"The beginning always starts off easy. 'I want to write a book,' you say. So maybe you take a class or two. Maybe you buy a book on writing." -Laraine Herring
So I'm blogging about how to begin. What I tell my students is that you have to begin over and over again, sometimes more than once in each session, at a bare minimum once per day (even if only for fifteen minutes). Knowing how to begin is important. Nothing happens without beginning.
I don't think I can dictate for anyone else how to begin, though I can make suggestions. Laraine Herring suggests breathing, shaking (yes, shaking!), and writing -- each for five minutes. I like how five minutes of practice demystifies the process. Oh, five minutes, I think. I can do anything for five minutes. On day two of this practice, I found the breathing boring. (This fits with what my friend Glenda says about my not breathing.) The shaking? I almost hate to admit it, but it was fine. It was fun. I am all too aware that I'm not in touch with my body. I live in my head. The five minutes of writing? It turned into two journal pages, then an hour and a half on poetry, a million ideas, and now this blog entry.
The main thing wrong with saying "I want to write a book" is that it's too big. Recently a colleague told me that she and her father -- many years ago, before his unexpected death -- had planned to write a book together about their teaching. "You should write it," I said. "You can dedicate it to him." She shook her head sadly. "I'm not a writer," she said.
At the risk of sounding like the ghost-chef in Ratatouille, ANYONE CAN WRITE. Just don't set your goals so high. No, you can't write a book, not this morning.
Buying a new book about writing, by the way, is an excellent way to procrastinate on your writing.
This morning write a paragraph. Write a sentence. See if you can stay with it for five minutes.
And now, for me, breakfast.
alchemy (noun) 1.an early form of chemistry, with philosophic and magical associations, studied in the Middle Ages: its chief aims were to change base metals into gold and to discover the elixir of perpetual youth 2.a power or process of changing one thing into another; esp., a seemingly miraculous power or process of changing a thing into something better (Webster's New World College Dictionary Copyright © 2010 by Wiley Publishing, Inc.)
To see the announcement for my poetry book, winner of the Kenneth and Geraldine Gell Poetry Prize at Writers & Books, go to http://www.wab.org/gellprize.shtml. I'll keep you posted as we move toward its fall 2012 publication.

Good morning. Good advice. Thanks.
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