When writing Tropic of Cancer in 1932–1933, novelist Henry Miller compiled a list of writing “Commandments.” Here are six items he put on that list:
1. Don’t be nervous. Work calmly, joyously, recklessly on whatever is in hand.
2. Work according to Program and not according to mood. Stop at the appointed time!
3. When you can’t create you can work.
4. Concentrate. Narrow down. Exclude.
5. Forget books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.
6. Write first and always. Painting, music, friends, cinema, all these come afterwards.
So you’re up and running with your novel and writing is going well—until it doesn’t. Around fifty pages in (if not sooner), most writers lose that first rush of wind. I’m not saying those first fifty pages are easy to write—because they’re not—but around page fifty-one, writing a novel or nonfiction book (or play or screenplay) becomes a long-distance marathon. To write novels and other long works you need the ability to push through when inspiration flags, you’re doubting every writing decision you’ve made, the pleasure wanes, and there’s nothing to do but just keep writing. Because it can be such a long haul and often leave you feeling like you lost your way, almost all writers experience a muddle in the middle—a severe and dangerous case of self-doubt when their vision, their premise, their characters, the plot, their ability to pull it off—everything—seems dubious. There’s no easy solution for losing steam. You just have to doggedly push through every ounce of resistance and keep writing, using all the prep work you’ve done to keep pushing toward the end.
Successful, published writers have found a way—to fuel their brain—to keep themselves motivated, sustain focus, and persistently push through to the end. Like Henry Miller (as above), you may want to write a list of “Commandments” to keep you motivated when spirits or energy flag—because they will. In this chapter, we’ll discuss ways you can keep your brain brimming with energy, inspiration, fortitude, and persistence from page fifty-one to “The End.”
Selective attention has the potential to be a powerful cognitive strategy—perhaps even the most essential cognitive strategy—when it comes to achieving writing goals. When you purposefully focus your attention on a writing task, you are calling forth the full intellectual power of your frontal cortex to assist, akin to calling in the troops. Also, people who can direct their attention are better at remembering things and figuring out what new information means and how they can use it; that is, they are better at metacognition and higher-order thinking processes. The challenge: Limit sensory stimulation and emotional distractions, both of which erode focus.
The three brain components involved in selective attention when you are writing are:
The ability to regulate one’s attention relies heavily on the ability to consciously inhibit what might be a habitual or more immediately rewarding response and to choose another that is more socially appropriate to the situation at hand—or, when writing, to prioritize what you’ll choose to focus your brain on and set aside everything else to write one scene, and then the next, and so on.
The problem with multitasking is that you see others doing it and feel like you should be able to do it, too. And it makes you feel good, like you’re getting a lot done, but, sadly, the opposite is true. Rather than increasing efficiency, multitasking “splits” your brain. You end up switching from one task to the other, shining a “spotlight” on whichever task is being directly addressed. Whether you know it or not, your brain tries shifting from one to the other task, in milliseconds, which makes it more difficult to give each task its due. Studies have shown that multitaskers are less productive and have greater difficulty filtering relevant information and switching between tasks than those who address things singly. If you’re having trouble focusing, revert to absolute silence and block out time where all you do is work on your book—no e-mail, no Internet, no phone calls, nothing but writing your book.
As we discussed in Chapter 7, you can effectively narrow your focus and get down to business faster through the use of meditation, by creating a sacred space, by beginning each writing session with an intention to focus solely on writing and specific goals, and by monitoring your writing process. Now that you’re in the middle and the bloom on the rose has faded, go back and try what worked in the beginning.
But most important, keep doing whatever has worked and try new things to make your writing sessions focused and productive. Remember that pleasure is an important component. Reward yourself after writing sessions—take a walk, take a bath, have a glass of your favorite whiskey, phone a friend, etc. Rewarding success breeds success—particularly for your brain.
Facebook mogul Mark Zuckerberg wears a gray T-shirt to work every day. He buys multiples of the same shirts because he wants to minimize decisions. “There’s a bunch of psychological theory that even making small decisions about what you wear, what you eat for breakfast, etc., can make you tired,” he explained. “I feel like I’m not doing my job if I spend any of my energy on things that are silly or frivolous about my life, so [I wear the same T-shirt so] I can dedicate all of my energy to [creating and developing] the best products and services to help us reach our goal of connecting everyone in the world.” Maybe there’ll be a stretch of time while you’re writing when you want to try limiting decisions so you can focus on your higher purpose.
