Writing in Paris---Part Trois

You may have more faith in me than I have in myself. You may believe that when I get to Paris I will write and that is one of the things I like about you. Sadly, I know myself better than you do. I have reasons not to trust myself. My capacity for procrastination and block are well documented and what the nice psychoanalyst called "intractable."

Sure, I could spend six months in Paris and not write a single word, developing a case of F.E.S. (French Ennui Syndrome) and then come home and write about not writing in Paris. My sad tale of all I learned in Paris could be transformed into a big best seller and I could end up on Oprah's couch and she might rave about all of the "ah-ha," "light bulb moments" my witty tale of transformation contains.

French lemonade could be made of my bruised, bitter and long-suffering lemons of procrastination. I am, however, dubious. Instead of a sparkling and refreshing lemony beverage, I see, instead, the bowl of lemons that currently sit on my kitchen counter, that were intended for a chicken picatta, and have instead transformed into something that would make Louis Pasteur proud (and he was French, wasn't he?).

I feel that I need to approach this in a different way than I have in the past. I need an apt metaphor for this pre-Paris process. Perhaps, I should look at this experience as as a marathon. If I was to train for a marathon, I would need to start out slowly, so as to develop the endurance required to complete the task. There are muscles I need to develop, special shoes to be bought and times to be beat. At least , the shoes sound good.

However, running seems too aggressive a metaphor and there is all that sweat and then there is the pull of gravity that would surely harm my face and breasts ---and then there is the matter of my aging knees. No...I must find a chic-er and more gentle metaphor.

I think instead, I will look at my Pre-Paris plan as a recipe. A recipe that will guarantee that I will write in Paris. That is, if I just follow the simple steps and don't ignore the details, like "boil the lasagna noodles prior to layering them in the pan"( I can tell you that was some al dente lasagna).

Cooking is certainly more chic and certainly less demanding than my marathoning metaphor. Tasks need to be accomplished in a certain order to end up with a successful souffle. Ovens need to be preheated, pans buttered, and eggs broken. Sadly, there are no shoes involved. There are chef clogs, mais no, merci. Um, abandoning the metaphor as metaphors are failing me, as they often do.

I turn to my Paris writing guru, Eric Maisel, and his book, "A Writer's Paris: A Guided Journey for the Creative Soul", for guidance. He claims, and I believe him, that only one in a hundred writers come to Paris and write up a storm. Grim, no? Maisel knows that preparation for your Paris fantasy is très important. "It is one thing not to write at home.... It is another thing, however, to not write in Paris."

According to Maisel, the cure for the fear of not writing in Paris is writing where you are. And, I quote, "Every day writing in Pittsburgh is a day earned towards Paris. Every week is a week. Every month is a month. If you write for a full year at your own desk, you would earn the right to spend a year writing in Paris...By writing in Pittsburgh, you would purchase Paris on a layaway plan."

I feel emboldened to slightly modify Maisel's plan and make it my own. It is my sense that I need to write at home, for at least half the time I would be in Paris. So, if my plan is to spend six months in Paris, writing---I would need to write here for at least three months. This weird algebra has no explainable rational to it, which is my personal experience of all higher mathematics. According to self-help psychology, it takes 21 days to make a new habit. Three months would mean that writing would be something much more than a habit. it might be considered my way of life, or at the least it would mean I wrote for 90 days.

I have no requirement about the caliber or quality of the writing. I am a huge believer in Anne Lamotte's theory on the Sh*ty first draft. I don't have to write anything brilliant or even coherent, to proceed with my Paris plan; I only need to write every day for three months. I need to write things other than grocery lists and emails to friends. C'est reasonable, Oui?

If you haven't read Anne Lamotte and you want to write and are having trouble, and even if you aren't, read "Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life." No other book on writing has helped me as much.

To be continued, some time next week, Part Quatre of Writing in Paris: A Room of One's Own vs. Café Creating.

p.s. Pamela, the writer of Frog Blog and creator of Francophilia, sent me some great links to blogs of writers who have made their Paris literary dreams a reality. If you share my Paris writing fantasy check out Bold Soul Blog and Polly Vous Francais and see how they did it.

Painting pictured, "Woman Writing a Letter" by Henry O'Hara Clive (1881 - 1960).