Gaining — or Regaining — Your Focus
Posted by David Duhr in 
A few days ago, some Twitter pundit made a crack about Bull Durham being overrated and the Durham Bulls responded by calling the pundit overrated. It was all very silly, but it kept being tweeted into my timeline, so I had to see it again and again and again.
It reminded me that Kevin Costner keeps living out what I imagine were his boyhood fantasies of playing baseball: Bull Durham, Field of Dreams, one of my guilty pleasures (and a movie that’s arguably better than the book), and the just plain godawful pile of treacle For Love of the Game.
Whenever I think of that movie I remember a recurring theme where Costner, as an aging ex-superstar… ugh, who cares about the plot. Whenever the crowd noise is getting to him, he takes a deep breath and then shuts out the noise by saying to himself, “Clear the mechanism.” It’s just so stupid.
But the spirit of it is something I think about a lot, especially in regards to writing: How do we clear the noise and focus?
Noise both external and internal, both literal and figurative.
You’re in a coffee shop trying to write but the chattering customers and the substandard piped-in music keep breaking into your brain.
You’re at home trying to write but the chattering of your internal critic and the ticking of the clock — even if you can’t hear it! — keep breaking into your brain.
What do you do? How do you… (gulp)… clear the mechanism?
In other words: What are your strategies for focusing on your writing when you first sit down to do it? And if you lose focus, what are your strategies for regaining it?
And just for fun, rank those three Kevin Costner baseball movies, with No. 1 being your favorite and No. 3 being For Love of the Game.
WriteByNight co-founder David Duhr is copy editor and fiction editor at the Texas Observer and has written for books for the Dallas Morning News, the Iowa Review, Electric Literature, and others.
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Sometimes I practice the art of imitation. I use sentences of favorite authors and replicate them in my own words. Or look at chapter beginnings and see how they hooked me and attempt my own version. Don’t get me started on regional similes, metaphors, and hyperbole. Why, I’m plumb full to the brim of them as starting points!
I love this, Dot. I also know writers who, when struggling, will pull out a favorite book and start typing it out. At some point, their own words and ideas start taking over.
Focus isn’t something I have to worry about. If I don’t want to be disturbed, I put on headphones and work, blocking out the surrounding mess. I’m one of those people who can be pulled out of what I’m doing and go back to it with minimal problems. I could be sitting in the middle of a concert and work, only attending to the band and fans if it was one of my favorite songs. For me, it’s a learned ability. I went back to nursing school when my four children were young with five other adults and three kids… Read more »
Are there situations in which you struggle with this more than others, or are you always able to jump right back in?
Classical music. Can’t listen to lyrics and create. Piano also disrupts my focus. Violin is the key. More specifically, almost anything played by Itzhak Perlman. I wrote almost, because Schindler’s List theme is too painful.
Inspiration comes from Tchaikovsky violin concerto in D major op 35 or Sarasate Zigeunerweisen.
Even Klesmer gets my creative juices flowing.
PS: I remember about 20 years ago, when I taught in a junior/middle school. Students continually tardy to class would be punished by keeping them in the cafeteria – and forcing them to listen to Mozart, Beethoven, or Tchaikovsky.
I can’t listen to anything with lyrics either. Classical, sometimes. Usually I need no music. But if I’m in a public place, I usually can manage to tune out music, with words or without.
I did a lot of journal writing on the subway (first in NYC, then in Boston), starting when I was in high school — in the days long before Walkmans, let alone laptops. Though I rarely produced drafts, much of that writing consisted of notes for when I did sit down to produce drafts. (How to write in longhand while standing up on the subway when you have enough room: plant your feet far apart, on the diagonal, and stand with your knees slightly bent; that will help you keep your balance when the train jolts. Don’t hold your notebook… Read more »
One of my Boston classmates/roommates would ride the T back and forth for hours and write; something about being in motion worked well for his creativity, and the subway was a way to be in motion for hours at a time without spending too much money. The red line was his favorite, for what it’s worth.
A glass of wine, on my deck, no music, only sounds of nature, and no one around, helps me think and write. My preferred method of writing and editing is longhand, on 81/2 X 11 yellow pad, and pen only. Once I have a strong draft, only then I use the computer.
1. Waterworld, 2. Robin Hood, 3. Malibu Hot Summer
Sorry. I thought you said worst Kevin Costner movies.
Best movies (no order): McFarland, Open Range, Tin Cup.
Costner makes only two types of films; very good or very bad.
That sounds like a peaceful approach, Larry. Particularly the longhand — no laptop hum. When I write in the park, it’s longhand. It’s not terribly peaceful, though…
Can’t disagree with anything you’ve said concerning the writing; it’s what I do, too.
But I count on you to disagree!
Justin, Thank you for this blog and for inviting comments. It helps us, I think, to just remember that we do have solutions for our own problems. Sharing them helps–at least for me–remember that they’re there. I am a natural at wandering about, wasting time, drifting off….. I have just had to develop or make use of my own inner task master. I find that I focus just fine when I just decide to do it. Focus is work, but I just tell myself, “Don’t be lazy. Do it.” Once I switch from my current comfort zone to my work… Read more »
I knew a guy in Austin who formed one of those groups: He and the members would show up at the same coffee place at the same time, get some beverages, push some tables together, shoot the breeze for a few minutes, and then go quiet and get to work. There’s something comforting about being in a public place with people you know but don’t have to interact with. (Or aren’t supposed to interact with, at least for a specified time.)