Photo by Debbie Bateman
Say Hello to My Friend
It’s a good life, no lie. In my office, I have this delightful creature at my back on a bookshelf at eye level. Whenever I turn around, I see its protruding snout and clever wings, and I remember to believe in the impossible. Those beady eyes know things and the pinkish skin is more than adorable. Pig skin, as you might know, is exceptionally tough and resilient.
Tracy Lewis, artist extraordinaire, made this wonder with her bare hands. The minute I saw her first batch of flying pigs, I knew I had to have one. All of her art work, whether ceramic or water colour or actual film, is animated as you can plainly see.
Believe in the Impossible
There is magic in believing in the seemingly unlikely or even the blatantly impossible. Personally, I suspect that’s what creativity actually is. I can’t speak for others, but for me it certainly feels that way. At its most fundamental, the urge to write is an act of rebellion against self-imposed or otherwise-directed limitation. The upswell of joy released in this act of defiance is supported by ongoing risk on several levels.
Level One: Making Time
The first level, and in many ways the bravest, is claiming the space and time to create. My life in my mid-sixties has fewer commitments and more time. And yet, if I were to wait for the urge or a clearly formed idea, I’d probably never write a single word. I’d watch Netflix or YouTube videos with laughing babies and dancing cats. I’d trim my toenails or clean my sock drawer or hang out with friends or eat ice cream. I might read the news, hoping to make sense of our messed-up world, or I might expand into worlds other than my own by reading a novel or memoir, because I do those things too in case you’re wondering.
It’s an inescapable truth that inspiration comes to people already working. I’ve heard rumours of writers who get swept up by a muse, sit down at their desk, and pour out genius constructions ready for publication. Perhaps, although I doubt it. Certainly, this does not happen to me.
Nevertheless, wings can sprout on any pig. And here’s what it takes. Make an appointment with yourself, set aside a block of time during which you will remain butt in chair, waiting for words. Every writer approaches this challenge in their own way. Some like me, commit to a writing practice, a few uninterrupted hours every day. Others prefer to designate a larger block of time on the weekend or at a retreat.
Level Two: Stepping Up
So, there you are at your desk, ready to write and waiting diligently for an idea. Guess what happens next? As sure as the sun rises every morning, there will an email you must respond to, a fact you’ve got to check on the Internet which leads awkwardly to the dancing cats mentioned earlier. The toilet can’t wait to be cleaned, the floor must be scrubbed right this minute, those toenails aren’t going to trim themselves. And so on.
Maybe it’s the discomfort of uncertainty. Maybe it’s the risk. Maybe it’s the truth that most pigs never sprout wings although their skin is tough. Refuse distractions. Do this in whatever way you must. Some writers point their desk at a blank wall. Others block Internet access while they are writing. Others still, and I’m not saying who, stand at their desk and start walking, thereby enacting a false sense of freedom while managing to remain in place at the computer.
Level Three: Wings
Believe in yourself. You are not an ordinary pink-skinned creature. There are wings under that thick skin. Every short story I ever managed to place in a literary magazine or anthology was first rejected about 100 times. When I started The Writer’s Studio, I believed the short stories I brought to the workshop were mostly finished. It took two years of hard work to get those stories ready for submission to publishers. When I found a publisher, again I thought the stories were mostly ready. Instead, I worked every spare minute I could find for six exhausting months to further improve the work.
Sometimes in revising my collection for publication, I became discouraged. I wondered if pigs could fly. What sane person wouldn’t? But I returned to Stage One: butt in chair. It can work for you too.
Thanks for reading. I wish you lots and lots and lots of flying pig moments. If you enjoyed my blog, please subscribe. It’s free.
Debbie Bateman 