Because writing a novel (or other work of art) takes time—even in the best of circumstances, it’s likely to span a period of months or years—writers have to learn patience and perseverance. When it comes to your writing brain, you want to create a habit of mind that facilitates the ability to delay gratification and sustain effort, over a period of time, working toward goals that aren’t immediate. This ability begins with critical executive functions taking place in your prefrontal cortexes, in establishing a way of thinking that recognizes the complexities of the writing profession and gears up to generate and sustain sufficient focus, dedication, energy, and confidence to create a work of art, promote it, stay strong in the face of rejection, and believe in what you are doing.
Habit of mind requires the engagement of your executive neural network, specifically as it relates to:
What you want is to create a practice of writing—similar to a religious practice or a yoga practice—something you choose to do daily, if at all possible. Writing is something you must choose to dedicate your mind, body, brain, and spirit to doing with reverence and devotion. When it comes to your brain, commit to focusing all of your mental facilities to the task, recognizing and rewarding yourself for progress toward the long-term goal of completion. Do your best to honor your commitment to the practice and find ways to link pleasure to fulfillment of daily goals. This way you are embedding and reinforcing the discipline, commitment, focus, and persistence needed to push through the middle to the end of your writing project. When you and your writing practice become as one, anything is possible.
It doesn’t take a neuroscientist to explain that doing what brings us pleasure creates the desire to replicate the experience. Your human brain is hardwired for reward and pleasure, so linking pleasure to writing is far more likely to motivate you than linking displeasure to the experience. Scientists have discovered that anticipating pleasure is even more rewarding, as anticipation alone stimulates the release of the neurotransmitter dopamine, which increases pleasure and reduces stress. So, a few hours before you sit down to write, pause to anticipate the pleasure that will come when you’re in the zone and words are flowing—or how you’ll feel when the session has gone well.
MacArthur Foundation “genius” award winner and research psychologist Angela Lee Duckworth believes that self-control and grit matter more than talent and IQ when it comes to successfully meeting goals. Self-control obviously has to do with the ability to focus, to prioritize, and to literally show up for work each day. Grit, however, goes beyond self-control into obsessively, doggedly, and persistently devoting yourself to a meaningful goal over a period of time in order to achieve some level of mastery of a task many would find daunting—such as writing a book, a play, a screenplay, and so on.
In describing what equals grit in dance, Martha Graham once said what it takes for a mature dancer to make it look easy is “fatigue so great that the body cries, even in its sleep ... and [suffers] daily small deaths.” In other words, mastery requires hard work and grueling practice, practice, practice. Grit is what motivates someone to commit to and stick with an unending round of practice, particularly when failure seems imminent. Keep in mind that feeling confused and frustrated is a sign that you’re on the brink of a breakthrough. If you just keep plugging away and keep straining your writing brain to solve the problem, you will likely create your best work possible.
Grit is separate from self-control, the short-term ability to resist temptations that could interrupt your work; grit is the self-determination that takes you the distance. Studies have consistently shown that being smart, talented, and curious doesn’t guarantee that you’ll reach your full potential. What’s needed is the grit that indicates you’ll work harder and resist setbacks, pushing ever forward until you’ve done your best work.
One of the largest studies ever conducted monitored health and lifestyle habits of 121,000 nurses. Data collected on 18,766 of the nurses (who were then ages 70 to 81) revealed that the group who maintained a median level of walking for six hours a week were 20 percent less likely to show cognitive impairment than those who exercised the least. Another long-term study of elderly volunteers, published in the journal Neurology, found that those who walked the most cut their risk of developing memory problems in half. The optimal exercise for cognitive health benefits, the researchers concluded, was to walk six to nine miles each week.
Education researcher and author of Mindset: The New Psychology of Success, Carol Dweck, attributes success to something she calls a “growth mindset.” A growth mindset equates to believing your brain capabilities are malleable, as opposed to being fixed at birth (which, of course, neuroscience has proven to be true). Dweck teaches young children to think of their brains as something that grows and changes, and she provides pictures of neurons making connections so the kids can literally “see” a brain in action. She also shows them videos of older children talking about how their capabilities grew and has the older children write to the younger children about specific ways their brainpower has grown.
