“the man in the wall” (street artist unknown, Bilbao, Pais Vasco); photo taken by devi laskar

Recently I was watching the HBO movie called Hemingway and Gellhorn. In one scene, Martha Gellhorn quizzed her “Papa” on how he could possibly write after a night of raucous drinking and gallivanting.  Mr. Hemingway explained that standing (he stood when he wrote) and punching out page after page was a great way to keep from offending God.  It was his discipline.  It was his craft.  It was his religion, if you will.  We can imagine Hemingway, at breakneck speed, typing scores of pages before he was happy with just one.

His process included a hefty volume of practice, practice, practice.  If I’m not mistaken, it included a hefty volume of other stuff too, which didn’t look a lot like writing.  He fished.  He traveled.  He fought.  He listened to people.  He was sad too.  He drank too much.  None of us is perfect.  But somehow he moved forward.

As an experienced writer myself (in the sense that I’ve been using words all my life and stringing them into sentences) who is a novice to creative writing (the class is a big help), I’m struggling like anybody with maintaining the momentum to keep putting words onto pages.  I’m tempted by the urge to become self critical.  I’m tempted by the urge to back off and maybe stop writing altogether.  To leave the real creating to the fellow members of my class who have been at this for much longer than I have.  You know, people who have written whole stories and books.  To silence my own voice before it has a chance to say something that may connect with somebody, someplace, in some way.  Even if simply to have the pleasure of connecting with a close friend or family member who is kind enough to read something I’ve written for fun.  Why?  Because I’m not always writing or typing or making up a story; and to do so does not feel like my religion.  So I don’t always feel like I’m a “writer” even if I “write” sometimes.

But, as a guy who has coached distance runners, I try to remember that I teach that while running is an act, being a runner is a discipline.  Running is just moving your feet to move forward at a pace that is faster than walking.  You leave the ground.  Being a “runner” involves, for example, eating pretzels after you run so you can replace electrolytes that have been lost during exercise.  It’s the sleep you get.  The log of mileage you keep.  The shoes you wear, etc. etc. etc.

So maybe it goes with writing.  I’m sure that’s obvious to everybody but for me right now it’s helping to keep the voice of judgment at bay.  And that is a huge thing to do.  It frees me to do those things that I’ll call “Productive Procrastination.”   Things that aren’t writing, that somehow can feed the writing practice.  Things like:

• Keeping a journal, and writing down your dreams or thoughts (when you want to!)
• Going for a walk and just thinking or watching different people
• Sitting in a chair and just breathing while you stare into space
• Roaming around a bookstore
• Roaming around the Internet to research an offshoot topic of interest
• Reading a short story or article or book
• Looking at a picture book
• Debating a viewpoint
• Thinking about the story you are writing, but not actually writing anything down (I’m a “think-write” writer.  Some people are “write-think” writers).
• Catching up on sleep (big for me, I’m just getting past—chickenpox!)
• Forgiving yourself for doing stuff other than typing (typing is only part of writing).

You, I’m sure, get the idea.  There’s probably a million ways to engage in “Productive Procrastination.”  It’s living your life in a way that keeps you open, so you can gather ideas and temper the voice of judgment that taunts you for not typing all the time.  So you put a healthy amount of pressure on yourself to create when you are ready.  I’m nervous as I type this.  In my mind I ask, “Will others think this is true?”  Or, “Will others agree?”  Or, “Am I wasting other people’s time?”

I don’t know the answers to any of those questions.  But I did write today.  So, maybe, some procrastination can end up being productive.

Who is Tim Monti-Wohlpart?

I’m Tim.  I live in Brooklyn, New York with my girlfriend, Crystal.  I’m originally from Valhalla, New York. I have also lived in Rochester, Minnesota; Atlanta, Georgia; Tempe, Arizona; and San Francisco, California.  No matter where I go, gravity keeps working and I still do not like condiments.  When I’m fortunate, I have a sense of how what I’m doing can be a context to try to learn some truth.  I’ve had the opportunity to attempt this ongoing stunt as a son, brother, friend, adoptee, reunited adoptee, boyfriend, runner, landscaper, retail sales representative, student, ad salesman, traffic manager, account executive, special education teacher, coach and plain hamburger eater.  The cause endures.