The First Thing You Should Do

Is something that isn’t on your to-do list yet.

A note for you, if you’re having a bad day.

How’s that to-do list of yours? It’s the season of terminally long lists, filled with “joyful activities” that have to be planned and arranged, polished and presented. There are gifts you forgot to get, and now you have to hurry up and get, because a gift on January 12th implies you don’t care as much as a gift on December 21st. For those in academia, it’s the season of final projects, last papers, a pile of grading that spools deep into the night. Only after the work is done are you allowed to glut on relaxation. “All this work will make the relaxation that much better,” you think. But in fact, all the work uses all your resources, and by the time you arrive at “relaxation,” you’re sick with the flu or something.

Maybe this isn’t you; maybe it WAS you, but you’ve learned better since 2012, when every coworker had to receive a hand-painted ornament or dreidel or secular snowflake bauble. If you have transcended, what’s your secret? No matter how many years in a row I learn that my body wants Less, I find myself once again succumbing to More.

Last Thursday, in particular, I had no idea where to start on the short novella I was calling my “to-do list.” When I’m overwhelmed like that, I often fall into a trap: “I’ll do the thing on my list that I can multitask with.” You know: wrapping presents, folding laundry, stuffing envelopes, organizing sock drawers, scrubbing dishes. The kinds of tasks where I can also be watching TV. If I’m stressed, I want to do something comforting; I want my brain to be allowed to turn off. What I end up doing is using up the part of the day where I’m most alive and alert (the morning) doing something that I thought would take twenty minutes, but in reality took (and ALWAYS takes!) several hours. Anyway, after I’ve numbed out to TV for a while, I return to my life, and notice that I’ve not done anything to deal with the overwhelm; and now it’s 3 p.m. (See this very good Hilary Campbell NYer cartoon.)

So, last Thursday. Instead of falling into the socks-folding-TV trap, I made a controversial decision: I decided to do nothing that was on my list at all. Something that wasn’t part of any version of the plan. I decided to sit at the table and draw.

I like to draw, and I draw for my job. I didn’t want to draw for my job. I didn’t want to do a whole lot of intellectual work coming up with what I was going to draw, and figuring out how I wanted it to look. So, I copied a drawing. By copying someone else’s drawing, I was ensuring that there would be no money made; I probably wouldn’t even be able to give it away as a gift. This was a non-functioning drawing. Or: its sole function was play.

Today’s newsletter is about creative play. You might feel like you absolutely don’t have time for creative play right now, and that reaction suggests to me that this is EXACTLY the moment for it. Playing a little bit all by yourself lets you stay in your life, awake to this moment, and it suggests that hey, everything isn’t so bleak and scary as it might seem. Because no one is probably going to die when you decide to color or write or make a food sculpture. (Obviously, don’t decide to make a food sculpture when you are scheduled to perform a life-saving brain surgery.) 

About a month ago, six of you (plus one person who doesn’t read this newsletter) gathered in the downtown office (The Office of Modern Composition) I share with two other writers for a “Writing Workshop” I led. Although I have done a whole lot of writing and a respectable amount of publishing, I am yet to feel qualified to lead a “Writing Workshop.” What do I possibly have to teach about writing? The only thing I know to be true about getting good at writing is that (1) you have to read; and (2) you have to write. That’s it. I don’t think the details of (1) and (2) matter, except that they must sometimes be joyful for you. So, see? Writing Workshop finished. We did it in less than a paragraph.

But when the six-plus-one of you arrived at the office (actually, my colleagues and I call it a “clubhouse”), the vibe was decidedly joyful. The least interesting part of the workshop was definitely the last five minutes where I presented the actual information I know about publishing. People did not come to the workshop to learn about publishing. They came for creative play. This was immediately obvious, and it was such a relief. Once it was established that the people had come to do something nice for themselves, to do something creative, to gather to laugh and make, a bubble of anxiety I hadn’t realized I’d inflated diffused. I did the activities along with everyone else, and they were fun! I had fun! My colleague Jill had fun! I think we all had fun! It turned out, fun was the thing we’d needed.