Researchers have found that once a subject’s curiosity had been piqued by the “right” question, they were better at learning and remembering completely unrelated information. Curiosity creates a sort of brain vortex that sucks in whatever you feel most motivated to learn, along with ideas that may be floating around your environment. The spark of curiosity lights up the hippocampus (where the creation of memories occurs), and the reward and pleasure brain circuits, which release dopamine. So if you want an alert brain, start your day by immersing yourself in something you find fascinating and mysterious. Pique your curiosity, and enjoy the natural high, and learn something new.
Dweck’s goal is to teach children to accept personal responsibility for the level of self-determination that will drive them to work hard and do whatever it takes to overcome all obstacles to success. She encourages her own children to choose one hard thing they want to do—that requires a level of mastery—and then asks them to commit to deliberate, focused practice in pursuit of their goals, expecting nothing less than vigor and determination. She forewarns them that feeling frustrated and discouraged—experiencing all those small daily deaths Martha Graham described—while working toward a goal that is truly hard to achieve is normal. Rather than quitting when things get hard, she urges them to engage in more deliberate practice.
Writing a book (novel or nonfiction), writing a play, a screenplay, or a TV script is the kind of goal that requires a well-thought-out and long-term commitment. Months will be spent researching, outlining, preparing, writing, and rewriting. A writer should “go in” knowing that it’s going to get hard—very, very hard—requiring far more energy, brainpower, dedication, and flexibility than ever imagined. Everyone experiences some false starts, many rewrites, and times when frustration spikes and quitting seems like the only sane and viable option. Writing is not for sissies, so when it bogs down, think back to how far you’ve come, reward yourself for how much you’ve accomplished, and then consciously recommit to doing whatever it takes to get back on course—even if it’s working twice as hard.
The posterior cingulate cortex (PCC) lies along a midline between the ears, near structures related to rewards, and is considered a kind of a nexus for multiple systems connected to both learning and reward systems, called the “default mode network” (activated when the mind slacks off or wanders). When this area begins to deteriorate, early signs of cognitive decline occur. In a study reported in the journal Neuron, monkeys used their eyes to repeatedly spot the target (among distractors) that resulted in a reward. Researchers expected the PCC to activate before a choice was made or the reward was received, but found it activated after the feedback—particularly when the monkeys got it wrong—in other words, neurons in the PCC responded strongly when the monkeys needed to learn something new. Researchers concluded that rather than the PCC being the cause of poor performance, it summoned more resources for a challenging cognitive task. It is important to note that this experiment worked only when the reward was adequate to motivate the effort. Moral: Do things related to writing that challenge you to learn something new and then reward yourself well.
Which comes first: Being powerful or thinking you’re powerful? According to some scientists, thinking you’re powerful comes first. Studies have shown that feeling powerful changes the way people think in specific ways:
Basically, when people think they’re powerful, their brains reflect superior “executive functioning,” which also means they are good at concentrating, warding off negative thoughts, and adapting to change. This type of mental flexibility is what makes power players feel like they are powerful. They’re not weighed down by self-doubt and negative self-talk.
Adam Galinsky, a professor at Columbia Business School, reported in the journal Psychological Science that “a sense of power has dramatic effects on thought and behavior.” He found that being in—or experiencing—a high-powered role transforms one psychologically. Here’s how:
Time to don that “secret” superhero costume squished into a box in your closet. Time to take on the mantle of being a Super Star Writer. If you have an imagination—and you so do—approach this exercise with an open-minded enthusiasm. You may be surprised how, well, strong, clear, and confident you feel when you sit down to write.
I’m not the first to phrase this, but I love its motivating simplicity: Sitting is the new smoking, linked to increased risk of diabetes, cardiovascular disease, and early death. Slouching while sitting causes physiological changes, weakening tissues and leading to degeneration, but even if you maintain good posture, simply sitting for long periods of time—over time—leads to muscle and tissue degeneration, similar to what happens when one of your bones is set in a cast.
