recipe for writing + a warm january

Fuzhou mopeds everywhere

One year ago, I was in Fuzhou, China. I was researching my novel, Jackpot – Fuzhou and Fujian Province figure prominently in several parts – as well as making a well-timed getaway from a particularly snowy New York winter. Little did I know that it would be cold in Fuzhou. No indoor heat, only a damp chill everywhere, and me very unprepared with only the lightest of spring jackets (the next stop was 90-degree Malaysia, followed by a beach in Thailand). I wore four shirts layered over one another for a week straight, walked myself lost, shivered.

This January, I’m home, in Brooklyn. It’s only the second east coast January I’ve had in the past ten years, and I’m taking the month to write as much as I can. No classes to teach, minimal freelance work. And a 100,000-word monster that’s taunting me to be reshaped and rebuilt. Time is running out!

Can I survive January? I’m winter adverse. I’m scared of the cold. I’m scared of the darkness, too, because I’m too good at the darkness – too much more and I’m done for. But I’ve been holding up my end of the bargain, this year.

Here’s what I’ve figured out works for me, and my writing, and my winters (after many years of figuring out what doesn’t work):

* Sunlight. I have a light box; I’ve been using it. As a recovering insomniac, I need all the help I can get when the days are shorter. I’ve been beaming myself artificially in the mornings and managed to straighten out my sleep schedule to a respectable 1am-8am. Very proud. And getting out of the apartment every day for some real sunlight, of course, is a must.

* Mornings. After decades of being a diehard night owl, I now admit I write better in the mornings. Nights are too cluttered. I don’t like being in my cramped studio apartment when it’s dark out, there’s something about it that makes me feel even more hemmed in. And then, just like that – that elusive openness is gone.

* Exercise. Endorphins, every day. Gym, treadmill, reading on the elliptical, three times a week to noon yoga class, triumph. My favorite thing these past few weeks has been writing for a few hours in the morning until I get a bit clogged, then going to yoga or the gym and having all these ideas just bubble up when I step away from the writing itself. The world opens up. There’s nothing like sweating through some difficult workout and simultaneously figuring out exactly what needs to happen in the next chapter, what this one character absolutely has to be or like or say or do. It’s magical, I love it.

* Unplugging from the internet. I have problems. So I’ve disabled wireless access in my apartment, and make sure my laptop is unplugged from the ethernet cable before I go to bed, so that in the morning, after beaming myself artificially, I can sit down at a table where there is no internet and write without the temptations of Facebook.

* Other people. I’ve been setting up daily writing and work dates with other writer and freelancer friends. It’s done wonders to get me out of my apartment, socializing during daylight hours, and also holding each other responsible for not fucking around watching YouTube videos all day and eating weird meals like crumbled up crackers mixed into a jar of hummus and salsa in our pajamas with uncombed knotted hair and greasy glasses (or is that just me). Also, it’s helpful to have others to obsessively talk about your book project with who don’t think you’re an insane narcissist like the rest of the world does.

* Little rituals. Before sleep, I’ve been meditating, then writing a page in long hand (!) in my daily journal. I bought a stash of my favorite MUJI pens just for this purpose.

* Reading, but not too much. I’m a huge binge reader. All my life, I’ve read super fast and then promptly forgot most of what I’ve read. It’s impatience. So when I’m not teaching or working a lot, I just want to eat books. Some are amazing and inspiring and open up new possibilities for my writing. Others close me off because I end up feeling paralyzed at their brilliance and how far my own book needs to go before it can even have a fraction of it. I think the solution is to see more visual art, more live music – something to balance out the overload of words, especially visual words.

* Accepting my work style. Like being a binge reader, I’m also a binge worker. As in, I’ve written the bulk of this novel in several month-long crazy spurts, followed by months upon months of not working on it all. A lot of that is scheduling – I go through periods of doing nothing but teaching and working on freelance jobs and not writing, which then clears up my schedule for magical wondermonths of doing nothing but writing (like at residencies, when I’m lucky enough to get them, or like this month, at home). As much as I envy writers who write diligently for an hour or two each day, I don’t think I’ll ever be one of them, unless I have a rigid schedule that’s the same every day. I’m good at being a freelancer because I thrive on the variety of all-or-nothing. It’s a little manic, a little extreme, but it’s how I work best. When I’m not writing, I crave it so much, and when I finally have time to write, I like to be in that headspace where I’m entirely open to and available for new ideas, where I have the luxury to obsess and obsess about my book and nothing else. Like now. And it works.