I have come out of the fog – not a fog in any kind of momentous navel-gazing brood spiral, mind you, but I have had the need to think, and in so doing, ventured into the foggy domains of my mind. At least that is what it felt like. I needed to figure stuff out, contemplate on options, chew on problems. And chew I did.
I can’t believe it’s been three months since my last post. I had big plans. My last post was about the pressure to be outside and as if the gods had wanted to make me a fool – not a hard job – I hardly did any of the usual outdoorsy things I do do. Yes, plans were made, but just as easily broken. Which, truth be told, are always my kind of plans – those that are flexible and have no problem fragmenting into other plans. So I and my significant other did not get out and about. Not physically.
Instead, I wandered in the wilderness of my thoughts. I rambled through my stories, trying to discover the best path. I took serpentine perambulations, and trekked on rocky trails, all in an effort to find my way. Frankly, I was feeling lost with my writing. And, sure, I could have stayed in one place, like they tell you to do in wilderness training, but as I have as of yet failed to adequately train my stories to rush St. Bernard-like into author-rescue-mode, I didn’t think that a wise choice. After all, I could have been waiting out there twiddling my thumbs for a long time. I had to get myself out.
When the student is ready, the teacher will present themselves. These words have echoed through many parts of my life as of late and heeding the call, I enrolled in a class, sought guidance and information online and advice from my friends. I think of myself as a lifelong student. But the thing about learning, being a student, accumulating information, is the need to digest it all. Thus, to ruminate. Amazing that the definition of this means all at once to chew repeatedly for an extended period, and to go over in the mind repeatedly and often causally or slowly.
You may know about Nanowrimo, that upcoming yearly online event where writers commit to a 50,000 word first draft. It is a great way to challenge yourself and an easy way to gauge your success. You write, you count, you keep track, you get to 50,000 and you win. But other parts of writing are not so straight ahead. How does one quantify or qualify rumination? When someone asks, what you are doing and you say thinking, it’s hard not to flinch at your answer. What does that even mean? Sometimes thinking can come off like you’re just wasting time.
Now to be fair, my thinking also entails making notes and reading and then striking things out and then re-reading and reading some more as I bounce all over my work [or works] in progress. It also means studying and researching and trying to find solutions or other ways of looking at a problem. It can mean jumping from one thing to another to give my mind a break, going from a big problem to a smaller one and then back again. But ultimately, it is thinking and it is hard to calibrate the value of that work. Not until the end. And sometimes all you’ve learned at the end is the way you were thinking about the problem was all wrong so now you’ve got to try another tack.
Word count is a palpable method to monitor your progress, and come November you bet I’ll be counting. But story generation, plotting and editing for me, at least at this stage in my writing, calls for a more contemplative approach and keeping track of word count feels like a pointless exercise. So I’m trying not to have guilt about what might be perceived as wasted time. From an outsider, sure, it doesn’t look like you’re doing much but ‘butt in chair’ is ever one of the golden rules of writing. As long as I’m in that chair, pouring concentrated (see how I did that?) energy into my art, that counts. In the words of Albert Einstein – creativity is the residue of time wasted.
Shall I explore rumination further? Give you something to bite into? Well, without chewing on, chewing through, chewing into that food for thought, you cannot get closer to solving the problem. Or perhaps I should say solving the problem in a manner that can be replicated, something you might be able to recreate the next time. So let the word rumination play on your tongue. It is so much more active a word than thinking.
Next time someone asks what you’re doing as you stare off into space, or at your screen or at the page, say you’re ruminating. Because sometimes you just have to bite into a problem.