Fallow Fields: Embracing Creative Downtime (and Some Books to Cultivate Curiosity)
By Hollyanna McCollom
Years ago, I wrote a lengthy blog post about a fallow period in my writing career. In it, I compared those transitory periods (waiting for inspiration, waiting for assignments, overcoming writer’s block) to trying to breathe underwater while scuba diving. Some people can easily adjust to the feel of breathing through a regulator while others repeatedly surface, gasping for air, having intentionally or inadvertently chosen to hold their breath rather than trust the apparatus meant to supply them with oxygen. And why not? It feels strange. Regulators are designed to make breathing underwater feel natural and comfortable, but for many—especially if you are accustomed to breathing through your nose—it feels like learning to breathe all over again. Back then, I viewed the downtime as a departure from my real self. It made me feel fluttery and disconnected. To combat it, I would force myself to write, but when I dove in, the work came out in gasping, panicky breaths.
The subject of creative downtime is a sticky one. After all, there are countless books and blog posts out there aimed at combating writer’s block. Poets, novelists, and memoirists alike offer the advice “just keep writing” when asked about their success. Author David Mitchell (who has written 9 novels including Cloud Atlas and The Bone Clocks) famously said, “Write something every single day, even if it’s just three lines. And it doesn’t matter if it’s any good—just write something every day.” There’s a lot to be said for that approach. For one, it compels you to keep working despite your doubts. You’re not failing, you are just the writer equivalent of Dory from Finding Nemo with a melodic mantra to “Just keep swimming.” This approach also allows you to not get too precious about what you are creating. If it’s crap, so be it. You are just getting it down.
On the other hand, fully embracing a break has its merits too. When you are between projects, it can feel aimless; and while most of us understand that creative downtime can be rejuvenating, it’s hard to keep the alligators from creeping into your brain. If you can quiet them, however, that downtime can help you stay sane and open your mind to new possibilities and ideas.
In farming, a fallow period has several benefits—not the least of which is allowing the soil to rest and rejuvenate itself. Fallow periods also help control the pests and break disease cycles so the ground can regain its natural productivity. Fallowing the soil also increases its levels of carbon, nitrogen, and organic matter, thus improving the soil’s moisture holding capacity and raising the level of beneficial microorganisms that live and thrive in it. All of this means healthier, happier soil that is ripe for planting and cultivating greater crops in the future. Do you see what I’m getting at here?
I am rethinking my theory that those moments when I am not writing are harmful to me or departures from my true self. My mind—much like a field or garden left to fallow— can use those rest periods to kick out the alligators and other critters that nibble at my confidence. If I use those moments to read, to learn new things, to look at art, or simply marvel at a pile of decaying leaves on a hiking trail, maybe I can increase the level of productive nutrients in my brain so that—when I do start writing again—I’ll be refreshed and ready.
Truth be told, I was already reading and consuming art in those moments, but my jerk brain at the time told me that I was doing so because I had given up (or worse, was looking for outside inspiration because I was—as I often suspected—an uninspired, pedestrian writer).
The goal here is to make my “on time” more productive and efficient because, in this industry, you are only as good as you are willing to allow yourself to be. When you do show up to write, you must believe in yourself (or at least trick yourself into believing that you can complete the small steps). The “just keep writing” advice works because there’s a huge difference between, “I’m not certain I can do this justice” and “I’m just going to finish this paragraph and see how it goes.” I want more than that though. I want to show up for that work with fertile soil.
To that end, I’m revisiting some of my old tricks for sparking wonder and inspiration—this time with a more mindful approach that is focused on cultivating curiosity instead of just pushing through writer’s block. One of my favorite ways to do this is to sink into some of those aforementioned books on writing. Here are a few of my favorites:
Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott: This book makes all of the listicles for the best books on writing and for good reason. The book is part memoir, part advice book. It’s popular in part because of Lamott’s willingness to unearth the dark, angry, spiteful feelings that erupt for all of us from time to time. As a writer, it’s reassuring sometimes to hear that your struggles are real and shared.
Favorite takeaway: One-inch picture frames. All I need to do when I sit down to write is write what I can see through a one-inch picture frame. I am not there to tell the whole story, I am just writing down one moment, one scene, one snippet of dialogue. No matter how far you have to go in your writing, you can make the whole trip by just focusing on what is in front of you.
Poemcrazy by Susan Wooldridge: Wooldridge is a writing workshop leader who shares a compilation of her favorite prompts and ideas. It’s like a casual textbook on creating free verse. I like Wooldridge’s approach to writing because it’s all about words and sounds. I discovered this book about 20 years ago and it gave me the freedom to chuck my ideas about structure and really start playing around.
Favorite takeaway: Create a wordpool. Using a notebook, scraps of paper, or whatever else suits you, start collecting words you enjoy. Don’t worry about meaning. Just collect them as you would pretty or interesting shells from the beach. Push them together and scramble them occasionally to see what rhythms and poems fall out.
Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg: Goldberg’s book is a best-selling handbook that brings together Zen meditation and writing. It advocates for unfettering the process instead of applying more rules.
Favorite takeaway(s): Embrace your “first thoughts”. This, like meditation and mindfulness, is all about turning off your internal self-editor. Don’t judge or toss things about before they have been given a chance. Just get it all down, errors and all. The second takeaway is to allow your experiences to “compost” before writing about them. She says, “Our bodies are garbage heaps: we collect experience, and from the decomposition of the thrown-out eggshells, spinach leaves, coffee grinds, and old steak bones of our minds come nitrogen, heat, and very fertile soil. It takes time. Continue to turn over and over the organic details of your life until some of them fall through the garbage of discursive thoughts to the solid ground of black soil.”
