TheWritersBag.com

All summer I’ve been wearing loose-fitting shorts, most of which have cargo pockets. Whoever invented cargo pockets should be given the Nobel Prize. They are perfect for writers like me who always carry a notebook, pen and perhaps reading glasses around with them to capture information and flashes of inspiration.

But now the weather is turning cold and I regrettably must turn again to long pants. Yesterday I put on a pair of denim jeans for the first time in five months and ran head-on into a problem that plagues me every winter: where to put my beloved pocket-sized Moleskine notebook?

Finding a home in my jeans for my mini Pilot G-2 pen and a thin reading glasses is not difficult. But the notebook is another story. When I stuff it down into a front pocket, it tends to jab my lower abdomen whenever I bend over. When I slip it into a back pocket, it abuses me and I abuse it every time I sit down. So I have to remember to pull it out when I sit and put it back in when I stand. And with all the pulling outs and putting ins, I tend to lose sight of life’s bigger issues, which is not a good thing for a writer.

I do not want to go through another long-pants season without resolving this issue. Which is why I’m asking you to help me and every other writer who has this problem.

What is the solution? Any ideas?

First, I suppose I should ask if you carry (a small notebook, that is). Second, if you do, have you found a way to do it without (1) smashing and trashing the notebook, or (2) inflicting bodily harm on your person in places where bodily harm really hurts?

I love bags (which you may have guessed from the name of this blog site), but carrying an over-the-should man-bag around with me at all times can be cumbersome. I have tried carrying index cards or even a piece of paper folded up several times instead of a notebook. But I like the stable, groin-gouging sturdiness of the notebook too much, so I always return to it.

Is the problem insurmountable? Is it simply the universe’s way of giving writers an opportunity to suffer for their muse? I hope not.

Please help.

PS. If you haven’t weighed in on last Monday’s Word Shot exercise-competition, please do. Or at least read through some of the responses and give the participants some constructive suggestions or encouragement. I personally have been blown away by what many of you have written. Beautiful stuff! Keep it up, and let others know about it! We’ll have a brand new Word Shot each Monday for you to continue to hone your skills and show off a bit.

The question came early in my career, and it came from another writer. “Steve,” he said, “Do you love writing? Or do you just love being a writer?”

I had never thought about it like that. But there it was – a reality check question I couldn’t avoid.
I’d wanted to be a writer ever since I could remember. So yes, I loved the fact that I was a professional, full-time writer. I was proud of it. For me – a romantic at heart – it was the most romantic thing I could do.

But did I love writing in and of itself? After a few seconds of reflection, I realized that was another “Yes.” I loved it when ideas and words came to me. I loved it when suddenly, at the keyboard, I broke into laughter at something that spilled out of me. I loved those occasions when the words that splashed onto the computer screen brought tears to my eyes. I loved it when it seemed that something else – something beneath or beyond my own consciousness – took over. I loved being completely surprised by what came out. And I loved it when other people read those things and were affected by them.

When I was a junior in high school, I wrote some freelance humor columns and feature articles for The Salt Lake Tribune. I remember walking around our neighborhood when I came to difficult parts as I wrote my articles and feeling the thrill of having the right ideas, words and phrases come to me.

I remember waking up each morning one of my articles was published, running out to get the newspaper, and realizing that tens of thousands of people (maybe more) would read my article that day and see my photo next to it. I was not an exhibitionist. In fact, I was the guy who liked to sit back and observe rather than be noticed. But knowing that people all over the region – people I knew and didn’t know – were reading my writing that day gave me an incredible rush. It was my own quiet form of exhibitionism, and I absolutely loved it. I also loved going to school that day and having other students tell me they saw, read and liked the article. What a high!

So yes, I loved writing and I loved being a writer. I still do.

What about you? Do you write because you love writing in and of itself, or because you love the idea of being a writer? This is an important question, because if you don’t intrinsically love the act and process of writing just for itself, you will never have the passion to continue writing. Writing can be more difficult than breaking rocks, and you have to love doing it or you won’t last. The love of being it won’t keep you going for very long.

