As someone who dances on the doorstep of creativity, I’m endlessly fascinated by the act of creation. I’ve lost whole afternoons wondering what it would be like to write like Fitzgerald or paint like Michaelangelo. Does it come easily? Do they see the sacred strings of sentences in their heads before choosing the ripest fruit for plucking? Or, is it difficult? Do the words come like breech children, or do they come gallantly; polished and prepared for their place in the literary canon.

What are the nuts-and-bolts of speaking something into nothing?

In my limited scope, the best book I’ve read on writing is by Anne Lamott. “Bird by Bird” – a beautiful book that describes her process; what’s worked for her, what hasn’t, and what she teaches her students on writing.

And she should know. I wouldn’t recommend reading anything by Anne Lamott unless you are 1) Not a writer, or 2) Very secure in your stature as a writer. Lamott has better words than anyone should.

It gets me thinking about my own “Process” – if you’d call it that. I do most of my writing in bed, head against the hard wall. Feet way out in front of me. Pillow underneath the laptop for ergonomics and heat-transfer. It’s not very romantic, but sometimes I do have a glass of wine. Sometimes I start fresh, sometimes I borrow lines from dusty documents. And, every time, it’s some kind of rodeo to rope and sprawl the words onto the page. More labor than love.

What about you? My EverydayMay friends? Do you have a routine? Do you have a prayer? What’s your process? What are your nuts-and-bots of speaking something into nothing?

Sometimes I want to write like Brennan Manning.

“Jesus said you are to love one another as I have loved you, a love that will possibly lead to the bloody, anguished gift of yourself; a love that forgives seventy times seven, that keeps no score of wrongdoing. Jesus said this, this love, is the one criterion, the sole norm, the standard of discipleship in the disciples, not because of your church-going, Bible-toting, or song-singing. No, you’ll be identified as His by one sign only, the deep and delicate respect for one another, the cordial love impregnated with reverence for the sacred dimension of the human personality because of the mysterious substitution of Christ for the Christian.” – Brennan Manning The Furious Longing of God

And then I remember what it took to bring those words into the air – a story of years of struggle, devotion, addiction, alcoholism, repentance and relapse… and repentance again, so I’ll just be thankful for Brennan Manning and the journey he took so we don’t have to.

Though November is done with us, I’m not done with November. I’ve fallen in love with writing everyday and I’m intoxicated by the muse and chasing that sacred specter wherever she leads each day. I’ve learned more about friends and I’ve learned more about myself and I’m not ready to give that up just yet.

So, what’s next? I don’t know. Suggestions are welcome, as are prayers.

If you’ve joined us in writing for the past few weeks, there’s undoubtedly been one (or 23) nights where the words don’t come as easy as you want them to. I struggle for ideas every single day. Sometimes I’ll be at the gym or in the shower and I’ll be suddenly seized by some kind of inspiration and by the time I get home to capture it, it’s escaped me. So I’ll sit there with this impatient, insistent cursor blinking at me, tapping her toe and mostly I go a little crazy.

So, I always wonder where the best ideas come from. Where do the truly great thinkers go to find them? Most of me thinks Oregon is full of great ideas. I’m tempted to think they come only during showers or just before sleep and while those are two of my favorite places to be, they are coincidentally the least conducive to writing. So, what then?

One of my favorite authors/thinkers wrote brilliantly today about exactly this struggle. I realize this comes toward the tail end of NovemberBlogfest, but I’m still happy to share it in hopes that it inspires us to keep writing, keep chasing the ideas and keep refusing to believe in coincidences.

Where do ideas come from?

1. Ideas don’t come from watching television
2. Ideas sometimes come from listening to a lecture
3. Ideas often come while reading a book
4. Good ideas come from bad ideas, but only if there are enough of them
5. Ideas hate conference rooms, particularly conference rooms where there is a history of criticism, personal attacks or boredom
6. Ideas occur when dissimilar universes collide
7. Ideas often strive to meet expectations. If people expect them to appear, they do
8. Ideas fear experts, but they adore beginner’s mind. A little awareness is a good thing
9. Ideas come in spurts, until you get frightened. Willie Nelson wrote three of his biggest hits in one week
10. Ideas come from trouble
11. Ideas come from our ego, and they do their best when they’re generous and selfless
12. Ideas come from nature
13. Sometimes ideas come from fear (usually in movies) but often they come from confidence
14. Useful ideas come from being awake, alert enough to actually notice
15. Though sometimes ideas sneak in when we’re asleep and too numb to be afraid
16. Ideas come out of the corner of the eye, or in the shower, when we’re not trying
17. Mediocre ideas enjoy copying what happens to be working right this minute
18. Bigger ideas leapfrog the mediocre ones
19. Ideas don’t need a passport, and often cross borders (of all kinds) with impunity
20. An idea must come from somewhere, because if it merely stays where it is and doesn’t join us here, it’s hidden. And hidden ideas don’t ship, have no influence, no intersection with the market. They die, alone.

That said, friends, what do we do next month?

When I was teaching, my favorite question was some form of “What do you want to be when you grow up?” – Of course, lots of students were very cool and would dismiss my question as though it’s only appropriate to ask it of a 5-year old who would probably respond with 1) baseball player 2) Train “driver” 3) Um.

So I’d couch the question between college plans and current classes. “What do you want to study?” or “What do you want to go to college for?” I’d ask.

What I didn’t tell them is that there’s a good chance they’d never again be asked that question in earnest. You go to college and people kind of just assume that you’re going to do whatever you’re studying for, or whatever makes the most money.

And then, you graduate. You leave an institution that’s supported your idealism for 16 (in my case, 18) years and you step down out of your warm, controlled spaceship and on to the strange planet you’ve only read about. The “real world” they call it.

And this real world comes with a strange kind of gravity, one that, if you let it,  pulls you from passion and gifting and toward precision, safety and efficiency. There are bills, after all. So, you take a job that pays those bills and so begins our slow, quiet drift away from our truest selves.

About the time resignation sets in, we begin condensing our passions into “hobbies” and dismiss them as childish. “I used to be in a band” I say,” but then we had to grow up.” And it’s a good thing to grow up – it’s a good thing to grow. But, I’d argue that we spend most of our lives resisting growth because it’s messy and painful.

Mark Twain once said, “Most men die at 27, we just bury them at 72.” And I couldn’t agree more. Tomorrow’s post – “what I want to be when I grow up. “