I had every intention of writing this column earlier. Really, I did. But there was so much work to do, and the home office needed cleaning (who can work in all that clutter?), and I had to finish reading the book first, and we had to go visit the baby. Besides, writing is so excruciating: I must have begun this piece three or four times, rewriting from the start after each effort.
Here's one way to procrastinate:
Read these books.
Details
Alice W. Flaherty reads at 7:30 p.m. on
Feb. 5
Admission is free
(510) 559-9500
www.codysbooks.com.
Jane Anne Staw presents a workshop,
"Getting Unstuck," at noon on Feb.
18 in the Tilden Room, 5th floor,
MLK Student Union, UC Berkeley
campus, Bancroft & Telegraph,
Berkeley.
Admission is free
ww
w.berkeley.edu
Cody's, 1730 Fourth St.
(at Virginia), Berkeley
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Before I read Unstuck: A Supportive and Practical Guide to Working Through Writer's Block by Berkeley-based teacher, coach, and poet Jane Anne Staw, I didn't consider myself a blocked writer. Sure, I would procrastinate – OK, actively avoid sitting down to write (see above) – but I've never dreaded writing. I don't stare for hours at a blank screen; I don't punish myself with nasty names when I don't feel like writing; I don't wake in a cold sweat in the middle of the night after a dream about composing a memo.
(Speaking of dreams, I really need to make the bed. Back in a jiff.)
But the book got me thinking. If a writer writes and a blocked writer doesn't write, is there anything in between? Reading Unstuck – which I admit I wouldn't have done if I hadn't gotten interested in Staw – made me consider my writing process and go back to my fundamental ideas about what a writer is. Upon finishing the book, I wrote a long entry in my journal that started as a sort of review and ended as an examination of myself. Unstuck gave me the jitters.
Which is not to say the book is bad. It's a bit touchy-feely for my taste, but that's a reflection of its author, a sincere and compassionate woman who wants nothing more than to help others express themselves. It's also a clear, genuine account of Staw's own block and how she overcame it, plus numerous (anonymous) case studies drawn from her client roster. Yet in the way it forces you to scrutinize yourself, the book is like a hard day at the therapist's office: You feel a little vulnerable, but ready to take the next step. Just as I wouldn't recommend that a healthy person visit a psychiatrist – it can leave you feeling a little nuts, even when you're not – I wouldn't recommend that anyone who's happy with her writing process read Unstuck. It's too uncanny.
Jane Anne Staw comes across like a nun. I don't mean that she seems asexual or timid or religious – although there is a certain Buddhist bent to her advocacy of compassion and peacefulness for writers (she is not a Buddhist). But this petite, bright-eyed, apple-cheeked lady has what can only be called an aura of empathy about her. She's like a guru: somebody you want to believe in, somebody you want to follow.
I first became interested in Staw years ago, when two pals took her creative nonfiction workshop and went on and on about their wonderful teacher and what great pieces they were creating as a result of her class. More recently, a former boss mentioned that she'd taken Staw's course; this person, who's normally pretty cynical, practically gushed. And then two more friends piped up that they'd taken a Staw session, too. It felt like the first time you mention the word "miscarriage" and discover that 10 women you know have had one.
(Hold on: I have to look at the new photos of the baby. Oh, a video! I'll have to download the software. That might take a while.)
Staw is one of the most popular writing teachers in the Bay Area, and no one who knows her says a bad thing about her. The reviews of Unstuck on Amazon.com are similarly telling. They all give the title five out of five stars ("I can personally testify that this book changed my life"), except for a single criticism: "I didn't see anything new here or enough specificity to yield results," one reader wrote, but then gave the book three stars anyway.
I approached Unstuck with some trepidation. I'd gone to see Staw read at A Clean Well-Lighted Place for Books, and though I found her sweet and charming, her theories seemed anecdotal. She spoke at length about the roots and results of her own block, but when she brought up her belief that her difficulty might have been the result of wanting to protect her father's long-ago dream of becoming a journalist, I thought, "Oh, come on." Anticipating that response, she explained that every writer's block comes from fear of success, fear of hurting "somebody you're protecting." I didn't buy it.
(Aw hell, I forgot to buy milk. Just a quick trip to the store, and then I'll start right back up.)
Even while I was reading Unstuck, I found myself resisting her argument. It contains a few lines that made me cringe (such as a mention of "keeping up with the Joneses, the Chus, and the Martinezes"; if it weren't such a reactionary thing to say, I'd call her P.C.), and all the talk about "nuclear families" and fourth-grade trauma gave me pause. But then I found myself underlining and starring passages. Now, I am not a regular reader of self-help books, and I didn't read this one thinking it would help me. But some bits carry a simple truth, like this: "We are extremely vulnerable around our writing – so vulnerable that any negative event, no matter how small or how early, may begin the avalanche, eventually burying us in fear."
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