Something similar happens with physical workouts. I have been working out at gyms regularly since I was 19 years old. I like being fit, but I love the physical and mental feelings I get from a good workout. I have seen countless people come into the gym and have a good go at it for a period of time, then quit. I have seen others make workouts an ongoing part of their lives. The difference? The people who quit love being fit, but don’t like to work out. Those who make workouts a lifelong habit love being fit, too. But more than that, they actually love working out – they become addicted to the feelings they get while they’re doing it.

Same with writing. You’ve got to love it while you’re doing it or you won’t stay with it. I’m not saying the process of writing has to always be enjoyable. Don’t confuse “enjoyment” with “love.” You can love people and still want to scream at them. You can love them and still be hurt by them. But you love them still. That’s what love is.

So ask yourself whether you love writing or merely love the idea of being a writer. And be honest with your answer. If you don’t love the act and process of writing, give it up and find something you can love. Life is too short for self-deception.

A week ago I was backpacking with a friend in a high mountain wilderness area. We had just set up camp and I was rock-hopping across a talus field to get water from a lake when my foot slipped on the jagged edge of a boulder. If you’ve ever crossed a talus field, you know it’s one of the last places you want to lose your footing.

I didn’t go all the way down, though. My instincts kicked in and I whirled and twisted violently to break my fall with my hands. When my performance was over, I sat down and thought, “I’ve really hurt myself this time.”

Then I did a quick assessment. My shin had slammed against the sharp edge of a boulder. I lifted my pant leg up, afraid to look at it. It wasn’t so bad. A cut – the beginnings of what would be a goose-egg the size of a Buick – but no break. I felt twisted and a bit nauseated, like I’d been put through a giant dough-kneader, but there was no sharp, breath-stopping stab of a broken rib.

Good – especially since we were in rugged terrain many miles from help and night was coming on. Still, something told me I had really hurt myself, even though I couldn’t feel or see anything serious. Fortunately, the friend I was with is a doctor. Unfortunately, he’s a gynecologist, and since I refused to submit to a pelvic exam and didn’t need a Pap smear, he could only provide emotional support.

The pain came later – a terrible back pain right up in the shoulder blade area. I have been dealing with it for a week now. It has kept me up nights and made my days a living hell. It’s the kind of injury you just have to let heal, like a broken rib, so it really comes down to pain management.

Which brings me to today’s discussion: What can a writer do about physical pain?

First, understand that people who write either as a living or as a part of their jobs are particularly vulnerable to physical pain. That’s because when we write we tend to be alone with ourselves, our thoughts, and yes, our pain. In the very process of writing, we tend to eliminate the external distractions that could otherwise draw our attention away from our pain.

Another thing to understand is that writers are prime targets for a wide range of chronic physical problems that cause pain: carpal tunnel syndrome, neck and back issues and so on. These are typically caused by spending too much time sitting still in front of a computer, and from making the same movements again and again and again.

In other words, as writers we tend to have a lot of pain and that pain is difficult to ignore or escape. So what can we do?

Drugs? Please don’t go there! Addiction to prescription pain-killers – let along illicit drugs – have ruined many good people. Safer long-term alternatives are available and hopefully will work for you, depending on the cause of your pain.

For example, I have found in the past days that regular breaks from my work help immensely. During these breaks I do what I have always known I should do to counter the dangers of repetitive motion injuries: I stretch. Fortunately, this also works for my back injury. Yoga movements and postures really help – not only fighting current pain, but helping to prevent future pain. Even stretching myself out over an exercise ball provides blessed relief.

These remedies won’t vanquish all types of pain, of course, but they are excellent when it comes to the kinds of problems people who write typical develop from sitting at their desks for hours each day writing.

They say pain makes us stronger. But ongoing, inescapable physical pain can be emotionally and professionally debilitating. Do what you can to prevent it. And whatever you do, don’t stop writing.

PS. If you have any suggestions on this topic, please share them with the rest of us!