inspiration

Can’t think of anything to write? Read someone else’s mail.

No, I don’t want anyone to break the law; but there is a way to find great story and poem ideas in someone else’s mail.  Check out your nearest flea market or antique store and see if they have any old postcards–old used postcards.  Though ideas for stories and poems can be found in the pictures, inspiration awaits in the writing on the other side.  These notes from real people to real people are an Aladdin’s treasure cave full of humor, pathos, mystery, bravado, family life, and love.

 Here are some of my finds.  See what stories or poems you can conjure up from these real-life messages from the past.

 One card, addressed to Mrs. Arthur Ridgewell and dated 1907, reads: “I suppose you are still in Plaster Rock.  Heard that Frank 1st has left you.  I guess he must be a wanderer.” 

 Like all good story openings. this card leaves the reader with lots of questions.  And when the reader is a writer, a story is bound to follow.  Who is Frank 1st? (And, for that matter, who is Frank 2nd?) Why did he wander before? Why did he come back?  Why is he leaving again? Where is he likely to go? The word ‘still’ seems important to the writer. Where, other than Plaster Rock, should Mary be?  What is the relationship between the sender and the writer?

 A card from Vancouver, dated 1911 and addressed to a Miss McLeod in P.E.I., reads:  “How soon do you think you can leave College to come west?  You are needed very badly as chaperone and we would be more than pleased to have you with us.”

 More questions: What was Miss McLeod studying in college or was she a teacher?  What kind of person would think it perfectly acceptable for a woman to leave college, head west, and become a chaperone?  Why would the sender need a chaperone ‘badly?  Why is there no salutation to the note–no Dear…?  What social milieu are we dealing with here? Is the sender wealthy and is Miss McLeod a poor relation?

 The following card is posted from Winnipeg in January 1909 and addressed to Mrs. Sharpe in Listowel, Ontario.  “Just a line to thank you for the nice Xmas cards you sent.  We were too poor to send anyone anything this winter as Will’s work will be done this week.  Things are dreadful dull and it is so dreadfully cold, about 42 below.  We did not go far when it was that cold.  Dick and Elsie are well.  He is working steady. How is Clarence? Remember me to him.  Love to all from all.  Sade”

 Think of how Sade must have felt writing that her family was too poor to send Christmas cards.  The postage on the postcard was one cent and though the card was dated January 1st, it wasn’t mailed until the 8th.  Did Sade have to wait that long to get the postage or was it just too cold to go out?  Who are these people and what work might they be doing?  The card is addressed to Mrs. Fred Sharpe; then, who is Clarence and why does Sade wish to be remembered to him?  What if he is a brother of Mrs. Sharpe that Sade was fond of once, or perhaps Mrs. Sharpe is Sade’s sister and Clarence is Sade’s nephew.  Put yourself in Sade’s shoes while she is writing this card or in Mrs. Sharpe’s when she hears such sad news from her friend.  Maybe Mrs. Sharpe is a relative of Sade’s husband and Sade is hinting for her husband to be rescued from unemployment in Winnipeg and offered work in the family business in Listowel.

 If you are a poet, think of the wonderful ‘found poems’ that are waiting for you in these postcards.  You could weave a poem like the following:

 Winnipeg, 1909

 Just a line to thank you

for the nice Xmas cards you sent. 

We were too poor

to send anyone

anything.

Things are dreadful dull

and it is so dreadfully cold.

How is Clarence?

Remember me to him. 

Sade

I paid three dollars for those postcards and have covered a couple of pages in my journal with possible ideas from each one–a small investment in inspiration.  Consider what some postcards could do to fire your imagination or help you break out of one of those (thankfully rare) cement-brained-writer’s days? 

 Inspiration on a postcard?  Why not?  Find the wonderful stories and poems that are possible when your writer’s imagination meets someone else’s mail.

Writer’s Block First Aid

I had to take a dose of my own medicine yesterday. My editor e-mailed a deadline to me and I was unprepared. So I did what I advise all writers to do—I started brainstorming. I made a list of all the things I like to write about and another of what I like to read about and I still felt like my own creative well was empty.

Is this writers’ block? laziness? stubbornness? Whatever it was, it felt lousy and I knew I had to get over it. Get over myself wishing I didn’t have to do it. Get over wanting to run away from my responsibilities. You get the picture. So, I did what I’ve told other writers to do, just started the thing.

And groaned about how difficult it is to face the blank screen—and to resist walking away and boiling the kettle for another cup of tea.

I made the tea.

Then I did the next best thing to writing; I hit the books and the Internet to research what other writers do when they’re in the same, gloomy, non-writing place. Clearly I am not alone. Google presented me with 2,710,000 sites for my search: “overcoming writer’s block.” Nearly three million people writing about writer’s block? Now I’m getting researcher’s block!

I did find a couple of gems, though.

Franz Kafka (“Metamorphosis”) said: “You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quite still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.” Well, it was clear to me after giving this a try, that the only “world” I was freely offered was one with a list of chores and “must remember to buy cereal on the way home from work.”  The only things rolling at my feet were dust bunnies. And, they’re more the static rather than the ecstatic variety as they attached themselves to my slippers and followed me to the kitchen. More tea.

Richard Condon wrote: “When I feel dried up I deal myself a few games of solitaire at my desk. I’ve been doing it all my life. Sometimes I play 10 or 20 games, sometimes 40. Once, I played for three straight days. The important thing is not to leave the workplace.” Sadly, I have no problem doing this; in fact, I always delete my Free Cell statistics after 100 games so I won’t be ashamed of the total number of games that I have played. Along with checking my e-mail, tidying my files, and deleting old messages, I have found many ways not to leave my “workplace”—and not write.

Other advice on writer’s block? Here’s one from Quentin Crisp: “Ignore it: you never stop speaking; why stop writing?” My answer to him is: “because I don’t feel like it.”

“And why don’t you feel like it?” I hear him ask me and it ticks me off and then—I realize what the answer is in an embarrassing flash of insight.

I’m afraid.

Yup. I don’t want to write because I don’t want to fail. What if this is the article that my editor said was just too awful to print. And if I can’t write this article, can I ever write anything else? Needless to say, all the advice I’ve written to others about not listening to their critical voices and, about following the advice of Anne Lamott and giving themselves permission to write the “shitty first draft”* went right out the window. The blank screen wasn’t just blank; it was the enemy.

So, I switched the thing off.

And picked up a pencil and some paper–because quitting really wasn’t an option.

That simple action made all the difference. Writing with paper and pencil was the first method I had used to create as a child and as a student, and by some magic, the connections were still there. I doodled and scribbled, added bits in margins or between lines, changed pen colours and made little flowers around the holes at the side of the paper. I don’t always write in order, so it was freeing to draw sweeping arrows from a bit I’d written at the top of the page to the bottom where I’d suddenly thought of more to add. Turning the pages, numbering them, scribbling diagonally across the empty backs of pages with new ideas, filling those pages was hugely satisfying. Writing became a visceral act; I felt totally involved and energized. And amazingly disconnected from the critic.

Because I was writing on paper, I had permission to be messy, cluttered, tangential, and free. The screen demands order and clean copy. I mean, just look at the thing! Everything ‘looks’ perfect—even lousy writing—and how depressing is that!

Have I found the universal cure for getting past the barrier to creativity? No. But I found one that works for me. Thank heavens for deadlines

—and pencils and paper.

Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. Anne Lamott, First Anchor Books Edition, 1995

Originally printed in What If? Canada’s Magazine for Creative Teens

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