This week I’m working with the idea of patience. This is a big one for me. I’m so used to forcing something to happen. I always believe that I have to set up a regular time and place to write, or I’ll never accomplish anything with this dream, I’ll never go far enough, I’ll never finish the novels and stories I’m supposed to write.
Somehow I’d like to learn to take the ego out of the equation. I want to believe that the story already exists somewhere out there. I’m getting glimpses of a landscape that is somewhere else, just out of reach. I can transcribe little bits of what I see, but I have to make quick, targeted strikes into the territory of the imagination.
Behind all of this lies fear. Fear that what I see will recede and wash away when I get closer, like a mirage on the highway, dissolving away into a haze.
This morning, I’ve come out to the living room sofa again. I’m the only one in the house who’s awake. I brewed a pot of coffee, and without turning on any lights, I sat down, slipped in my earbuds, and put on a playlist of quiet, ambient music. My intention was to lull myself into the intuitive state, which I imagine to be a place of listening and receiving, a meditational space that is far removed from the usual pushing and straining I put myself through when I try to write.
This is the worry I have this morning. I’m sitting here, quietly listening to music and sipping my first cup of coffee, and I feel cut off from the characters I’ve started to write about. I’m hoping for a clear sign, some sort of directional indication, leading me to the next scene or passage I can witness and transcribe. But if nothing clear is coming through, am I experiencing some kind of drought? Do I stick with this today, knowing my characters are still somewhere out of reach and out of sight? Or do I take this as a sign that I need to be patient, that my subconscious will serve up another image or scene to work with when it’s ready?
I think there is a value to coming out here to the sofa and sitting in the dark. Listening to music and sipping coffee by myself is like opening a door or a window. Wasn’t it Neil Gaiman who said that many of his best ideas come to him when he’s bored and alone, or simply staring out the window at nothing in particular, a hedge or a wall or an overcast sky?
Opening up my laptop and typing a few lines about what I’m experiencing right now is also a way of honoring who I am this morning, and what I’m thinking and feeling. I believe that I have to strike some sort of balance. I think for me, it’s essential that I do my best to maintain a habit of coming to the page regularly, so that the door is open for these characters to come closer, to step out of the haze and reveal more of themselves to me.
Focus on their emotions, not on your own role as designer or architect of their story. You need new metaphors, new analogies to describe your own role in the process of telling a story.
If I work on patience, on creating the space for the next fragments of my story to ripen, then I am also cultivating a sense of trust in myself as an artist; I am honoring my own process as an intuitive writer.
Yes, I have a tendency to give in to anxiety and to fall back on negative self-talk when I feel like I’m not producing enough work. Or when I worry that I’m not showing up to the page often enough. I’m learning to work in a completely different way, and this will take time. The story that I’m writing is my own. I am the work in progress.
A Writer's Habitat 
Hi Dave, Andrew from the Intuitive Writing class here. I woke up the early this morning as well, while the rest of the house is still asleep and put on my music. As I’ve been monitoring my writing and connection patterns with my characters I noticed when professional work and life get really busy and overwhelming, that’s when my characters come to me. It’s developed into an escape, away from what is going on outside of me. Anyway, your post came at the right time for me this morning. Andrew
Hi Andrew, thanks for stopping by. I’m glad to hear there’s another early morning music and reflection friend out there, grappling with similar issues. I love what you say about writing and the intuitive space being a place of escape when life or work becomes more stressful. Unfortunately, I seem to have the opposite problem. When I feel buried at work or tangled up with life in general, I tend to lose my connection to my stories and characters. Possibly even to myself. Finding moments to pause and return to a peaceful state becomes even more important.
Your title patience is what hit me this morning. Since I’ve stopped trying to “beckon” my main character, our relationship and how we speak to each other has changed. I’ve also accepted that this story is going to come together in pieces across time and space. The image I see in my head is a globe with puzzle pieces falling from above, and I’m watching. This is going to take a long time (years in my case) to get a first draft of something.