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ting the urge to stop and edit. I would cross out misspellings, replace words with better choices, and go back to read what I had written.</p><p id="1d66">Over the course of several sessions, I learned to stifle those impulses and push on. I kept the pen moving, even if I had nothing to say. When at a loss, I would write, “I have nothing to write,” again and again, until something came to mind.</p><p id="a968">Some days, words were difficult to come by. I would fill pages with drivel—notes on life, observations of my mood, lists of things I planned to do.</p><p id="bcf3">But at other times, I would slip into a different mindset and tap into subjects I had never thought about. Storylines appeared out of thin air. Chapters were sketched out and characters were developed. Connections and insights were made.</p><p id="968b">Goldberg calls this place the ‘wild mind.’</p><p id="2ded">“Wild mind isn’t just your mind,” she says. “It’s the whole world moving through you. With it, you give voice to a very large life, even though you might only be talking about your grandmother’s closet with its particular wallpaper and floor. It’s an awareness of everything through one thing.”</p><p id="05c1">Writing practice made obvious the source of my earlier problems. Those pauses in my writing flow had taken me out of the moment and allowed me to critique what I’d written. I would ponder the suitability of a word or the shape of a sentence, which would lead me down a rabbit hole of questions and self doubt. Soon the entire project seemed hopeless or ill-conceived.</p><p id="a3da">Writing practice suspended those impulses and taught me to trust my inner voice. I learned to write for longer stretches, with little consideration to what I had written.</p><p id="010f">Over time, I learned to apply the lessons of writing practice to ordinary writing projects, such as essays, business articles, and fiction. The process of writing a first draft quickly, in the ‘wild mind’ state, took me places I wouldn’t have gone otherwise. Writing became easier, more productive, and more enjoyable.</p><p id="5819">Writing practice also taught me the power of habit. By establishing a consistent routine, writing became second nature. Now I look forward to it, and if I skip a day, I miss it.</p><h2 id="b386">My writing practice</h2><p id="c68c">I still conduct daily writing practice. I’ve found that having a practice routine jumpstarts my writing process. It also helps me tap into my ‘wild mind’ more quickly. Below are the elements of my routine.</p><ul><li>I use pen and paper. There is something about the physical process of writing that allows my mind to connect directly with my hand. For me, technology can interfere with that process.</li><li>I use a Uniball Vision Elite pen and a standard college-ruled composition notebook. I find the Uniball to write smoothly and quick

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ly. The composition notebook is big enough to write on without having to turn pages frequently. Using consistent tools is comfortable and familiar.</li><li>I only write on the front side of each page. I leave the opposite side blank so I can later revisit what I’ve written and add notes.</li><li>I write for around 30 minutes per session. Sometimes I set a timer, but even when the timer goes off, sometimes I keep going.</li><li>I try to do writing practice every day, but I don’t always reach that goal. I don’t beat up over missing a day. The idea is to suspend judgment and immerse myself.</li><li>I try to continue under all circumstances. If someone enters the room, I keep writing. If my phone rings, I ignore it.</li></ul><p id="0721">Goldberg describes writing practice as a lifelong habit, something she comes back to every day—even when she is in the middle of writing a novel.</p><p id="213f">“Don’t think, ‘I’ve got it,’” Goldberg says. “It’s a continual practice — something you have to keep doing. It’s like a runner who does warm-ups before running. He doesn’t say, ‘I ran yesterday, I’m limber.’ Each day, they warm up and stretch.”</p><p id="68fe">Below are Goldberg’s rules for writing practice.</p><h2 id="a76e">Rules for Writing Practice, from “Wild Mind,” by Natalie Goldberg</h2><ol><li><b>Keep your hand moving</b>. When you sit down to write, whether it’s for ten minutes or an hour, once you begin, don’t stop.</li><li><b>Lose control.</b> Say what you want to say. Don’t worry if it’s correct, polite, or appropriate. Just let it rip.</li><li><b>Be specific. </b>Not car, but Cadillac. Not fruit, but apple. Not bird, but wren. Not a codependent, neurotic man, but Harry, who runs to open the refrigerator for his wife, thinking she wants an apple, when she is headed for the gas stove to light her cigarette. Be careful of those pop-psychology labels. Get below the label and be specific to the person.</li><li><b>Don’t think.</b> We usually live in the realm of second or third thoughts, thoughts on thoughts, rather than in the realm of first thoughts, the real way we flash on something. Stay with the first flash. Writing practice will help you contact first thoughts. Just practice and forget everything else.</li><li><b>Don’t worry about punctuation, spelling, grammar.</b> Don’t stay in the margins. Use the entire page.</li><li><b>You are free to write the worst junk in America.</b></li><li><b>Go for the jugular.</b> If something scary comes up, go for it. That’s where the energy is. Otherwise, you’ll spend all your time writing around whatever makes you nervous. It will probably be abstract, bland writing because you’re avoiding the truth. Hemingway said, “Write hard and clear about what hurts.” Don’t avoid it. It has all the energy. Don’t worry, no one ever died of it. You might cry or laugh, but not die.</li></ol></article></body>

