Redirection

This year I have transitioned from “child-free woman” to “new mom” to “mom working from home while dad cares for baby” to “mom on vacation.” Now I’m moving into “full-time mom” for the first time.

“Full-time mom with a writing gig on the side,” that is. I’m trying to finish the third draft of my novel before the end of the year.

I’ve been thinking about redirection, that classic technique used with toddlers who are trying to get into something they shouldn’t. I’ve learned first-hand how redirection works with Lia: when she’s trying to grab the phone out of my hands and growling in frustration, it doesn’t do any good to say “No!” and hold it away from her. She’s just that more determined to get it. But if I say, “Lia, where’s your phone? Go get your phone from the toy box,” then she happily goes off in search of her toy cell phone, a kid on a mission.

It reminds me of a similar practice in martial arts: rather than try to oppose a strike directly, the defender deflects the blow in the direction she wants it to go (usually away from her own body). All the energy is still there, driving forward, it’s just been channelled to a different target. It doesn’t take nearly as much effort to deflect the blow as it would to stop it.

Today I started thinking about how redirection works in my writing life. My energy, hurtling forward like a runaway train, isn’t always aimed in a positive direction. Lately I’ve been wound up with impatience and frustration, my brain scrounging for answers to impossible questions like “Why isn’t my book finished yet?” “How will I ever find time to finish all these projects and bring these ideas to life?” “What will happen to me if I don’t fulfill my dreams?” “How come everyone else is brilliant and successful and PRODUCTIVE and I’m not?”

I get exhausted by the frantic search for answers, and I run to my addictions (books, TV, Internet, housework) to hide. Notice how very little of my energy is going into the actual creative work I say I want to do. Even when I do get some writing done, there’s not much satisfaction, because I still haven’t answered those yammering questions.

I’ve tried for a week and a half to talk myself out of this funk. “You’re not behind, just jump in wherever you are (courtesy of FlyLady).” “Enjoy the journey, and don’t worry about the destination.” “You are perfect exactly as you are.” Yes, all these sayings are true, but they have about as much impact on my tantruming brain as they would on a yowling, squirming toddler whose entire being is focused on GETTING THAT PHONE.

Time to try redirection.

Looking at what has worked for me in the past, I see that I like fresh starts and new beginnings. Planning for the transition to full-time parenthood really excited me. I reformatted my laptop and loaded only the files I needed. I planned out our week and signed Lia up for swimming lessons and playgroup. I cleared out my email inbox.

I like flashy accessories and gimmicks. I made a collage to commemorate my renewed work on the novel. I found a pretty candle holder and a tub full of votives. I bought new notebooks and calendars to keep track of my progress.

I like environments without distraction. I like writing in coffee shops and libraries. I created a little writing nook in my bedroom. When I couldn’t seem to get up early in the morning, I started taking my journal to Tim Horton’s (the only place open at 6 am) and writing my morning pages there.

I’ve always been mildly ashamed of my need for all this rigmarole. It feels so juvenile: can’t I grow up and just WORK? But maybe I can admit that my creative self is a single-minded toddler who doesn’t respond to reasoning. She needs something pretty and special to pull her out of that negative spiral.

So I need to keep coming up with those tricks and enticements and hidey-holes. Writing this blog entry is a fresh start. So is sending a partial draft of my novel to a first reader. That word count on the sidebar is a flashy gimmick. And my brain, diverted from its futile questions, can be an environment without distraction, a place where my creative self can get to work.