Mindful Work

(image courtesy of DarkMoon_Art via pixabay.com)

That opens a can of worms, doesn’t it?

What is meant by mindful? More to the point of this piece, what do I mean by mindful?

Some facets do hearken back to the way it’s used in meditation. As I mentioned in an earlier post here, when I write in longhand, I feel more connected to the story. The physicality of writing by hand brings out a different type of creativity than typing directly onto the computer, and for some projects, especially early in the development process, I find it more useful.

But there are other facets to what I consider “mindful work” and not just in the meditative sense. The research about the harm multi-tasking causes is immense. Everything from the University of London’s study that multi-tasking causes IQ decline to USC’s study of studies on Multi-tasking to Stanford University Neuroscience’s report on why it does more harm than good reinforces what I’ve felt since multi-tasking was pushed on me in the mid-nineteen eighties: it’s bad for us.

I believe that corporations push their employees to multi-task because they’re not willing to staff properly for the tasks at hand AND because it harms the employees, making them easier to control.

I have always loathed multi-tasking, even when I pushed myself to be good at it. At this point in the game, where I have more control of my own schedule than at other points in my career, I shun it whenever possible.

In my own work, I also know that multi-tasking harms my creativity.

I need huge swaths of unscheduled time in order to create. A To Do list hurts the work. Looking at a day’s schedule split into 15 minute intervals, each one filled, hurts the work, making me less productive and more resentful. These tools work for others, and I salute them. They are detrimental to me.

When those creative wheels start, I dive into the project for as long as the physical and mental stamina holds out, and when I emerge from the creative cocoon, I have something worthwhile. It may need (correction: It WILL need) revision, editing, shaping, and more structure, but the creative fire in it is there.

Through that shaping process, I often discover the major themes, throughlines, and issues I’m trying to explore within the work. Some of them were not the intent when I began, but emerge through the growth of the characters. The revision/editing process allows me to layer in structure and shape the themes and throughlines, so the piece has cohesion and the themes come organically out of story and character, rather than being imposed on them.

Of course, there are plenty of times a first draft is written in the heat of rage. The first draft of WOMEN WITH AN EDGE was written in a two day heat after a bad breakup intersected with a string of misogynistic experiences in work and other aspects of my daily life. WOMEN WITH AN EDGE is a series of monologues that had two full productions in New York City, and monologues from it have been performed on stage and over the radio all over the world. Both the play “The Little Woman” and the horror story “She Had It Coming” were inspired by the Dobbs Decision which overturned Roe v. Wade. Both the play and the short story need more shaping, but that hot fire of anger was creative fuel.

Writing in the heat of anger (or sadness or curiosity, or sometimes, even love) helps me to figure out and dissect the emotion, its roots and its repercussions. Through shaping, development, and revision, through taking a step back, a breath back, and looking at it with more objectivity, it creates something stronger. When I can fuse the initial creative fire with the tools of the craft, then I can make the personal universal and make the universal personal. That is what the art that speaks to me the strongest does well.

I agree with Virginia Woolf’s comment: “I write to find out what I know.” I also write to expand what I know, and to discover what I know that I didn’t know I knew (especially on an emotional level). She also said, “The art of writing has for backbone some fierce attachment to an idea.” I agree with that to a point; I don’t always know to which idea I’m attached when I begin. Sometimes, through the process of writing, I discover I am wrong in my attachment, and must recalibrate.

My work always has a reason for existing, whether I initially understand what it is or not. When I do my job well as an artist, I then shape it so that it communicates to others, and it sparks conversation, and sometimes debate.

That doesn’t mean it can’t entertain; the best art has something layered that resonates with a wide audience while entertaining. Non-fiction communicates factual truth (when it’s done properly and not used as propaganda). Fiction communicates emotional truth, and often that has more resonance, and people will remember it better and longer.

So for me, “mindful work” means:

--I show up at the page regularly (as one must for any job or passion);

--I honor the characters’ emotional truths even if I don’t always agree with them;

--I research aspects I don’t know or understand, so I can integrate them and the piece runs on its unique internal logic;

--I let it rest between drafts (whenever possible);

--I look at it objectively after stepping away and then layer in the tools of the craft so that the piece can communicate its authentic intent with as much clarity as possible.

--It’s about the integrity of the piece, not about my ego.

That latter one is often the most difficult part of which to let go, but is necessary to make the work stand in its own right.

What do you consider “mindful work”?