You have two brains: a creating brain and a controlling brain. Both are good, but they don't always get along. The problem is that your controlling brain has been fed for years. It has been well educated by well-meaning teachers while your creative brain was left to wither, sick in bed.
To write well, and to find what you have to write about, you need to give your creative brain a workout. You do that by writing the first thing that comes to your head and refusing to control yourself, to edit. You can do this by hand, on a typewriter (my preference) or with a computer.
It's most difficult to exercise your creative brain with a computer because it's easiest to edit with a computer. But if you must use a computer to freewrite, here are a couple of tricks.
1. Turn off automatic spell/grammar check.
Who cares if you misspell a word? Your controlling brain does. Keep that guy out of your head by turning off those red and green squiggly lines. You can learn how to turn off the spelling and grammar check here for your particular flavor of Microsoft Word.
2. Watch the keys as you type.
This keeps you from watching your “terrible” words form on the page. By the way, they're not terrible. That's your controlling brain talking. They may not be eternal though. Instead, they are a means to finding your eternal words.
3. If desperate.
Change the color of the font to white or light yellow so you can't see what you're writing. To your controlling brain, it will be like you're not even writing. It will be as easy as breathing.
Do these three things and your controlling brain will have a hard time doing what it's best at: controlling. Give your creative brain a chance to catch up and try it.
PRACTICE
Freewrite for fifteen minutes. Do NOT use your backspace key. If you feel the urge to use your backspace key, try the tricks above. If you still find a way to edit, switch to writing by hand.
Post the practice in the comments (spelling mistakes and all), and, if you like, you can use a pseudonym of your choice (maybe your favorite super hero).
Joe Bunting is an author and the leader of The Write Practice community. He is also the author of the new book Crowdsourcing Paris, a real life adventure story set in France. It was a #1 New Release on Amazon. Follow him on Instagram (@jhbunting).
Want best-seller coaching? Book Joe here.
There’s a jolt as you move from unconscious to conscious, and even before you open your eyes, the thought is there. You don’t want it to be true. Please, can it be a dream. God, make it a dream, an imagination, something my brain has created, from another dimension, anything but real. Is it real? Yes, it’s real.
So you swing your feet out over the side of the bed, pull your hands up to the sides of your head, and begin your plan. I have to call mother. And then the kids. And then, oh God, there’s Jake. And of course there’s the money. Did he tell you where he kept the money? No. You’ll just have to find it.
You hear Kathryn still asleep behind you. Thank God for her. She will get you through this. God gave her to you for a time like this.
It’s time to move. You take a breath, turn to look at your sleeping wife, and stand. So it begins.
Wow Mark. All this from a freewrite?
Of course, you’re using second person, which, as you said, moves the text toward the reader. And you are roping us in with mystery, which is the copywriter’s greatest asset, and fiction writer’s most underrated one.
It’s just really good.
Almost a freewrite. I hit backspace once and later remembered the assignment but couldn’t remember the edit!
I have had two paradigm shifting events that left me feeling this way. I have been wanting to capture it for awhile.
I’ll try this later when I have more time. But you’re right – my controlling brain is a beast! I should have it arrested for domestic violence!
Haha domestic violence on what? Your creativity?
I’ll try this later when I have more time. But you’re right – my controlling brain is a beast! I should have it arrested for domestic violence!
Haha domestic violence on what? Your creativity?
Writing can be daunting as much as it is exquisitely intoxicating. Every day I think about what I’m going to write and rarely do I make the time do it. I don’t take the time to acknowledge this insatiable thirst I have to express myself in a meaningful way. Or at least a way that means something to me.
I seem to fetter myself in fear. Could I really be great? Maybe I’m not as good as I think I am, or maybe I haven’t even discovered what I am. And then I chide myself for being egotistical. I know I can write. I AM a writer.
Whether a reference, an article, a presentation, I know how to wield words with a purpose. And yet for some reason, when the purpose is for me, I spend more time thinking about it, than actually doing it.
There’s always something else that takes priority or that absolutely must be done. My daughter needs homework help. Work must be done and bills must be paid. I need to go to the gym and attend to these buggy whips I have for arms, or I won’t be able to write anyway. And so it goes.
