Your Friend.”)
The next thing my mentor said delighted me as much as it surprised me.
“Write in bed,” she said.
I loved getting advice from another writer. No one but a writer could come up with something so entirely decadent. Truth is, it was equal parts decadent and logical. You’re distracted once you get up + you have a laptop = write in bed. Of course!
So, for the next few months when I went upstairs at bedtime I took with me my laptop and a snack for the next morning to tide me over till breakfast. (My darling cat, Treepuck, would have to wait 30 minutes for his breakfast, till I finished my writing.)
When I woke each morning, I would reach for my laptop without setting foot on the floor. I did this daily and made my way through a couple of chapters tucked cozily beneath my comforter.
Unexpectedly, over the ensuing months I eased my way from the bed to the floor and eventually down the stairs to my living room office, all without ever being distracted.
So if you find yourself distracted in the morning . . . take your writing to bed.
An Editor Tries to Text
“Send me a text.”
Those words send a shudder through my body. Not because I think texting creates two-dimensional human beings (though I am concerned about the next generation’s ability to connect face to face) and not because the posture assumed by a texter is harrowing for the neck (again, I worry about the cervical vertebrae of today’s young people), but because I’m an editor.
I know some people find texting to be a convenient and, as needed, surreptitious shortcut to communication. But when I text—and I try to make it a very rare event, indeed—there is nothing convenient, surreptitious, nor shortcut-ish about it. I’m simply incapable of the very conventions that make texting speedy. I cannot, for the life of me, forgo capital letters at the beginnings of sentences and proper nouns. Nor am I able to leave out a called-for comma. And periods? Forget it. I will not write a sentence that has no period at the end. How will anyone ever know I’ve ended my thought?
To make matters worse, I don’t have a smart phone. Yes, you read that sentence correctly, and it did have a period at the end. It’s true; I do not have a smart phone. I have a dumb phone. And I like my dumb phone (which used to be considered very smart, running on satellite towers and all). Thus I do not have a smart keyboard on my phone. I have a dumb keyboard (which used to be considered quite clever, one key pad being able to handle both numbers and letters; brilliant!). But texting on this dumb key pad . . . Not fun. Some of you may not even remember how that’s done, all you smart phone owners. You press the 4 three times to get an “I,” the 7 four times to get an “s,” the 3 two times to get an “e” . . . You get the picture. An editor standing head lowered (neck bent in an achingly awkward position) for a full fifteen minutes right in the middle of a busy supermarket, inserting all the periods from “special mode,” to let my friend know I’m running late.
A phone call would have been faster. (I don’t mind dropping capital letters when I speak.)
[See my follow-up post, “An Editor Gets a Smart Phone“]
The Awe of the Writing Teacher
I just returned home from teaching a class (Writing from the Senses: Quieting the Inner Critic). A first night of a new series. And again I find myself in awe. A roomful of (mostly) new people—new to me, new to each other—and everyone dove in with such honesty and vulnerability . . . and so much wisdom.
Every time I teach I lay before my students an invitation. Come ride this wave with me! Dive in and see what you find! And each and every time I am honored, and astounded, to have my invitation accepted. Wow, they’re really gonna do this! They’re going to dive into the depths and return to the surface with such treasures.
I am so blessed to get to witness this process. And so grateful to those willing to engage in it.
Union Maid: The Spirit of Hindi Brooks
When I was a child my mother, Hindi Brooks Kleinmuntz, used to get up and sing “Union Maid” at parties. Her lifelong friend Esther (“Essie”) Broner sometimes accompanied her, and the two would belt out this pro-labor folk song luminous-faced and full of spunk. . . . I was only a little embarrassed.
Years later, my mom wrote a musical about a woman union organizer set in the early 1900s. The finale of the show was, of course, “Union Maid.”
In early December 2011, as my mother lay in a hospital bed, robbed of speech by a massive stroke, I realized I should be singing to her. (The doctors had told us she probably understood only 30 – 40% of what we said to her. Yet the part of the brain responsible for music was on the opposite, unaffected side.) But what to sing? I’d spent much of my life phobic about singing in public, and although I’ve now largely shed this phobia, it had hindered my learning of lyrics. (If you don’t sing songs, you don’t learn the words!)