The bad news is that simply hopping up regularly won’t do the trick alone. What’s needed is something called “active sitting.” Here are four ways you can actively sit while actively writing (do each three to four times—or more—during your normal working day):
What’s good for your heart and your body is good for your brain—and exercise may be the most crucial necessity in maintaining brain health, and, unfortunately, as writers, we have to sit more than we like, far more than is good for us. Practice active sitting when working, and remember to reward your hardworking brain with at least a half hour of vigorous exercise a day—whether it’s walking, washing your car, or scrubbing your bathroom: Move it or lose it!
Hopefully all writers experience “the flow” (also known as “the zone”), typically a brief period of time when every aspect of writing progresses easily, the ideas, the words, all the elements required, and even the typing simply floats along, sometimes at a brisk pace, other times at a little slower, but no less productive, pace. It’s a blissful state, one in which time and space appear seamless; sometimes hours pass and thousands of words pour onto the page. When “the flow” dries up, the writer may suddenly feel fatigued and often disappointed. Where did it go? When will it come back? Before we discuss how to create this ideal writing state, let’s describe how you recognize it. When you’re in “the flow”:
Oh, the ecstasy of it all! One could describe this kind of flow as orgasmic or rhapsodic ... and for some it lasts relatively as long. For many, pursuing flow becomes their primary goal, with some even feeling that they’re not really a writer if they can’t “get into the flow” or that they can write only when they are in the flow (hence a lot of excuses for why they aren’t making progress on their project).
But flow is not some esoteric, impossible-to-catch specter that comes and goes without reason. In fact, well-known psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi wrote, in his seminal works on creativity and flow, that it basically comes down to three things: enhancing focus, increasing concentration, and minimizing distraction. He also writes that flow tends to come when we’re feeling particularly challenged by our work. Hardly orgasmic, but then again, what’s good for your brain is good for your flow.
When global ignition occurs, the brain is not globally excited—a very precise set of neurons is excited, which defines how an individual experiences consciousness. The neurons can be incredibly precise. Researchers have found that many people have a set of neurons that only respond to Bill Clinton’s face, and merely suggesting that these people imagine Bill Clinton’s face is enough to activate those particular neurons. The majority of anterior temporal neurons exhibit that same selectivity for actual and imagined images—and memory recall can also activate them. That being said, conscious information is distributed within a myriad of neuronal cells (millions upon millions of neuronal cells). So what to do? When working on your book, do some stimulation prepping to focus your neurons and literally rile them up. Once global ignition occurs—whether it’s focused on characterization, plots, setting, and so on—firing up the particular neurons connected to the task can fuel your imagination.
The opposite of flow—blocked—is also familiar to every writer I’ve ever met or listened to or read about; even the most prolific writers occasionally bog down. Before we discuss why using “writer’s block” as an excuse is totally bogus, let’s describe how it feels when you’re blocked:
Small wonder that we all hate feeling blocked. For a writer, it’s about as bad as one can feel—and it happens to the best of us, which you may find reassuring. It has been suggested that writer’s block may be a form of “brain block,” too. Under stress, a human brain will shift control from the cortex to the emotional limbic system—which gets caught up in habitual behaviors and is looking for a quick release from stress—which further inhibits writing, since whatever behavior it indulges in usually does not provide the sought-after “quick fix.” In her 2004 book, The Midnight Disease: The Drive to Write, Writer's Block, and the Creative Brain, Alice W. Flaherty has argued that literary creativity blockage may be a direct function of activity “blockage” in the cerebral cortex.
Rarely, however, is feeling blocked a sign that you aren’t meant to be a writer, particularly if you’ve written a lot up to this point in time, some of it quite good, perhaps published, or perhaps not. The trick is not to buy into the mythology of “writer’s block.” Here’s a simple fact to remember: Writer’s block is not a legitimate excuse for not writing or working on your project. You can be challenged, temporarily stalled, confused, uncertain, underprepared, out of fresh ideas, or even lazy, but you—and your ability to write—are not “blocked.” You may just need to get your cerebral cortex firing again, and I’ve given—and will continue to give—you lots of tips on how to do that.
