Clearing the Writing Palate

Clearing the Writing Palate

Last night my wife and I had a long walk on a secluded beach in Maine.  It was about

6 PM, 75 degrees, clear, a low tide, and the sand was soft and fine.  As we walked, the plovers scurried away, their spindly little feet in afterburn, though their bodies can only move forward in small increments.  As we walked down the beach arm in arm, I thought, what a great preparation for writing.  Note, the operative word here, thought, which is to be translated in these situations as, “No dear, I would never think to spend three hours on the beach writing on our weekend getaway.”

But there are times when we feel especially piqued in our senses, imagination, and perception, and we begin to see more clearly, perhaps discern small ambiguities in our views.  These are crystallizing moments that always seem to come out of nowhere.  But do they? 

Add to this, the obvious circadian rhythms we all experience.  Sometimes we’re ready to just sit down and think and write.  Other times, it’s like pulling teeth to get ourselves to stop moving. 

I’ve been thinking a good deal about preparation for writing.  Several weeks ago I wrote a piece on writing at the beach.  Today, I’d like us to think more generally in terms of what we do to prepare ourselves to write.  I’m not saying it’s a hard and fast rule, but I do believe if you follow some very general principles, you will, for the most part, come up with a better product.  So, I’m not talking here about what you write, or how you write, but rather, the preparation that goes into “setting the table,” before you write.

Last night, after our walk on the beach, we came into our cottage (one of about a dozen joined together in a single complex) and started to prepare a meal.  I had gone to the butcher’s early in the day and purchased a fairly substantial rib steak, as well as a fine cabernet reserve.  I was to cook the steak; Susan had the vegetable and potato categories. 

As the steaks began to sizzle in the fairly small oven, it didn’t take long before we knew we were in trouble.  We both smelled the smoke, then the smoke alarm went off (quite loud and obtrusive).  Susan took the fanning-the-alarm detail, while I went to the back door and began violently opening and closing it.  This stopped the alarm, but did not do much for the smoking steak.  Susan screamed, “Get the steak!”  I tried to figure out how to quell the smoking 'excuse' for a fine rib steak.  Here’s where things started to break down.  Since I’m a scientist, I reasoned that all I needed to do was to shut off the oven, and close the door.  This would reduce the oxygen internally, thus snuffing out any flames.  Well, you all know that’s bunk.  I left the kitchen for about 10 seconds to continue my door-fanning when I heard Susan yelling (she rarely raises her voice, so I knew it was bad), “Ed!  fire in kitchen!”  I ran back to find flames shooting out of the top burners.  So, smart guy that I am, I opened the oven door.  Out shot more flames and black smoke.  I grabbed the broiler pan and stuck it under the faucet, thus snuffing out the fire and giving our beautiful steaks a nice washing of cool, clear water.

Susan?  She was still fanning, quite vigorously.  Everytime she stopped, the alarm would rekindle.  These are the moments in one’s life when you remember why the good Lord created you and your wife with a sense of humor.  We laughed, and teared-up from the steak-smoke irritation inour bloodshot eyes.  Then, after about a half an hour of cleanup, sat down to a pretty lousy meal (this is where we all laugh!).

I don’t know why, but this morning I thought of that whole experience in connection with writing.  The events preceding the meal did not really prepare us for the partaking of the meal.  So too, in writing, we often are ill-prepared to take on the task.  We forget that often a good deal of research is necessary beforehand.  We have to carve out a time that is more or less unsullied by distraction or interference.  We have to play to our strengths.  Do we write poetry?  If so, then have we read a good deal of excellent poetry lately?  Have we walked on a beach (or the equivalent in your milieu)?  Have we read critiques of poems (easy to do online)?  Are we careful to set a mood for ourselves in our writing?  Do we just start writing with “Millionaire” blabbing away on the TV or the Red Sox and Yankees going at it on the radio?  And do we remember that it is usually impossible to finish something on the first pass?  Cut yourself some slack, and resolve to come back to your piece.  Again and again, until you feel it is where you want it to be. Then open that fine red, and, having your palate finally cleared from all those other diverting sensibilities, you may now be able to taste the true and essential nature of the fermented grape.

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Written by Edward Nudelman, who is also a Books Correspondent for Gather:  POETRY CENTRAL

Keep up with Ed’s other posting and Gather activity by joining his Gather network-just click here and select the orange “Connect” button on the left-hand side of the page.  If you are interested in my background or qualifications, I invite you to read my profile which has information concerning my published writings.