If You Can't Join Them, Beat Them
There comes a point when even the most mild-mannered person reaches her limit; when the stresses of internal combustion collide within the growing storm of inspiration vs. obsession to create a veritable maelstrom of catastrophic proportions potentially causing complete psychic core meltdown.
And I am not a mild-mannered person.
The battle is keeping me up nights -- like last night, for instance -- where I cannot settle my mind to any one path or one storyline as the clamor for voices to be heard becomes nigh intolerable. During the day, I can usually drown this out with child-related activities that include, but are not limited to: dressing, brushing, cleaning, feeding, driving, entertaining, adoring, cajoling, condoning, tickling, admonishing, bustling, refereeing or otherwise improvising my role as SuperMom (or at least her stunt double). When the chaos settles and the sounds of the house whisper and creak, the creative demands I've shuffled to the back of my mind suddenly bull-rush my frontal lobe with the force of a RPG Death-Squad.
This hits me like a jolt of caffeine which, for the uninitiated, means that my fingernails must be pried out of the ceiling tiles with steel clamps. (Dawn + Artificial Stimulants = Badness.) I am jittery and jumpy, alternatively tired and buzzed, and no matter how many documents or notepads I have open before me, it's never enough and I'm always too slow. This makes for sloppy writing and, worse, erratic plots and characters (which are fun and funny in some contexts but often result in schizophrenic muses...or entire MG boys' books.*)
So...what do I do? Karate.
While Butt-In-Chair is great for determined writing, it's not so great for energized writing. If TV creates a sedentary lifestyle, than my beloved computer invites a sedentary career (unless you are like my friend who has decided that this shall be his constant companion throughout the remainder of his life, and thus could probably do all his busy work while going on a brisk walk around the earth...which might explain why I don't see him much, anymore). While I don't advocate succumbing to the dreaded AOOC disease, I find that shaking off the grogginess or settling the nerves is best done with a handy kick or sixty.
Karate allows me to be explosive or contemplative. I can use dynamic tension, breathing exercises or long-practiced patterns to sink into a reverie, or slam out basics or combinations as hard and as fast as I can. I can banish my pesky demons with anime-esque bouts of power or drown them slowly in vast pools of calm. (I'll admit to most often favoring the former over the latter; as I've said, I'm not a mild-mannered person.) Inspiration sings to me while I do routine things like wash the dishes, drive the car or take a shower, but even Marge will sit silently and watch while I use the martial arts to balance my writerly arts. I need this quiet in my personal storm.
I'm thankful that I have this very physical outlet -- not only for my health, but for my peace of mind. The brain is an organ just like any other in this complicated system of blood, lymph and bone, and in order to light the fire of creation, I need oxygen to burn.
* It's amazing what the mind comes up with on an almost zombie-like lack-of-sleep. It's true that I wrote my second MG novel in one month during the 4am feedings of my infant son. It's a slapstick comedy reminiscent of a cross between Lemony Snicket and Flubber with liberal use of collector card references and a hairless, puce-colored cat. Don't ask. It got me noticed, didn't it?
And I am not a mild-mannered person.
The battle is keeping me up nights -- like last night, for instance -- where I cannot settle my mind to any one path or one storyline as the clamor for voices to be heard becomes nigh intolerable. During the day, I can usually drown this out with child-related activities that include, but are not limited to: dressing, brushing, cleaning, feeding, driving, entertaining, adoring, cajoling, condoning, tickling, admonishing, bustling, refereeing or otherwise improvising my role as SuperMom (or at least her stunt double). When the chaos settles and the sounds of the house whisper and creak, the creative demands I've shuffled to the back of my mind suddenly bull-rush my frontal lobe with the force of a RPG Death-Squad.
This hits me like a jolt of caffeine which, for the uninitiated, means that my fingernails must be pried out of the ceiling tiles with steel clamps. (Dawn + Artificial Stimulants = Badness.) I am jittery and jumpy, alternatively tired and buzzed, and no matter how many documents or notepads I have open before me, it's never enough and I'm always too slow. This makes for sloppy writing and, worse, erratic plots and characters (which are fun and funny in some contexts but often result in schizophrenic muses...or entire MG boys' books.*)
So...what do I do? Karate.
While Butt-In-Chair is great for determined writing, it's not so great for energized writing. If TV creates a sedentary lifestyle, than my beloved computer invites a sedentary career (unless you are like my friend who has decided that this shall be his constant companion throughout the remainder of his life, and thus could probably do all his busy work while going on a brisk walk around the earth...which might explain why I don't see him much, anymore). While I don't advocate succumbing to the dreaded AOOC disease, I find that shaking off the grogginess or settling the nerves is best done with a handy kick or sixty.
Karate allows me to be explosive or contemplative. I can use dynamic tension, breathing exercises or long-practiced patterns to sink into a reverie, or slam out basics or combinations as hard and as fast as I can. I can banish my pesky demons with anime-esque bouts of power or drown them slowly in vast pools of calm. (I'll admit to most often favoring the former over the latter; as I've said, I'm not a mild-mannered person.) Inspiration sings to me while I do routine things like wash the dishes, drive the car or take a shower, but even Marge will sit silently and watch while I use the martial arts to balance my writerly arts. I need this quiet in my personal storm.
I'm thankful that I have this very physical outlet -- not only for my health, but for my peace of mind. The brain is an organ just like any other in this complicated system of blood, lymph and bone, and in order to light the fire of creation, I need oxygen to burn.
* It's amazing what the mind comes up with on an almost zombie-like lack-of-sleep. It's true that I wrote my second MG novel in one month during the 4am feedings of my infant son. It's a slapstick comedy reminiscent of a cross between Lemony Snicket and Flubber with liberal use of collector card references and a hairless, puce-colored cat. Don't ask. It got me noticed, didn't it?