A study at Massachusetts General Hospital found that mothers looking at pictures of their children (or their dogs) showed increased activity in the amygdala, medial orbitofrontal cortex, and dorsal putamen, areas that process emotions and rewards. These same areas were not activated when mothers viewed photos of children or dogs they didn’t know. Conversely, the midbrain—specifically the substantia nigra and ventral tegmental area—lit up when mothers looked at their children (but not when they looked at their dogs)—bathing the brain with feel-good chemicals like dopamine, oxytocin, and vasopressin. If you’re feeling stuck, try leafing through your children’s baby books or family photo albums.
Flow happens when what you are doing naturally suits your personality. If you are trying to force yourself to write fiction, for example, and you’re finding that you simply don’t have an affinity for it, flow is likely to remain elusive. If you’re the most talented and prolific novelist on the East Coast, and you love what you do, flow may visit often. That being said, flow also comes when you’ve done a lot of preparation, and both programmed and fired up your brain. There’s no question that your brain plays a starring role in achieving flow, and if primed and rewarded, your brain gets better and better at re-creating flow—or you could just keep waiting around for some magical muse to show up at your doorstep.
The magic, aspiring and/or stalled writers, is in your brain. In the next chapter, we’re going to go into detail about how you can train your brain to achieve flow—and surrender all mythology around “writer's block.”
Even if you have zero affinity for drawing, perhaps you love and appreciate artists who draw beautifully and the breathtaking work that is available via a quick Google search for images. Maybe you own an art book that you bought at a museum exhibit long ago. If so, there’s a good chance looking at the photographs in the book will remind you how stimulating you found that exhibit at the time or how much you enjoyed talking about it with the person who accompanied you to the museum and joined for lunch afterwards. Maybe you’ll also remember how thrilling it felt to see a masterwork up close—the brushstrokes, the brilliance of the color, the originality, the outspoken themes, and the richness of expression that mesmerized your senses. Maybe you’ll recall a distinctly pleasant feeling you experienced while viewing it, like you’d met a kindred spirit.
If you don’t own any art books, go outside and stroll around your yard or neighborhood. Notice colors, shapes, trees, flowers, leaves, bees, and other creatures—all of nature’s handiwork. In addition to seeing, take time to touch, smell, listen, and “drink” it all in. You’ll find giving your brain a respite that doesn’t involve language or “thinking” will make returning to a writing session feel invigorating. And, no, watching movies does not qualify as a visual break, as your brain will focus on the words and all the subtext it observes. Better to keep it purely visual and wordless.
If you've ever been moved by a beautiful piece of art, you’re actually following a natural biological inclination.
We now know that man has been making art for thousands upon thousands of years, using it to tell stories about their lives, but also, it seems, to reap the benefits of appreciating the art itself. Thomas Merton once said, “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” And he was really on to something. According to a new field called neuroaesthetics, the human brain is drawn to and uniquely responds to viewing art. Several studies have discovered multiple ways the brain responds to art—and to making art.
Scientists believe that the brain is more interested—and intrigued—in how an image is depicted than it is in the image itself, hence the activation in cognitive functions. They also found that viewing visual art activates the brain’s reward circuit, which has evolved to provide reinforcement when what you’re doing creates benefits, or pleases, the brain.
Interestingly, studies have also shown that we’re mostly drawn to curved lines rather than hard lines and angles; perhaps because viewing curved lines seems to calm our brains while viewing a sharply angled line is associated with rising tension.
And—to absolutely no one’s surprise—creating visual art is even better for your brain than simply viewing art. A recent German study, which divided twenty-eight newly retired people into two groups, found that those who produced original art displayed significant gains in psychological resilience and “functional connectivity” in the brain than the half that only analyzed paintings. The study's researchers suggested that improvements derived from a combination of motor and cognitive processing, as well as the necessity to stay fully and creatively engaged while working on their art projects.
Also, art therapy has been proven effective in helping people with Alzheimer's disease and dementia, because making art stimulates the senses, triggers memories, and invites social connections through conversation.
Like writing, creating art engages your brain and your mind in multiple ways. The static nature of paintings, for example, like novels, invites your brain to explore its appreciation and curiosity in your own way and time, and from different angles. You can ponder not only how the artist created a unique work, but also explore the meanings and emotions viewing it generates.
