@thorninmud Over the years, I’ve tried to train myself to talk. One of the most important lessons I learned came from a story-telling class. The teacher told us to see the story as if it were a movie playing out on the screen and they to describe what we see on the screen, like a kind of play-by-play description.
When I do that (and when others do it, too) what tends to happen is that one part of your mind keeps the movie running, leaving your conscious mind free to do the description. It’s great because you no longer have to take responsibility for making anything happen. It just happens, as if it’s not you doing it.
I think it is that process that helps with the fluency. However, with answers here, I’m not necessarily telling stories. It’s more… (the dots indicate a pause while I think) ... abstract. So I don’t see pictures so much as see the words as a kind of picture. I feel like I’m watching my brain, as if watching one of those lottery games on TV. You’ve got the ping pong balls floating around in there, and every once in a while, one pops up, and then I report which one it is. In other words, there is this separation between the reporter me and the thinker/imagineer me.
Sometimes, though, there is this internal organization to what I write—a kind of beginnning somewhere and an ending elsewhere as if I knew at the beginning where I was going to end and how I was going to get there and I assure you it is not that at all. I use this process of writing to find out what I think. Since I don’t know in advance, I really have no clue where I’m going to end up. It’s almost always a surprise to me.
So how does that work? How can I end up in a satisfying place even if I have no idea where I’m going?
For one thing, (and I have 3 in mind, all of a sudden, as soon as I pose the question to myself, although I might not remember them all), I am not prejudiced about where I go. I don’t feel I have to go anywhere. So anywhere I go is all right, so long as it is a place.
Second, I have trained myself over the years to recognize a place when I get there. It’s really quite magical. I often tell instant stories at my dance group, and it just shocks me how I’ll be talking along and all of a sudden I’ll find myself in a beautiful ending that I had no plan of at all. The words are sharp and poignant and great images. I just have to talk along until those few words appear, and my only job is to recognize them and stop when they fly out of my mouth. I have to realize I don’t need to go further, even if I had more I wanted to say.
The third thing I do (and I am amazed I remember the third) is to summarize. At a certain point, typing along, I find I want to stop and so I have to wrap things up. With this intention in mind, I will think through what I’ve written (as I am still writing) and think about what it all amounts to. Then I’ll let that become my final paragraph. Sometimes it’s just a matter of repeating key points. Sometimes it is summarizing things and adding a final idea.
It’s a process that works for me, and I wonder if it would work for others (which is why I lay it down here). I think I have a kind of watchfulness as if I am editing and writing as I go along, but more, I think it is what I think of as a zen approach: a kind of non-judgmentalism of the words. It is an improvisational approach. It relies on getting out of my own way, and because I have years of training in improvisation in other types of creative endeavor, I think that helps me employ it in this context as well. That’s how it works, I think, and thank you very much for the kind feedback.