It didn’t take long for the answer to come. Union Maid, of course! I would sing Union Maid. But I only knew the first line: “There once was a union maid, she never was afraid.” It was a good start. I knew my mom was terrified; I could see it in her face. This song was perfect; it was about a fearless woman. I sang this line to her a couple of times, and with her good hand she kept time to the music. Halleluiah! The song touched just the spot in her spirit that needed touching.
About an hour later, my mother pointed to my mouth. “What?” I said. Not a good question to ask someone who’s just been robbed of speech. But she found my hand and tapped rhythmically into my palm. “The song?” I said. “You want me to sing again?” She nodded.
This was the time for action and the internet. But I had no access at the hospital. One call to my resourceful friend Craig, and we were on our way. (Craig found and faxed the full lyrics to the nurses’ station, identified the writer as Woody Guthrie, and played an internet recording into my voice mail so I’d have the melody right.) Now each time my mom indicated that she wanted to hear the song, I was able to sing the full song to her . . . twice. She always wanted to hear it twice.
Nine days later, my beautiful Union Maid mom passed away (to join the great Union). But I wasn’t done singing. I knew I needed to sing the song one more time . . . at her funeral. “Union Maid” had helped my mom because it embodies the essence of who she is (I’m claiming my right to present tense for a while longer). She recognized the fearless union maid as a reflection of who she, Hindi, is in her core. That was the place it touched in her spirit.
Perhaps some of you will see yourself (your core self) reflected in this song. (Oh, and by the way, everyone at the memorial service sang along with me!)
Union Maid
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie
There once was a union maid, she never was afraid
Of goons and ginks and company finks and the deputy sheriffs who made the raid.
She went to the union hall when a meeting it was called,
And when the Legion boys come ’round
She always stood her ground.
Oh, you can’t scare me, I’m sticking to the union,
I’m sticking to the union, I’m sticking to the union.
Oh, you can’t scare me, I’m sticking to the union,
I’m sticking to the union ’til the day I die.
(To read full song lyrics click here.)
Hindi Brooks, a Great Writer, Passes from Our Midst
It is with great sadness that I deliver this news. My mother passed away on Friday afternoon, December 16, nine days after a massive stroke. My dad and I were with her throughout those final days. My brother got to visit her from New York while she was still conscious and he is back with us now.
Hindi Brooks (Kleinmuntz) was the most prolific writer I have ever personally known. (She currently has two plays running in Europe.) She was an early feminist, breaking ground for many women who followed, especially women television writers. She was an incredible role model for me. We grew closer and closer through the years, relating not only as mother and daughter, but as as dear friends and as writers who had tremendous respect for each other.
She and my dad were married 60 years, in love the entire time, true soul mates.
Services were held December 19, at Mount Sinai Memorial Park, Hollywood Hills.
Do You Have to Write a Book Proposal?
Many new writers are daunted by the prospect of writing a book proposal. And not without reason. A good proposal requires a substantial amount of work. But if you do it right, you’ve also done some of the hard work of writing the book itself. You’ll end up with a solid, detailed outline, a polished chapter or two, and a clear sense of what your book will look and feel like, as well as who your audience is. You’ll even have an idea of what you need to do to sell your book.
Sell your book? Won’t the publisher do that? Yes and no. Even if you do get a publisher, rather than publishing your book on your own, you will need to do a lot of the promotion. And much of that promotion will begin long before your book is published. In fact, the promotion should begin even before you approach an agent; this early “promotion” is called building a platform.
Are there ways around writing a book proposal? Well, first of all, book proposals are primarily for nonfiction (though many agents are now requesting query letters, which are a sort of mini-proposal, for fiction as well). The only way around writing a proposal for a nonfiction book is to independently publish, which is now a viable and respectable alternative (but is itself a lot of work, since you’ll be the sole promoter).
