On Writing

When I was a kid, I could do things for hours.  I could get lost in a book or a painting. Okasan or Otosan would always have to call us in from the yard when it was time to quit playing.  Usually more than once.  But as I got older, it seems like my attention span has shrunk.  Or I have lost that childhood ability to let the rest of the world melt away.

I have noticed this the most in my writing.  Even in high school, I could spend hours writing.  I would forget to eat sometimes and just keep writing.  Now, even if I start out this way, lost in my words and the story running through my head, the flow only lasts an hour at best, but usually just a few minutes.  Then I stop, distracted by something around me or within me.  A bill I forgot to pay or a stray thought about something I need to do that completely derails my train of thought.  I try to get back on track – sometimes I can – but more often I can’t.  I reread what I have written and my internal editor takes over, pushing the childlike artist to the side while she critiques and criticizes.  The thrill and happiness of creation are now gone.  Replaced with self-deprecation and doubt.

Worse yet are the stories and journals I don’t even start.  Those pieces I put off tomorrow and tomorrow until it is a year later and the magic of the experience, the details and emotions, have faded away.

In some ways being in Japan has helped me get back to writing, but in many ways it has made me realize what a difficult path I have before me.  To really write, I will need to unlearn everything it seems.  I will need to forget the steps of the hero’s journey. Avoid plotting and forward thinking. Lock away the red pen wielding grammar maven inside my head.  I will need to regress to childhood, when I could get lost in the clouds of my own imagination for hours on end.  The ideas are there, but I need to relax and let them escape – a creative bleeding of the mind onto paper without interruption from the adult world.