Nearly three months ago, I started getting up thirty to forty-five minutes earlier than absolutely necessary so I could spend time writing three notebook-pages of whatever came into my head. I know the act of writing helps focus my day. Sometimes it magnifies whatever cobwebby dream emotions lurk in the convolutions of my brain. Sometimes it allows me to centre and balance my thoughts. On occasion, I have even produced something like seedling stories or characters that may or may not resurface. It allows me to leave, without any judgement, whatever needs to be discarded for the day or reframe whatever I might need to hold on to.
But after three months of doing the same thing every morning, I was beginning to question the point. Really, why do I bother with it? I’m not sure I’m any better as a writer because of it. And really, what could go wrong if I changed things up a little? Is the time of day absolutely necessary? Couldn’t I change the activity to evening pages, which might clear my head of the days events and help me sleep better? Wouldn’t it be better if I got thirty more minutes of sleep in the morning?
Yesterday, I slept in. My alarm went off, the one snooze I am permitted went off… and then my husband’s alarm went off. Twenty minutes too late for me to get any writing done. So for only the second time in three months, I broke with my writing routine (the first time I was sick; it doesn’t really count). Through a slight modification of my travel arrangements, I decided to arrive at work thirty minutes early and race through my pages there. Technically, I did write three pages yesterday morning, but I still count it as missed. It didn’t help me wake up, I was listening to music to drown out the generic office noise, and I was constantly afraid of being interrupted. It was just putting words on three pages of a notebook for the sake of saying I had done it. As a result, I was upside-down and sideways all day. Occasionaly, murderous of thought. Irritable, growly, unpleasant company.
Through yesterday morning’s mishap, I discovered the answer to the question of whether thirty more minutes of morning sleep would be better for my day is “No, no, a thousand times no!” The act of writing in soft-focus morning wakes me up. The grogginess is gone by the time I step into the shower. My actions within my morning world are accompanied by a brain already racing with things I need to remember to do before I leave or things I need to say to my husband or things I need to take care of later. My brain becomes capable of reflecting on the world. Sometimes, it becomes primed for the rivers of inspiration that course around the stony people on the bus. It warms up my synapses and revs my nerve endings. If it does nothing else for my day, it wakes me up more subtly and more thoroughly than a cup of coffee.
This missed day, inconvenient but serendipitously-timed, has given me the insight I was looking for about what would happen if I changed things up a little: I would have a bad day. Perhaps minor in the chaos of the universe, but major when your job is to interact pleasantly and professionally with other people. It’s reason enough to make me feel renewed purpose in this activity and to confirm my routine. I am still trying to figure out if there is a deeper literary purpose to the morning pages exercise, but I suspect it might be a simple aquistion of discipline. That, again, is likely enough reason to continue.
Even with the new sense of purpose that accompanied my revelation, I can’t say I bounded out of bed this morning to write my three pages. I shuffled on my slippers, wrapped myself in a plaid flannel robe against the chill of morning, and smiled within the 40-watt glow of my cozy little den. This tryst with pen and paper has become (with only slight exaggeration) vital to me. It gives me exploration space and breathing room that I don’t often give myself in other areas of my life. And Heaven help me, my whole life, I will continue to be madly in love with the feel of a good pen on good paper and to find inexplicable joy in forming words with the fine motor control in my hand, wrist, arm.
Sans keyboard? That is dedication. I’m impressed.
I have actually been contemplating waking up earlier to write…but as it stands, I already wake up at 6am….
8r4d – The keyboard lends itself to a different kind of writing, and besides that, the delete key is just too handy on a keyboard. Writing on paper forces a stream-of-consciousness flow and makes re-writes too cumbersome to be an option.
Vesper – Given your statement, I almost hate to admit that I get up at 5:15 a.m. (weekdays only) to write. There is an element of insanity to getting up that early, but for me, it’s important insanity.
i have been reading your blog for a long time. this entry is interested. my partner wakes up, makes coffee and for one hour straight reads two newspapers. every day. he tells me if he doesn’t it ruins his day. some people exercise. i walk the dog. and if it doesn’t happen, i am upside down all day. so it is the routine, or the catharsis? do you empty your head of thoughts that will cloud your thinking all day. does my partner fill his head with news to sharpen his thinking for the day? do i daydream walking the dog and send myself on my own day? i too write in a notebook. i love pen and paper and g*d knows i love a new notebook. your writing is lovely.