Cup-Stacking

     Last month, as a final for gym, I had to take a skill test.  I had my choice of hacky-sack, juggling, or cup-stacking.  Since I have no idea how the hell you keep a hacky-sack suspended in the air and I don't always have control over my limbs, I of course chose cup-stacking.

     It took me a while to figure out how best to approach the challenge--to get full credit, I had to stack and unstack a three-six-three pyramid formation in under eight seconds.  It was harder than it looked.  I listened to music to help mellow me out a little, and I discovered a marvelous thing; when I let the music carry me, when I followed the cups with my body, I timed a lot better.  It became--dare I say it?--easy.  Simple.  Fun.

     I let my body flow--with the music, with the cups, with my hands--and the fluidity with which it was done brought on improved results.  In writing, the experience isn't much different.

     If you try to force yourself to write without bowing to the word--if you stand stock still and refuse to let your work breathe, you won't succeed.  You need to be willing to experiment with your work, to let things happen as they will, to open your mind to what occurs beyond what you've planned.  Whether you plot your novels or not, you'll find that when you open yourself, when the prose flows through you, the cups will seem to stack themselves, and seconds, minutes, hours, years--they will simultaneously stand still beneath your pen, and fly past you in a sudden rush of inspiration.

     A tree bends in the wind to keep from snapping; to keep your words alive, you'd do well to do the same.