Sitting down at my desk to write, I am thinking many things at once, of course. There is some anxiety about having to come up with something interesting to say. To counter that anxiety, I find myself grasping for straws. I’ve been working on I’ve Been Scared–trying to improve it and learn it better–so I’ll write about that, I think. I’ll talk about my re-writing process…but that’s pretty boring…let’s see…here I am, sitting down to the screen…I’ve got to have something concrete to write about…
See, the thing is: I don’t! Not that I am promoting stream-of-consciousness writing, and expecting my readers to just bear with it.
Which gives me something to write about, by the way. How does one come to the table each time and have something important to say?
And, cue the anxiety. And then the impulse to have it all figured out beforehand. And then the paralysis as I step up to the mic and realize I am naked from the waist down.
One never has everything figured out. This may sound odd, but even in solitude a writer is in dialogue with his reader. Which may mean nothing more than: I anticipate what the reader is thinking. And every author has to do that. We have to be able to imagine the thinking that will be going on in the reader’s head–we have to project a voice for the reader–so we can dialogue with it.
But then what are we to write about–if we don’t have it all planned out ahead of time? Doesn’t that mean we’re winging it?
I played music today with a group I have only played with once before. Stepping up to the microphone, raising the fiddle to my chin, I was in a similar dilemma. There were a lot of differences, as well. First, the audience is more concrete when I perform in public. It’s actually there in front of me–unlike the audience for this blog, which very literally may not be there at all. Yet I press onward…
But there is still some degree of projection going on. I don’t know each of those people, their likes and dislikes, their backgrounds, musical and otherwise. But I have to try to get into their heads. That’s the impulse, anyway (and I think a good one).
There’s a conversation happening. The audience responds to what I am doing on the stage–even if they do nothing, they are responding. But knowing them in some way means I am anticipating their reactions. Again, I am going to surprise them if I can–but not too much. I don’t want to lose them completely.
The situations differ also in that the performance today was live. The readers of my blog have no idea how many times I get up to go to the bathroom, or how many times I hit the back key. But in each case, anxiety about having enough to say can be paralyzing, which is of course the opposite of what we want to happen.
But if I come to this seat–or come to the microphone–with confidence, then I am more likely to enter into a dialogue that’s satisfying for both parties. It’s the myth that I am acting alone that makes me fear that I won’t have anything to say. Sitting down to the computer is the only decision that I make independently. After that, all I have to do is think on my feet.
Song-writing, blog-writing, performing: similar activities whose main difference is that they unfold in different time frames.
With that, I am going to pick my nose, and then go to bed.