Duct Tape and WD-40

 
The old joke is that these two items are all you need to fix anything...
If it moves and you don’t want it to, use duct tape.
If it doesn’t move and you want it to, use WD-40.
 
I look at “Writing & Running” as the “Duct Tape & WD-40” of creative work: The answer to almost any creative dilemma can usually be summed up as either Write! or Run!
 
At least, as long as we understand the metaphorical meaning of these terms as they relate to any art form…
 
Writing = Capturing an idea and fixing it in time and space by doing creative, authorial work in our chosen field. Other examples of “writing” might include: painting, playwriting, sculpting, screen writing, songwriting, etc.*
 
Running = Unsticking our creative processes by doing a repetitive, relaxing, typically non-thinking activity. Other examples: Hiking, cycling, washing the dishes, mowing the lawn, walking the dog, showering, driving, etc.*
 
[*Please note that none of these is prescriptive. Someone’s “writing” could just as easily be designing a house or creating a lesson plan for an upcoming class. And their “running” could well be shooting hoops, or maybe puttering in the yard. Or any other version of the “creation” mindset and the “recreation” mindset.]
 
In an ideal world we would have adequate amounts of time for both, as they tend to feed into each other: Doing work can make us feel like we deserve some play, and playing can help us generate creative ideas for our work. Although I don’t think of them as “work” and “play.” I tend to view them as simply two different methods of thinking—one more conscious than the other—but equally valuable, and usually synergistic.
 
So…

• Stuck while writing? (Not “next sentence” stuck, but “next chapter” stuck.) Weeding the garden might help you grow some ideas.

 

• Have an upcoming presentation? A long walk may be just the ticket to coming up with innovative ways to frame your message. (Bonus points if it’s in a secluded area where talking to yourself wouldn’t make people look at you funny.)

 

• Need to do some serious “big picture” plotting? A solo distance run just might shake some ideas loose. (My trail-running friends will shudder at this, but I once did 20 miles on a track and came away with some of my best plot ideas ever. No distractions from traffic or terrain!)

 

• Not sure which project to tackle next? Climb into the shower and mull it over. There’s just something about water running down your body that seems to bring clarity to your thinking.

 
And on the flip side…

• You sent something new out into the universe and you’re a little (or a lot) anxious about it? Open up a Word doc—or your water colors or your drafting software or your piano—and get to work on something new. This’ll distract you from waiting for a response… and give you a Plan B if Plan A doesn’t come to fruition right away.

 

• You really want the feeling of having a completed novel under your belt? Great. Thinking about it while you’re hiking or biking is a good start, but—after all the planning and pondering—the only way it’s actually going to become a reality is by sitting down and doing the work. (Or, as the wonderful author Mary Doria Russell says, “The main thing to remember is that writing happens by doing the writing.”)

 

• You submitted a project and all it garnered was a nice, big, fat rejection? Pull up a chair and get back to work. We’re much more than our latest work, and this’ll help remind you of that.

 

• Want to become better at writing? Write, for God’s sake. Yes, reading is also absolutely necessary, and reading about writing can be helpful, but at some point you still need to put in your “half million words” (the writer’s equivalent of “ten thousand hours”*).

 
[*BTW, NFW do I think anyone’s actually required to write half a million words be a writer. You write? You’re a writer. Period. Same with the 10,000 hr. rule. But the concept exists for a fundamental reason: We get better at that which we spend time doing. You’d think this would be obvious, but we still see people who spend a lot of time talking about the book they’re going to write… maybe even more time than they actually spend writing. Unless one is a Mozart-level savant, one is unlikely to create great works right off the bat, regardless of age, education, or chosen art form. Everyone seems to grasp this concept with music—no one thinks buying an instrument automatically makes them a good musician without practice—but maybe because we can virtually all “write” to some degree, some people seem to expect that the first things they write will be on par with the work that results from significant practice. This may not always be the case.]
 
There’s a master music educator named Mike Johnston who will sometimes challenge his audience at clinics and workshops to ask him a question which cannot be answered with the word practice. (“How do I get better at double paradiddles?” “Practice!” “How do I incorporate more jazz phrasing into my improvisation?” “Practice!” “How do I play with intensity at lower volumes?” “Practice!”)
 
Same thing with writing. Want to improve some aspect of your craft? Write. Need to remind yourself that you’re a writer? Write. Want to have a completed manuscript to shop around? Write.
 
Need to refill the well with creative ideas to help you accomplish all the above?
 
Run.