How to develop a consistent writing habit

Natalie Goldberg’s “Writing Practice” will get you on the right path

Photo courtesy of Tyler Nix on Unsplash.

Developing a consistent writing habit is key to becoming a successful writer. Natalie Goldberg’s “Writing Practice” is a powerful tool that will help you harness your creativity and develop habits that propel your writing career.

Several years ago, I went through a period during which I struggled to write. When I sat down at the computer, I would put down a paragraph, pause, and then work to perfect it before moving on. The habit stopped me in my tracks. Even shorter pieces became a grind to finish.

I sought out writing books for help, and I came across Natalie Goldberg’s first book, Writing Down the Bones (1986).

Goldberg likens writing to the practice of Zen Meditation. She advocates making writing a “practice,” in the way that meditation is a practice. The writer sits for a prescribed amount of time and writes continuously, setting aside the urge to edit or even lift pen from paper.

“A writing practice,” says Goldberg, “is simply picking up a pen — a fast-writing pen, preferably, since the mind is faster than the hand — and doing timed writing exercises. The idea is to keep your hand moving for, say, ten minutes, and don’t cross anything out, because that makes space for your inner editor to come in. You are free to write the worst junk in America.”

Writing practice, Goldberg contends, requires daily practice, just as an athlete must train daily to stay in shape. And like athletic training, writing practice is all about process. The product of the practice is not nearly as important.

“The more you practice, the better you get at it,” says Goldberg. “The reason you keep your hand moving is because there’s often a conflict between the editor and the creator. The editor is always on our shoulder saying, ‘Oh, you shouldn’t write that. It’s no good.’ But when you have to keep the hand moving, it’s an opportunity for the creator to have a say. All the other rules of writing practice support that primary rule of keeping your hand moving. The goal is to allow the written word to connect with your original mind, to write down the first thought you flash on, before the second and third thoughts come in.”

I bought a bundle of composition notebooks and set out to test Goldberg’s method. At first, the practice felt awkward. I stared at the blank page, much as I had the empty computer screen. When I finally began writing, I had difficulty resisting the urge to stop and edit. I would cross out misspellings, replace words with better choices, and go back to read what I had written.

Over the course of several sessions, I learned to stifle those impulses and push on. I kept the pen moving, even if I had nothing to say. When at a loss, I would write, “I have nothing to write,” again and again, until something came to mind.

Some days, words were difficult to come by. I would fill pages with drivel—notes on life, observations of my mood, lists of things I planned to do.

But at other times, I would slip into a different mindset and tap into subjects I had never thought about. Storylines appeared out of thin air. Chapters were sketched out and characters were developed. Connections and insights were made.

Goldberg calls this place the ‘wild mind.’