So, for today, I am taking up Joe;s challenge. I am honouring myself and I am making the time to just do it. I don’t know where it is going or how it will end but I do know I feel the elation flow through my fingers as I type. My heart is beating boldly, and excitedly. And I have discovered a splendid smile that has suddenly sprouted as the words flow forth.
And now here it comes. I made the mistake of looking up at the clock. The minutes tick by agonisingly slowly now. 9 minutes have flown by but I have six more to go. I am working my way into an immobilizing frenzy. Is what I have written here pure drivel? And if it is, does it matter?
If my purpose is just to write, then I suppose I am succeeding. In fact, I am excelling! I am honouring! And now I am feeling proud. I am on the up-side of the teeter-totter and like the high. I know it’s going to drop again so I enjoy the moment while it’s here.
I notice that the words awkwardly retreat on the down-swing. And I slide toward the puddle of panic-mode that eagerly awaits my arrival as I swiftly descend. I better got off this ride. This vexing vacillating is making me dizzy.
I should have turned off the tv. Its incessant blathering is buzzing in the background and distracting me. FOCUS. One minute to go. My fingers have slowed. I hesitate wondering which words will come next. And now it’s done. I feel so relieved.
Just read your Confessions of a Narcisstic Blogger… the above madness gave me pause as I was reading… reflection is a wonderful thing!
How did it give you pause?
Well, I was relieved that I have the “be real” part down, but some of the other points gave me cause for reflection.
I don’t think I worry about image so much as authenticity. My writing will not resound with everyone and I’m ok with that. Readers can respond however they wish. In fact, I like controversy. – itt gives one an opportunity to shift their thinking or reaffirm their beliefs.
All in all I think i’m doing ok. I do get a little panicky when I am not sure a post is good enough… but there’s always room to grow. Practice., Practice. Practice.
P.S. Very thankful for you : )
“These buggy whips I have for arms.” Ha! That’s a new one.
I love this insight into your head as you practice. You SHOULD be proud of yourself, Shelley. Now go do it again!
I WILL do it again!
Writing can be daunting as much as it is exquisitely intoxicating. Every day I think about what I’m going to write and rarely do I make the time do it. I don’t take the time to acknowledge this insatiable thirst I have to express myself in a meaningful way. Or at least a way that means something to me.
I seem to fetter myself in fear. Could I really be great? Maybe I’m not as good as I think I am, or maybe I haven’t even discovered what I am. And then I chide myself for being egotistical. I know I can write. I AM a writer.
Whether a reference, an article, a presentation, I know how to wield words with a purpose. And yet for some reason, when the purpose is for me, I spend more time thinking about it, than actually doing it.
There’s always something else that takes priority or that absolutely must be done. My daughter needs homework help. Work must be done and bills must be paid. I need to go to the gym and attend to these buggy whips I have for arms, or I won’t be able to write anyway. And so it goes.
So, for today, I am taking up Joe;s challenge. I am honouring myself and I am making the time to just do it. I don’t know where it is going or how it will end but I do know I feel the elation flow through my fingers as I type. My heart is beating boldly, and excitedly. And I have discovered a splendid smile that has suddenly sprouted as the words flow forth.
And now here it comes. I made the mistake of looking up at the clock. The minutes tick by agonisingly slowly now. 9 minutes have flown by but I have six more to go. I am working my way into an immobilizing frenzy. Is what I have written here pure drivel? And if it is, does it matter?
If my purpose is just to write, then I suppose I am succeeding. In fact, I am excelling! I am honouring! And now I am feeling proud. I am on the up-side of the teeter-totter and like the high. I know it’s going to drop again so I enjoy the moment while it’s here.
I notice that the words awkwardly retreat on the down-swing. And I slide toward the puddle of panic-mode that eagerly awaits my arrival as I swiftly descend. I better got off this ride. This vexing vacillating is making me dizzy.
I should have turned off the tv. Its incessant blathering is buzzing in the background and distracting me. FOCUS. One minute to go. My fingers have slowed. I hesitate wondering which words will come next. And now it’s done. I feel so relieved.
Just read your Confessions of a Narcisstic Blogger… the above madness gave me pause as I was reading… reflection is a wonderful thing!
How did it give you pause?