Here’s how we set up the Clubhouse. I made notebooks for everyone with blank pages and lined pages (and calendars and cartoons) so there were lots of ways to write and draw and glue.

Here are the activities we did, in case you want to DIY this experience:

• We talked to each other in pairs, answering questions on a list of ice-breakers I’d printed out.

• A series of quick writes, each four minutes long:

  • 1: Just write any words that come into your mind, no matter what. Keep your pen moving.

  • 2: A Lynda Barry-style diary. Divide a page into four squares, and spend a minute on each square. In the top left, write down everything you did today. In the top right, everything you saw. In the bottom left, something you heard. In the bottom right, draw an image from your day.

  • 3: Choose a photo in your phone. Write everything you can remember about that photo.

  • 4: Make lists of things you love.

• Curating.

  • Take the pages of books that I’ve provided and the scissors, and cut out words, images, turns of phrase that you think are interesting. 

  • Option 1: Choose one, and write about what it made you think about. 

  • Alternatively, use these words to generate a poem, or a stack of lines. 

  • Glue them down in a way that’s conducive to drawing. Fill the page with these items. 

• Image-making. This is a Lynda Barry activity, and rather than write it out, I suggest you get her book, “What It Is,” and work through her activities. She also has YouTube videos that lead you through these activities.

The curating (a fancy word for making a collage, like a teen) was the most fun for me. I NEVER collage just to collage. I cut things out of books to put in envelopes; I cut things out of books to MAKE envelopes. It is so rare for me to make something for its own sake, and not to arrive somewhere where I might be able to capitalize. Have you ever put a needle in the center of a knot of chain jewelry and swirled it around on a table? This was like that, for a set of invisible sinews that I didn’t even know were tangled.

A few notes about creative play: I find that light constriction and limitations make the play work better. Our brains kind of like rules (science), so impose some rules. Respond to a specific writing prompt, and give yourself a specific amount of time. The activity of copying someone else’s drawing is nice because you don’t have to come up with what to draw. Or, do a YouTube tutorial on how to make paper flowers or hand-letter envelopes. Follow someone’s directions. I bought my partner Bob this book of writing prompts one year for his birthday, and he does them when he feels like it, just for fun. Coloring in a coloring book can be creative play. Buy a small craft or Lego set that comes with clear instructions — then pass it along. (Do you have ideas for more of these? Leave them in the comments. In the meantime, here are some “one-person dates” I suggested over the summer.)

Maybe you just need a little permission. Allow me to grant it. Don’t put this off! Do this FIRST. A time limitation (“I will build tiny food out of Sculpey for 35 minutes”) is a great way to make sure you don’t get too carried away. By staying present and relaxing your brain a little, the rest of your tasks might come more easily.

By the way, we decided to not call the next Clubhouse gathering a “Workshop.” It’s going to be called a “Writing Party.” We will play THE WHOLE TIME. No one is going to learn a damn thing. We will listen to whimsical music and have conversation and cupcakes. (My colleague Jill brought fancy cupcakes last time, and that was an important part of it all.) Because on top of everything, it DOES help to gather. Our bodies want to be together. So why must a party be an occasion only for ambling conversation and rampant alcohol consumption and not enough sleep? Why not an occasion to do collages at the same time as someone else while talking about scissors? It takes all kinds.

Said cupcakes.

I sincerely hope that you can enjoy yourself. Maybe some of the things on your list DON’T need to get done. Did you know that getting someone a gift on January 12 means you care EXACTLY THE SAME AMOUNT as giving them the gift on December 21? It doesn’t matter! Dates are arbitrary! If you need more time to get the thing done, take it. The greatest gift you can give to the people who love you is taking care of yourself.

Love,

Sophie

This Week in Sophie

As you may or may not know, I follow THIS calendar that I arbitrarily made. The celebration weeks are weeks I take off as much as I can. Next week, I’ll be off celebrating fire and ice. See you after the holiday! In the meantime, if you have the means, a paid subscription means a lot to me (and also gets you a bunch of extra, fun stuff — including weekly prompts, and ever-more things I recommend.) Consider getting one!