I know the sewage is there; I just don’t want to write about it every day
It’s been ten days since I stopped writing morning pages after a long sequence of getting 1,000 words onto the page first thing on a daily basis. The plan was to check and see how it affected my mood and my writing as a whole.
Early days but I think the result so far is fairly positive.
The key difference is that I’m writing notes again. I’ve written before about the sense that getting the morning pages out of the way almost felt like I could relax for the rest of the day. I almost convinced myself that if something was important it would resurface in the pages.
When I was in the midst of my long sequence of morning pages I would more or less shut off thoughts about writing. It was done when the morning pages were done and I was left with a strange sense that something was missing from my day.
Obviously, I was using the pages the wrong way, both practically and in spirit.
Now I’m thinking more about writing — and I don’t mean I’m thinking about it instead of doing it. I’m thinking about plots and articles and essays and characters and dialogue. And making notes on all of that.
In a peculiar way — and a way that feels both counter-intuitive and somehow downright wrong — the morning pages were actually killing my creativity.
This is early days. It’s like recovery; I could be in a pink cloud period and simply liberated by the fact that I don’t have to pour out my shit on the page first thing. There must be shit enough still in there but I’m no longer sure that it’s better out than in. I now want to start the day on a positive note instead. There may be better ways to clear out the sewage.
As before, I don’t blame the morning pages per se. I still believe they gave me a good few years of healthy stimulus. And I know many people who swear by them. I suspect they have healthier psyches.
In other words, it’s not the pages; it’s me.
