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Butt in chair, butt on the couch |
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Written by Elizabeth Genco
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Tuesday, 26 July 2005 |
"Butt in chair" is writing's crucial strategy. Nonetheless, "butt on the couch" has its place. Here's why.
Jane Yolen, whose work I love, has been called "America's Hans Christian Anderson" and "the grand dame of children's publishing." With approximately 270 books to her credit, she knows a thing or two about telling stories and getting them out into the world. You can find her best piece of advice to aspiring writers on her frequently asked questions page:
Do you have a secret that makes you so productive?
Want to know my secret? BIC.
That's right. BIC. Butt in chair. There is no other single thing that will help you more to become a writer.
"Butt in chair" is self-explanatory. Indeed, you've probably heard the cacophony of voices out there in comics land harping on "shut up and Do It", which is just "butt in chair" with perhaps a little snorting and chest thumping thrown in. There's a problem here that the chest thumpers don't talk about, however. If you dare bring it up, you might be chided for whining. A misguided response, in my not-so-humble-opinion, because the problem is real.
What happens if you don't have anything to say?
Jane Yolen and the chest thumpers are right, of course. In the end (pardon the pun), applying the seat of one's pants to the seat of one's chair is the only thing that will give you a finished piece of writing. Finishing is what separates the professionals from the amateurs. Nonetheless, I've found that often a conflict exists between laying words down on a page and getting myself in a position where I'm able to lay words down on a page. I'm not talking about writer's block (at least, not exactly).
A few months ago, I had the great pleasure of attending a brief workshop with fantasy writer Jeffrey Ford. He talked extensively about the importance of time. As a writer, time is what you need most. Loads of time. Chief among the activities that you'll need to make time for is daydreaming. Stretching out on the couch to think is a part of Jeff's day. Sometimes, his wife complains. Response: "Hey baby, I'm working!"
I call that "butt on the couch". Like it or not, for many of us it's part of the process, as well.
Personally, I feel a lot better when I'm Writing Something. Writing Something makes me feel all cuddly, as if it was equal to actually Getting Something Written. But "cuddly" can be a dangerous feeling.
"Butt on the couch" is about gestation, and what I refer to as "figuring shit out". It's its own kind of work, and it's often much harder than the actual writing. Yet it can lead you to believe that you're doing nothing, especially when you're at it while on the couch, or toiling away at some mundane task. While they say that the best way to catch the attention of one's muse is during the act of creation, she comes around our apartment a hell of a lot more when my left brain is occupied with things like piling Feria in my hair or doing the dishes. Go figure.
(It goes without saying that I'm not talking about procrastination, here. If you're honest with yourself, you'll know the difference.)
Then there's the activities that fall into a third category. I'm talking about all that stuff that feels like "butt in the chair" because they usually take place while one's butt is in the chair. You know what they are. The character designs. The note-taking. The planning, the outlining, the endless "research". These, too, can lead to one feeling quite cuddly; they need doing, after all.
But.
None of that is writing. "Cuddly" can be dangerous. At the end of the day, none of that will count for much unless you produce a finished story after your butt has been in the chair a while.
You need to have something to say in order to lay words down. At the same time, you need to be laying words down even when you have nothing to say. If there's one thing that I know for sure, it's that you need to do both. You must do both. On a regular basis. Like, every day.
How does one make room for gestating and writing?
For me, "butt in chair" doesn't always mean working on a project. Sometimes my writing is just practice, noodling in the notebook, conjuring things that I know that nobody will ever see. Trying on images, making shit up about folks on the subway, running through a litany of exercises, whatever. Before you dismiss this as a total waste of time, let me remind you that in every other field on the planet, there is practice. Artists have sketchbooks, basketball players dribble the ball around the court, and opera singers spend hours making those "mi mi mi" noises, all in the name of busting their chops.
Obviously, if you're spending all of your time writing stuff that nobody will ever see, you might want to ask yourself a few questions. But I am of the view that just short of all writing, regardless of what it is, will help you become a better writer. And, wouldn't you know, some of the coolest ideas come out of noodling. Even better, the more time one spends with one's butt in the chair, even if it's just to noodle, the easier ideas will come.
For me, "butt on the couch" doesn't excuse me from "butt in the chair". If I'm not working on a project, I'm doing layups. And I get better.
If you find that practicing for the sake of practicing means you're not really getting on with it, there's the beauty of juggling several projects at the same time. That way, you can let simmer those that aren’t yet at the boiling point, and write those that are ready to come off the back burner. Then you can return projects to the back burner for more simmering when you're stuck (where your subconscious will continue to chip away at the sticky bits 'til they're loose).
The danger of juggling, of course, is spreading yourself so thin that you never actually finish anything. I know from this danger, believe me -- I've learned over time that the difference between nothing and critical mass for me is a woefully small number of active projects. Juggling is almost not worth it for me, truthfully. But some folks swear by it, and it might work for you.
Get creative about your gestating time. A boring day job doubles as the perfect opportunity for gnawing on stories. As I mentioned before, my muse tends to hang around when my left brain is otherwise busy doing something else; in my case, a boring day job would be perfect. Alas, my day job seldom allows me to just veg out, so I have to carve or snatch time from elsewhere. Over the past year or so, I've actively trained my mind to be gestating constantly, even when I'm stuff that's markedly not busywork. My brainspace would be taken up by everything but stories if I wasn't so aggressive about setting some of it aside. Straight up: it sucks. I'm not well-suited to changing gears every five minutes. But there's no getting around it.
The morning commute is a perfect spot for gestating. Walking might be the best gestating/productive thinking activity ever. Just be sure to take a notebook with you, or some sort of voice recording device if you drive to work (running over someone can really harsh a creative mellow).
Lastly, consider gestating with a pen in your hand. Especially when you’re really stuck. I guess that hearkens back to noodling.
The muse does drop by when one is working, after all.
Elizabeth Genco writes, gestates and noodles in Brooklyn, New York. Though she occasionally writes an award-winning zine about her experiences as a street musician, these days she focuses almost entirely on writing comics, with a little new age freelance thrown in. Her comics can be found in STYX TAXI: A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC and this year's SMUT PEDDLER from Saucy Goose Press.
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