"I CAN'T!" Notes on resistance in life and writing...

Resisting the paparazzi. July 4, 2014

My darling daughter, Stella, is twelve and a half now, prone to the vagaries of tween moods and whims, with a little extra spice from the "typical" stubbornness commonly exhibited by people (especially adolescents) with Down syndrome. When she is asked to do something and doesn't want to, which happens with alarming frequency, she has taken to protesting, "I CAN'T!" in a voice harsh with impatience.

I know how Stella feels. There are so many things I "should" do--or even "want" to do--that provoke serious resistance in me. Whether it's exercise, or eating right, or the proverbial cleaning my room, I feel like I'm twelve and a half and find myself having to be my own parent--or, worse, just giving in to the "can'ts" and not doing anything.

Writing, unfortunately, is one of these things. Although I identify as a "writer" and a "teacher of writing," and there is nothing like the feeling of being lost in language and in the flow of creation, I admit that I do not always see putting words on the page as a fun and exciting activity.

I hate my notebook

Today, struggling to stay at the desk, I decided that the problem was my notebook. I use several kinds in my writing life--small spiral pads to tuck in purse or bag for random notes and emergency jottings; cheap spiral notebooks for "morning pages," venting, or serious scribbling; decent, sensible composition books with solid-color covers for drafting things I think will eventually develop into poems or prose pieces.

Last time I replenished my cheap spiral supply I decided to upgrade and ended up with this lovely monstrosity. I liked the color. I liked the rigid cardboard backing. I liked the sturdiness of the spiral wire, which surely would resist the squishing and unwinding and snagaliciousness I'd experienced with the cheapies.

Here the problem: I hate it. It's too nice--too sturdy, too big, too many pages. It's narrow rules, so it fits too many lines per page. If I follow Julia Cameron's dictum to write three longhand pages every morning, no matter what, I have to write and extra half page, at least, than I would in the old cheapies.

Truthfully? Dear Notebook, it's not you, it's me. I'm feeling frustrated with myself, my lack of discipline, my misuse of precious free time, my inability to write about anything important, anything clear and powerful, anything other than how much I hate you.

Let's call a truce. I will give you more attention if you will stop being so daggone intimidating. Let my pen flow over your pages. Let me stop after only two pages instead of the requisite three--and let me go beyond those two when I am on a roll. Let me ride the wave of words and get into the flow space, where time disappears and I am purely in the moment, purely myself or someone or something outside myself.

I CAN. If only for a little while. If only.