When your creativity needs a boost, visit an art gallery and take time to pause and consider brushstrokes, color selections, form, function, aesthetics, and emotion. Give your brain time to ponder not only how, but why the artist created this particular work of art and how it makes you feel. Take a journal along with you to write down observations and thoughts. Observe others around you (and listen in on conversations) to see how their responses differ from your own. Later, take fifteen minutes or so to reflect on the experience, as a whole, and on how certain works of art trigger memories and other associations. This will help your brain create synapses based on personal experience and possibly lead to fresh ideas. Better yet, create a work of art yourself—just for fun!
When your mind is mush or ideas are not flowing, and you suddenly despise your characters or start second-guessing yourself and doubting the importance of completing the work, the simple fact is that your brain needs a rest or inspiration. The simple act of making a cup of tea (or pouring a glass of wine), retrieving that beautifully printed art book, and spending an hour on the couch (feet up!) will not only soothe and refresh your writing brain, but will also awaken your senses. Indulge for a while, savoring each aspect of the respite, and you’ll likely return to writing with a more lively sense of setting, design, or beauty—and your writing may be infused with more depth, better descriptions, and the slowness that comes with pausing to appreciate nuance, shape, color variations, and so on. In admiring the way lines flow and the subtlety of how colors blend, you’ve relieved your brain of the necessity to think—and it will definitely reward you.
If art or visual appreciation doesn’t do it for you, then do something that stimulates your senses:
In other words, do something (other than write) that pleases you because it soothes your brain and stimulates your visual, auditory, taste, or tactile sensations.
The next day (or hours later, if you feel like it), go back to writing as usual, and you’ll likely find that your brain is fired up and ready to focus. You may even discover some surprising connections occurred while you thought you were off having fun, not thinking at all.
Artist Lisa Congdon has created what she calls a “Creative Unblock Project” to explore the interplay between structure and imaginative play. She has students choose one thing they love to draw or paint—and feel comfortable drawing or painting (as in, it’s their thing)—and for thirty days, they are to draw or paint the object thirty different ways, a new idea each day, using different mediums, colors, styles, or whatever they can come up with to break out of their conventional style. Most important, perhaps, they are to get a little crazy and, as Ron Zak, my fabulous photography professor used to advise: "whack it out.”
The idea is to break out of your comfort zone or whatever creative rut you may (consciously or unconsciously) be in, to stimulate your creativity, to create new neuronal pathways that spark new ideas. So, why not apply the same idea to writing? Why not take conventional writing and find unique ways to break free of your usual style, to whack it out?
For ten days, write a scene (or a short, short story of 150 to 250 words) ten different ways: change the point of view, change the setting, change the main character, flip the character roles, change the characters into aliens, rely solely on dialogue, use no dialogue, write the story as a movie scene, as a poem, as science fiction, as a western, and so on—whatever your brain comes up with to “whack it out.”
Remember that having fun is fabulous for your brain, so the weirder the better.
The whole point of “whacking it out” is to invite fresh ideas in. Have fun!
“When I was in the middle of writing Eat Pray Love … I fell into one of those pits of despair that we will fall into when we’re working on something that’s not coming and we think ‘this is going to be a disaster, this is going to be the worst book I’ve ever written—not just that but the worst book ever written ... ”
—Elizabeth Gilbert
“There’s a marvelous sense of mastery that comes with writing a sentence that sounds exactly as you want it to. It’s like trying to write a song, making tiny tweaks, reading it out loud, shifting things to make it sound a certain way. It’s very physical. I get antsy. I jiggle my feet a lot, get up a lot, tap my fingers on the keyboard, check my e-mail. Sometimes it feels like digging out of a hole, but sometimes it feels like flying. When it’s working and the rhythm’s there, it does feel like magic to me.”
—Susan Orlean
“If a writer stops observing he is finished. But he does not have to observe consciously nor think how it will be useful. Perhaps that would be true at the beginning. But later everything he sees goes into the great reserve of things he knows or has seen. If it is any use to know it, I always try to write on the principle of the iceberg. There is seven-eighths of it underwater for every part that shows. Anything you know you can eliminate and it only strengthens your iceberg. It is the part that doesn’t show. If a writer omits something because he does not know it then there is a hole in the story.”
—Ernest Hemingway