This is all I have to bite off for the time being. It reminds me that all I have to do is to write down as much as I can see through a one-inch picture frame. I go back to trying to breathe, slowly and calmly, and I finally notice the one-inch picture frame that I put on my desk to remind me of short assignments.
But all of this only takes somewhere between one and two minutes, so I haven't actually wasted that much time. So I become a dog with a chew toy, worrying it for a while, wrestling it to the ground, flinging it over my shoulder, chasing it, licking it, chewing it, flinging it back over my shoulder. Then I think about someone I'm really annoyed with, or some financial problem that is driving me crazy, and decide that I must resolve this before I get down to today's work. After a moment I may notice that I'm trying to decide whether or not I am too old for orthodontia and whether right now would be a good time to make a few calls, and then I start to think about learning to use makeup and how maybe I could find some boyfriend who is not a total and complete fixer-upper and then my life would be totally great and I'd be happy all the time, and then I think about all the people I should have called back before I sat down to work, and how I should probably at least check in with my agent and tell him this great idea I have and see if he thinks it's a good idea, and see if he thinks I need orthodontia-if that is what he is actually thinking whenever we have lunch together. So I just sit there for a minute, breathing slowly, quietly. First I try to breathe, because I'm either sitting there panting like a lapdog or I'm unintentionally making slow asthmatic death rattles. What I do at this point, as the panic mounts and the jungle drums begin beating and I realize that the well has run dry and that my future is behind me and I'm going to have to get a job only I'm completely unemployable, is to stop.
And they pull up chairs in a semicircle around the computer, and they try to be quiet but you know they are there with their weird coppery breath, leering at you behind your back. Then your mental illnesses arrive at the desk like your sickest, most secretive relatives.
It's hard to get your footing, and your fingertips get all red and frozen and torn up. But this is like trying to scale a glacier. Often when you sit down to write, what you have in mind is an autobiographical novel about your childhood, or a play about the immigrant experience, or a history of-oh, say-say women. The first useful concept is the idea of short assignments. 1A.Lamott.printable Selections from Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.
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