Deep Attention When Creating
Writers train how to stay focused, in order to create better. Even when we’re waiting for feedback from an agent or submission results. Even when life worries interfere with any ability to create. But being focused and being present are two different animals, in my view.
Focus is a mental determination. A kind of discipline we exert by will.
Being present means we are fully open to whatever is happening within and around us. We’ve tuned the inner knob to “receive” rather than “send.”
Struggle to be present
The kind of “not present” I’m talking about today is the kind that brings easy burnout. And frustration. When we can’t slip into our own creativity and stay with a piece. When the mind or emotions pull us away from the sheer joy of being in the moment with our writing.
I enjoyed this pandemic-era piece in Writers Atelier. A lot of writers I know, myself included, had trouble during those years sitting down to write. Life felt too uncertain, turbulent. The news rattled us constantly. Writing fell aside, in favor of worry and stress. I am not sure I’d call it burnout, as in the overworked kind. But it was similar in effect—the writing dream came very hard to many of us.
Maybe our world right now is not that different. We’re not in pandemic days, but we have much to worry us. So much turmoil happening, difficult to watch the news (if you do), uncertainty about where it’ll all go.
So any tips on how to stay present, relax that worry and let yourself create with engagement, are worth considering.
Deep attention
One of my favorite parts of my writing life is what some call “deep attention.” Although it has different meanings for different people, to me it’s the immersion in what I’m creating to the exclusion of what’s around me.
Like watching an enthralling film or reading a great book you can’t put down, the writing process can also have this kind of focus. And it’s hard to even call it focus, which implies a kind of forcefulness of attention. This is more a dream state, to me. My mind relaxes into what I’m doing, and I am completely engaged.
One way I get this, when I’m working on a piece of writing, is to limit distractions. Managing my email and texting and social media is the first step. I close them down to allow a time of silence. I’ll go with no internet (turn off my router or wifi on my laptop) when I want to really sink into a scene or chapter.
At first, the mind (used to distractions and stimuli) gets a little ancy and uneasy. But gradually it slows to the stillness I’m looking for.
Choosing a location away from interruptions helps. Sometimes I’ll go out to a coffeeshop or the library and wear earbuds or headphones to create white noise. At home, I’ll ask for some hours alone in a room away from everyone else with a door that shuts. Whatever will give me enough privacy to not be on alert.
When the world is too much
So, being present means getting out of the world’s effect. And out of yourself, your own reaction to it, if that’s also in your way. But how do you do this and still stay connected to life?
Engage with a different part of it, a slower, more organically paced part.
For instance, when we’re too frazzled with the bombardment of political and trauma news to sink in, we can use a half-hour walk to disconnect. Get back into the physical body versus the mind wheel. Spending time in nature always helps me become more aware of what’s around me and brings an uplift. I stop chewing on stuff, mentally—except the good stuff, like problems I’m working out in my story or essay.
What I perceive through the senses on that walk becomes more real than anything I read online. It becomes meditation or spiritual practice.
Naps also help me disconnect, refresh myself, and reconnect to the present. Some of my writing friends swear by one a day, even for fifteen minutes (set your phone alarm). Fifteen minutes can bring a surprising abundance of refreshment and reorientation.
If I am too jittery with the world to nap, I can spread out my yoga mat in the living room and do fifteen minutes of relaxation exercises. My headache of “world overwhelm” goes away.
Plus, my writing that afternoon often takes me in new directions.
Swinging to relax the vision
If you can’t take the time to nap or walk outside, try swinging.
I remember my art teacher used to have us stop our paintings mid-stroke, set down the supplies, and step away from the easel to relax our eyes. She used one of the Bates Method exercises called the swing. It supposedly brings more blood flow to the eye, refreshing the vision, and for me it always worked to let me see anew.
When I’m at the keyboard for more than an hour, I try to remember to stop, stand up, and change my focus. Look far, out the window to the fields behind our house, then do a few minutes of swinging.
Stop and smell the roses—for real
The point? We can’t push our creativity if we expect to come up with original ideas and engaging writing or art.
According to author Miriam Laundry, it helps to slow down and use the senses to remind us about what’s real. Go outside and take in what you see, smell, hear. Don’t let the world just blur by, because it feels like too much. Focus in on what might bring you pleasure. Allow it to be part of your moment.
Focusing on the moment might sound simplistic, but it does let me disconnect, even briefly, from the jaggedness of the world right now.
Find the present moment in a generous community
A final idea on how to create that vital present-moment awareness when you’re creating: do it in community with fellow writers. I’ve always loved being part of events where writers share writing. If you find a generous one, it becomes a way to remember that you’re more than the chaos around you. It’s a great activity for staying present.
I enjoyed hearing author Maria Kouvarou’s exploration of this. Kouvarou believes the difficulty we experience in staying present with creating comes when we allow “external factors to limit, reduce, confine, and undermine the core elements” that keep us ideally present and connected to our own worlds.
She became involved with a series called the “Present Writer,” where she read/performed her work then answered questions from the audience about it.
Find a community that supports you—we writers can’t do this alone, especially when the world is pressing in in such an extreme way. Community is something to lean again. It reminds of of the creative possibilities in our lives, far from the internet and the news. We can align with something more lasting and tangible, a truth we get real nourishment from.
Begin to notice: Is it harder to write and slip into that dream state of creativity when you’ve spent a lot of time doom scrolling or listening to the news? What kind of balance can you find between being a concerned citizen of the world today and also a vibrant creative person?
Your Weekly Writing Exercise
This week, notice your own ability to stay present and how it influences your engagement with your writing practice. Try one of the techniques shared above.
Share your thoughts.