To find out more about writing a proposal, including what kinds of information you need to include, check out this article by my colleague Christina Blackett Schlank.
The Unplugged Writer: Take a Writing Retreat Day
When life was simpler—before smart phones and Facebook—writers retreated easily from the world to pen their works. Virginia Woolf didn’t have to remember to silence her Beyoncé ringtone or do her daily blog post in order to build her platform. She simply retreated, and wrote. (She did, of course, have to procure a room of her own . . . but that’s for another post.)
I’m not saying that nineteenth- and early twentieth-century writers didn’t need discipline to get themselves to write. Even these early writers could find a tempting distraction. (Think opium and Henry Miller’s frolicking between the sheets.) But today’s writers have all that and more, the biggest distraction being one click away—the Internet.
A number of years ago, wanting to flee the distractions of the modern world, I tried to find a suitable hideaway for a writing retreat. (I’d done this a few times, and my writing output had been phenomenal.) But the reality of my limited finances at the time kept hitting me in the face. I could not find a hotel or retreat center within my price range, and, it being November, it was too cold to go camping (writing while shivering makes for illegible penmanship). So I asked myself: “What is it about going away that makes my writing so productive?” The answer was this: No one knows where I am. (This was pre-cell phone—at least for me—and pre-Internet-connection away from home.) Simply put: When I went away to write, I was unplugged.
So, I thought, what do I have to do to be unplugged at home?
The following day, I set about answering that question. I bought groceries enough to last me through my retreat (so I didn’t have to talk to people at the store or be bothered with the “chore” of shopping). I changed my outgoing message to let people know I was on writing retreat. (I didn’t mention it was a staycation. Let them think I was out of town!) I unplugged my Internet connection and my television. And I decided that my only obligation each day of my retreat was to write for four hours. Nothing else was mandatory. Think of it . . . I had only four hours out of each 24 where I was obligated to do anything. Thus, my writing retreat was not only productive in terms of literary output but it was also restful, and fun. I took long walks, made paintings and collages, stared out the window, essentially did whatever I was moved to do (outside of my four hours of writing). And because my mind was so free of outside distractions, the ideas that were seeded during my writing hours continued to germinate during my nonwriting hours. (I always took a small notepad and pen on my walks and almost always needed to use them.)
My stay-at-home writing retreat was so wonderful and so productive that I adopted a once-weekly writing retreat day, a tradition I followed for about a year. Every Wednesday evening, I changed my outgoing voicemail to say I would return calls on Friday morning. My extreme discipline with unplugging each and every Thursday delivered extreme productivity, and extreme luxury. I craved the benefits of these retreat days so much that the discipline was not at all challenging. In fact, it didn’t even feel like discipline; it felt downright indulgent.
So, why do I no longer have Unplugged Thursdays in my life? I suppose I feel the weight of more responsibility these days—more editing and writing and coaching to do, more emails to answer, more blogging and posting. . . . I just feel unpluggable. But I have a hunch that this “unpluggability” is, on some level, an illusion. I mean, what would really happen if I didn’t answer the phone or go online for one day? Would the world stop because I haven’t logged in?
I do realize that people who have children or jobs where others’ lives are at stake (e.g., ER doctors or psychiatrists) are not necessarily in the position to unplug for a full day, but even they could arrange to unplug for a morning, or for an hour.
So, my invitation to you is to Just Say No to cyberspace . . . just for the day. Tell your Facebook friends that you have very important business to tend to . . . and then shut down your Internet. Commit to a certain amount of time at your computer or notepad, but be sure to have down time surrounding your writing time. (Muses love down time.) Ask your spouse or roommate to support your need to retreat. Don’t answer your phone. Don’t send any texts. Don’t turn on the television. Let the silence envelope you . . . and see what happens. Then please tell us all about it!
I will surely be joining you soon in the land of the Unplugged.
Quieting Your Inner Critic
Check out my article, Quieting Your Inner Critic, just published on the L.A. Editors and Writers Group web site.
Nomi Isak, Writing Coach 