“Wild mind isn’t just your mind,” she says. “It’s the whole world moving through you. With it, you give voice to a very large life, even though you might only be talking about your grandmother’s closet with its particular wallpaper and floor. It’s an awareness of everything through one thing.”

Writing practice made obvious the source of my earlier problems. Those pauses in my writing flow had taken me out of the moment and allowed me to critique what I’d written. I would ponder the suitability of a word or the shape of a sentence, which would lead me down a rabbit hole of questions and self doubt. Soon the entire project seemed hopeless or ill-conceived.

Writing practice suspended those impulses and taught me to trust my inner voice. I learned to write for longer stretches, with little consideration to what I had written.

Over time, I learned to apply the lessons of writing practice to ordinary writing projects, such as essays, business articles, and fiction. The process of writing a first draft quickly, in the ‘wild mind’ state, took me places I wouldn’t have gone otherwise. Writing became easier, more productive, and more enjoyable.

Writing practice also taught me the power of habit. By establishing a consistent routine, writing became second nature. Now I look forward to it, and if I skip a day, I miss it.

My writing practice

I still conduct daily writing practice. I’ve found that having a practice routine jumpstarts my writing process. It also helps me tap into my ‘wild mind’ more quickly. Below are the elements of my routine.

  • I use pen and paper. There is something about the physical process of writing that allows my mind to connect directly with my hand. For me, technology can interfere with that process.
  • I use a Uniball Vision Elite pen and a standard college-ruled composition notebook. I find the Uniball to write smoothly and quickly. The composition notebook is big enough to write on without having to turn pages frequently. Using consistent tools is comfortable and familiar.
  • I only write on the front side of each page. I leave the opposite side blank so I can later revisit what I’ve written and add notes.
  • I write for around 30 minutes per session. Sometimes I set a timer, but even when the timer goes off, sometimes I keep going.
  • I try to do writing practice every day, but I don’t always reach that goal. I don’t beat up over missing a day. The idea is to suspend judgment and immerse myself.
  • I try to continue under all circumstances. If someone enters the room, I keep writing. If my phone rings, I ignore it.

Goldberg describes writing practice as a lifelong habit, something she comes back to every day—even when she is in the middle of writing a novel.

“Don’t think, ‘I’ve got it,’” Goldberg says. “It’s a continual practice — something you have to keep doing. It’s like a runner who does warm-ups before running. He doesn’t say, ‘I ran yesterday, I’m limber.’ Each day, they warm up and stretch.”

Below are Goldberg’s rules for writing practice.

Rules for Writing Practice, from “Wild Mind,” by Natalie Goldberg

  1. Keep your hand moving. When you sit down to write, whether it’s for ten minutes or an hour, once you begin, don’t stop.
  2. Lose control. Say what you want to say. Don’t worry if it’s correct, polite, or appropriate. Just let it rip.
  3. Be specific. Not car, but Cadillac. Not fruit, but apple. Not bird, but wren. Not a codependent, neurotic man, but Harry, who runs to open the refrigerator for his wife, thinking she wants an apple, when she is headed for the gas stove to light her cigarette. Be careful of those pop-psychology labels. Get below the label and be specific to the person.
  4. Don’t think. We usually live in the realm of second or third thoughts, thoughts on thoughts, rather than in the realm of first thoughts, the real way we flash on something. Stay with the first flash. Writing practice will help you contact first thoughts. Just practice and forget everything else.
  5. Don’t worry about punctuation, spelling, grammar. Don’t stay in the margins. Use the entire page.
  6. You are free to write the worst junk in America.
  7. Go for the jugular. If something scary comes up, go for it. That’s where the energy is. Otherwise, you’ll spend all your time writing around whatever makes you nervous. It will probably be abstract, bland writing because you’re avoiding the truth. Hemingway said, “Write hard and clear about what hurts.” Don’t avoid it. It has all the energy. Don’t worry, no one ever died of it. You might cry or laugh, but not die.
Writing
Writing Tips
Self Improvement
Habit Building
Productivity
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