Breathing Exercises for Writers

by Tom Bentley
Copyright 2002, Tom Bentley

 




Scuttlebutt had it that Barbara Cartland, the doyenne of romance writers, did much of her early writing at the piano, stark naked. However that strains credibility, everyone's heard of writers who insist they can't write without their ancient manual typewriters with the missing keys, or their favorite fountain pens (or maybe even a stylus and hot wax). Writers can be a peculiar lot, and it's not surprising that their composing methods can be all over the map.

You would think that the map for business writers would have to be a bit more restrictive, at least in terms of how they approach deadline destinations, but it ain't necessarily so. I'll peek here at some variegated methods that freelance writers use to get to the same place—the delivery of deadline material. Since I am a freelance writer (mostly for the tech industry), perforce my attentions will focus on my own methods. However, since I have kept the company of fellow miscreant scriveners in the tech-writing world, I’ll toss in a couple of contrasting approaches.

I want to preface this by revealing that to some degree I take a grim pleasure in hearing recent news of the rash of dot-coms going belly-up. Though the tech downturn has bitten me deep in the britches as well, I'm happy that I'll no longer hear of Silicon Valley employees regularly working 15-hour shifts, the sleeping bag rolled at the ready under the desk, with maniacal managers patrolling cubicle fields exhorting the troops to donate their iron-poor blood to the cause of one more development deadline.

My distaste for those accounts is personal (and relevant to this account, thank god). My general view is that even with business writing, even with pressing deadlines, the stacking of ever-tottering hours of effort just results in a diminished return: your stack will topple (and so will you). This view is prejudiced by my own writing methods: I think writing is best crafted in short bursts, somewhat like synaptic patterns, the mind sending out a sheaf of arrows that hit targets, and then reloading. I recognize that sometimes you absolutely must grind out time at the keyboard (or on your papyrus), if you know that tomorrow's brochure needs an eighth page and you've only got seven, or if you're inputting "final" edits for the 10th time on a print-ready book project at 1am, but those are times when prayer or bourbon (or both) might ease you through.

What I'm addressing is where you have writing requirements for which the scope is pretty clear: this many words on this subject gets you this check. I know writers who can just bang out a first draft by sitting down and getting up hours later. For me, taking mini-breaks is the breathing of the mind after exercise: sprint through a paragraph, get up and wander to the front window to see if anyone is undressing in the neighbor's house, sprint through another paragraph, pay the invoice for that fountain pen you regret buying, sprint through.…

It actually works the same for me for so-called "creative" writing (though I think much business writing can be quite creative). I finally realized that I couldn’t wait for inspiration, a muse whose answering machine is all I get when I call. I can only work on a fictional piece in half-hour bursts, then read a magazine article or wipe grime off the stove knobs or re-lace my shoes, and then when I go back to the work, the windows open again for fresh writing air. Contrary to those tech-industry beliefs, dawdling is an integral component of productivity.

It's a laugh to have seen so many ads in tech magazines past of people at the beach with their laptops, or writing on their decks in the blazing sun ("Stay Connected All The Time With Our Wireless You-Don't-Know-How-Asinine-You-Look-At-The-Beach-Now High-Speed Modem), as though that was incredible freedom. Nah, freedom is when your brain does the work for you while, away from the keyboard, you peel an orange: "Ah, the hollow-but-compelling marketing phrase I was looking for just appeared in my mind—a miracle!"

So, whether you need to lean back between writing jaunts and listen to Jimi Hendrix playing Purple Haze at bleeding-ear volume, or choose to give the cat a good five-minute grooming (with a brush, not your tongue), consider it all part of the writing process. Whether you decide to bill your client for that “passive concentration” time is a matter for you, your accountant and your creditors, you clever scribe, you.