THE DOCTOR IS IN

THE BENEFITS OF FORCED PRODUCTIVITY

One of my favorite segments of Litopia After Dark is the "Commissioning Meeting," in which our host, Peter Cox, presents each panelist with a title gleaned from the Gutenberg Project, and we are challenged to pitch the "book" (actually a plot of our own devising, which must only bear some relation to the title) to our fellow panelists, who rate the concept's marketability on a scale of one to ten. Whoever gets the most points is named "Litopian of the Week." The competition is fierce.

It's my favorite part because I'm always amazed at the creativity of the other three panelists. The "plots" are wild, bawdy, and usually insanely hilarious. It's hard not to give each of them a ten. (Sometimes I do.) I'm always left wondering how each came up with such a brilliant concept.

My response to my own assignment is, on the other hand, panic. I immediately think, There's no way I can come up with anything, and contemplate faking sudden illness or a work crisis (I broadcast from my office, in lieu of a lunch hour) to get out of it. But in the end I always do come up with something, and I have even managed to garner my share of "Litopian of the Week" honors.

This past week, I was, as usual, sweating it out on the train on the way to work (we receive the topic list the morning of the broadcast, and the subway ride tends to be my only opportunity for uninterrupted thought--uninterrupted, that is, except by panhandlers, religious proselytizers, and musicians, but since they're not asking me to find their homework or to decide whether to call child protective services on a parent, I can usually maintain at least some degree of focus) when I realized that there is a process I go through every time before arriving at my plot. I decided to jot down the steps, because I think they are illustrative of my process in larger and more serious endeavors, and perhaps yours, as well:

1. As noted, There is no way I can do this. Fantasies of escape and abandonment.
2. Hey, what about this? Glimmerings of ideas.
3. This is way too farfetched. Nobody will even understand what I'm talking about.
4. Yeah, but I can't come up with anything better, and the ride is almost over.
5. Writing it down and fleshing it out, because really, there is no choice.
6. How ordinary, who could possibly find it interesting?
7. Presentation. Laughter rather than polite silence. Relief.
8. Wow, that was fun! Too bad it's over so quickly--when is the next one?

Yes, I know #s 3 and 6 are contradictory, but this is how my mind works: when I'm first grappling with an idea, it feels embarrassingly weird, but after I've attained some degree of mastery, it seems trite and obvious.

I realized as I was composing this post that I go through the same process on this site. Which is why I'm grateful for deadlines. Too often, I abandon short stories and other self-generated writing at 1, 3, or 6--and miss the exhilaration of 7 and 8. I need to keep this in mind, and push myself forward.

Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. She is the author of Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007). Her Career Coach column appears every Monday on Inside Higher Ed's Mama, Ph.D. blog, and she is a regular guest panelist on Litopia After Dark. Send your questions to her at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.