"We are an anthology, a composite of many selves." - William Boyd
I have always found writing fun and supportive no matter what time of day. My octopus mind takes over at times. When it whirs on a variety of levels at once, I multi-task with all tentacles in play. I can spend hours free writing but often it takes creative diversion and determination to dig out the gems to shine.
Then I read an article in the November 2009 issue of
The Atlantic entitled “First Person Plural” by Paul Bloom that provided an Aha moment.
In their pursuit of what happiness means, psychologists have discovered it has a lot to do with the definition of “I.” Many believe each of us exists in a community of competing selves where the happiness of one often causes the misery of another.
Paul Bloom, a professor of psychology at Yale, feels that within each brain several selves continually pop in and out of existence. He says, “They have different desires, and they fight for control – plotting against, deceiving and plotting against one another.”
Yes, I’ve held conversations with another Penny at times. I’ve even argued,
Come on. Come on. Okay Okay. I will. I will. No. No. No. Stop it. Stop it right now! I’ve used emphatic words not appropriate here, but you get the idea.
Bloom goes on to say if these selves worked as a team, they could create the perfect life. Because they clash, compulsions and addictions arise.
His concerns remind me of the self-talk that goes into my writing life. One of my selves just wants to go outside and play, not sit at the computer and face a deadline or follow an idea that's unraveling .
Another follows a disciplined daily routine. Yet another wants to read and eat words. I have used trickery many times. Now I realize I hold the reins to my selves . . . or not, according to Bloom.
A division of labor could become a solution. Maybe if one of my selves wrote poetry, another read books, one focused on new projects and photograpphy, then I’d have more freedom? If they have fun and discover happiness in their own separate pursuits, I could have polite and rational conversations with them.
The first step in any addiction requires naming it. I’ll call the selves: Huey, Dewey and Louie, for Duck’s sake of course and to get them in a row. They may clone with time and projects. I will provide separate clipboards for each.
It shouldn’t take much to encourage them with Tom Sawyer politics to work on an illusive poem, finish the blog, or leap up and read.
I can see their heads bobbing, feathers awriggle and eyes flashing with creativity. Although the site of pens clutched in web feet feels like a stretch. I will design an opposable thumb or two for the ends of wings. Notice the fingers in the first photo above. I will sneak away as they chatter between writing notions. They will find security and happiness with their own projects and feel no competition or alienation. What a relief.
Ah, the wind in my hair as I run by the ocean, my octopus mind twirls without the interruption of diverse conversations.
Write about your writing selves.
How do you chat with them and make them do their best for you?