Well, I was relieved that I have the “be real” part down, but some of the other points gave me cause for reflection.
I don’t think I worry about image so much as authenticity. My writing will not resound with everyone and I’m ok with that. Readers can respond however they wish. In fact, I like controversy. – itt gives one an opportunity to shift their thinking or reaffirm their beliefs.
All in all I think i’m doing ok. I do get a little panicky when I am not sure a post is good enough… but there’s always room to grow. Practice., Practice. Practice.
P.S. Very thankful for you : )
“These buggy whips I have for arms.” Ha! That’s a new one.
I love this insight into your head as you practice. You SHOULD be proud of yourself, Shelley. Now go do it again!
I WILL do it again!
I tried Joe’s approach. Thanks so much for the suggestions, Joe.
(Excuse the poor formatting – i wrote it in MS Word and then pasted it here.
The garden is
gtreen and so lovely it is to sit on the bench and just allow my eyers to be
filled up with green/the colour of green.
This imaginary place is always stat the back of my mind. It is a special place and one that I find
hard tyo conjure up and relkate to when fully awake and sober. Only when im exrtreme,ly tired, ordrwosy,
does the image of the garden take shape, come into my mind, rise up with in my
brain and only then can I enjoy it. What
does one do whilst in this particukar garden?
Physicallly, there is no movement, in fact, it is not even third person persecptive – I cannot see
myself sitting threre in the bench or log , for instance,. I
realise now that the view is from first person perceptive a as though I
, asn in I , am in this very garen, this knock, so furry with subdued moss
creeping against other plants and walls ever so slowly. There is a small clearing in the middle which
is sits at a lower intot he erath than tthat which is surrounding it, i.e.,
more bush, forect. The green grass in
the clearing is so soft to look at and touch and feel. There are one or two small statutes ,
grey/cream in colour. Old lokiung.
Theres an oldness about the whole place in fact. And its not an austalia nfauna, for the green
of the fauna is much too lush and moisutured and wet looking., deeper more depth
of hue, yes. There is no care, or
tension, or concen in this gartden, of which the most compelling thing is the
soft subduced light and the way it throiughs iuall around , aon onto the trees
and grass and whathaveyou., plants. A prevailing
atmosphere os subduedness, soothing and smoothing out the depth of the green
hue fo the plants and grasses. This is the most impolrtanqt feature and it is
both beautiful and soothing to imagine.
It would be somewhere
in Europ, like, England, or Ireland, or it could be in France. Definitely not in the hotter climates like
Australia
By Katrina M.
Took 10 mins ( I was momentarily interrupted).
Beauty ofa beat is to run around and follw the gadder . the work is to move aout and enjoy the world we live in it is wonderful. and amazing. a wolrd where you can learn a lot and discover somethingf knew always knows that there is alway s something to do . newver try to captivate youtr mind with rthese sights . there are secrets in them hthey are wunderfull . sunny meadow fields to bleak wastealands are an illusion, a stage set for the maind to play its tones and notes the , workld might collapse you will see the tstrings beingd them who set up the action and play the deception game ofor us . but we should bremember that we are not pawns but are players that can thplay the game and alter the strings that control you and maybe break free from them. apples are blue grapes are quirky and humans are the plankton tnad the plankton is the human intelligent species . the beauty of the world is that it can be edited deleted or maybe created nanew . ahtey are no strings to mthe mind but are placed ion the screan of your interpretations///;[p;[[[oddoxjssnaasxzz.LLZl;Z;AX,ZXPPXX÷ïù♀±»╝VCJSFHILJFEWSOSKW0120pspa pw[ss[asoxkccsj.3.;’31l4lq ;q;qld’adlkalxzmcdiiejriiqqepwqejpiipjcxpizcikmoisdmsoiamdiasklsdlamdalkdmmdlkamdaldmkaskdmladmklamkldlksadlkadlsalkdmklamkdaklmdlkamdlkasdklssssssssssl; something like htis is an example of tbreaking off the strings . dont worry about your life . worries are the manin illusions of life that walkls areound the beautifyl meadow o ccreativetygod fuck ican nonsi type any creative ideas mty ceative oty has been killed. why sksjsisjidloaoieuwoejiajwwr.
sorry from for the swears. its pure work of brain. plz dont mind them.