Sitting at the corner table of my neighborhood Panera’s, I find myself distracted and disinterested in the reason I came here at 9:00 a.m. on a Sunday. I need to finish and then polish up a written film pitch I owe a development executive in search of true stories (on Stage 32).
My distraction led me to reading a blog post by James Rush, award winning playwright. Psychologist. Teacher. Tea drinker, on The Writing Cooperative blog via Stage 32’s site. It is all about unconscious writing.
So, I am trying to write unconsciously. But, I am to in my head, worried about spelling, grammer, and my nemisis, punctuation. Boy, how I hate punctuation. Not that I don’t want my writing to proper. I just slept through those grammar and writing classes, which now creates great angst for me, decades later as I work to be a writer.
Hey, there is always Grammary – my new best friend, and there are always editors.
Anyway, back to unconscious writing.
My business coach and mentor, award winning author, Joan C. Curtis, has always suggested I unsciously write. Don’t worry about re-reading and fixing all of the errors, simply type, type and type some more, whatever comes to your mind, wrap up a page, then you can go back and put it in order if you need to.
My brain doesn’t work that way. As often as I sit and type, type, and type, I have to breath deeply, often, in order to stop the urge to read the few words I had just written.
I am forcing myself to stare out at the Sports Physicals sign hanging on the side of te building out the window from where I am stiting. Not paying a bit of attention to what I am typing and whether ther are mistakes or not. Type, type, type.
What I find funny is that I am a journaler. There is a journal with me at all times, even when I am not carrying a pursue to hold that very small to the oversized book of fresh pages – some with lines, some without, there is my phone notes. I prefer paper. I prefer wrapping my fingers around a pen, even a pencil, if it is all I can find, and scribbling into a journal. For decades i have been writing in the hundreds of journals that fill boxes up in my attic. I have used those journals to capture my life. Ironically, I captured my life unsciously. Whenever or whereever I chose to start scribbling, it could be in a cafe, on my couch, sitting at a bar, or even in the aiport, I usciouslyscribble. I never cared about what I wrote, how I wrote it, whether the words were spelt correctly, or the commas and periods were in the right place. I just wrote; purged my mind and heart of anything I wanted and needed to.
At this very momemnt, I am still staring out at that Sports Phycialssign, typing away with little to no thought about what it is I am writing.
Wow, James Rush and my dear friend Joan, was write. It feels freeing to simply allow my fingers to move across the keyboard unemcumbered by my need, my contraol, of wheherany of it makess sense or reads properly.
Now, I did do well in typing class, decades ago. But, like writing with a pen, for this moment in time, I don’t care if I am hitting the right keys at the right time.
I think i will even leave this post exactly as it is written as I stare out the window at that sign. Sure, you orothers may mock me, or roll your eyes at the fact that a writer is willing to publish a possible mess. But, if you know me, you also know that I am not concerned about your judgement. My own growth and willingness to shift, is what is important. And this unscious writing exercise is freeing my creativity and my mind.
PS – I will consciously go back to link some key words, people and sources, but that is it.