I am writing this in the parking lot of Walgreens where I just purchased a couple of manuscript mailers, a new
type of anti-frizz serum for my hair (hope springs eternal!) a discounted day-after-Easter bunny, solid milk
chocolate, fifty cents, and a small tablet of light purple eye shadow.
Now, this is the life. I can apply the eye shadow in the rear view mirror and check how it looks, (too light,) eat my
chocolate bunny in peace, without sharing, and write.
Every once in a while, people who come to a workshop or class Im teaching ask me how Im so productive and
prolific. They think there must be some secret because I have been published, and that this one shining fact
must mean I have superior work habits.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. The people who ask me about my work habits are inevitably parents
who work full time jobs and cant seem to squeeze in the requisite twenty minutes a day in which to write the
great American novel in between board meetings and Little League. They blame themselves; they imagine that
if only they could get up a half-hour earlier in the mornings, they too could be published and happy and virtuous.
Im sure somewhere out there is a writer with kids and a full time job and superior work habits, but I am not that
person. I am lazy and teach part-part-part-time and spend the rest of my day reading clothing catalogues and
complaining on the phone to my girlfriends. If I had children I probably would forget to feed them. I do have, as
of this writing, a slightly used unofficial foster teenager, but thats a different story. She mostly feeds herself,
and sometimes me too.
But back to the question of When Do You Write? For me, the answer to this question is easy: I write when Im
procrastinating some other important task. For example, this essay is being written on April 23rd. My taxes are
not yet done. Once again, Ive filed for an extension. I write when the bathroom needs to be cleaned, when the
garden needs to be weeded, or when Im skipping some important meeting. Paperwork is always good for a
poem: when my California Poets in the Schools contracts are due, the muse gets very busy.
The best and easiest way to write Ive found, is to carry my journal with me at all times and to write in parking
lots. The parking lot of the gym is an exceptionally good place. I can avoid doing a workout (see above,) and
begin a poem, all at the same time. Short stories, essays, letters to Godanything but the Stairmaster!
Ever since I was a little kid, Ive had trouble with transitions. I dont mean just the usual huge life transitions,
birth, death, divorce, moving across countryeveryone has trouble with those, for godsakes.
No, I mean little itty-bitty transitions like waking up and putting my feet on the hard bedroom floor. Arriving home
from somewhere and having to turn off the car and go into the house. Getting out of the shower dripping wet
and needing to towel off and get dressed. Sleeping/waking, car/house, wet/dry. You can see why life has been
very, very hard for me.
In order to soften the cruelly jarring sensation of moving from one environment to another, I have a little habit of
reading everything that isnt nailed down. Indeed, I can be observed all over town, sitting in my car and reading
week-old newspapers with absorbed interest. Occasionally, however, theres nothing to read in the car, or Ive
read it all ten times already, and thats when I really get productive and prolific. I pull out my notebook and
write.
I find that the gym parking lot is really the best. Something about the shadow of that Stairmaster looming inside
puts the fear of God into me and the words tumble out of my pen faster than I can catch them. Its like divine
inspiration; Im totally flying. All around me, fit people lugging gym bags and toweling off their damp hair, are
jumping into cars and speeding off to their next appointments, while I sit there scrawling page after page of what
may someday become a short story.
New fit energetic people zoom into the parking spaces the old ones vacate, but my spot in the far back corner
lot remains blissfully stable. My teal-blue 94 Geo Prism is not going anywhere.
Times upif Ive been really successful at my writing I can skip the workout altogether and drive directly back to
my house where my computer lives, waiting for me to type up a second draft. Otherwise, at some point, I have
to reluctantly make a transition. Put down the journal, open the car door, face the world outside. One foot then
the other foot, good, goodone has to talk oneself through these things, you know, especially if one spends a
whole lot of time writing, which tends to make one a funny kind of person anyway
Once in the gym, I give the deskperson my card, get my locker key and proceed directly to the lounge, where I
drink coffee and read the paper or watch Oprah. For some strange reason, although Ive belonged to the gym
for years now, I havent lost any weighton the other hand, I havent gained any either.
So, there you are. My foolproof method for accomplishing a lot of writing, while being neither productive nor
prolific. Some people pay big bucks to get these tricks of the trade at writing seminars, but I am giving my
secrets away for free. It may seem like a lot of money per month for a gym membership when my pants size has
stayed exactly the same, but when you figure in all the millions you can make from poetry, its definitely worth it.
