Chapter 39: How To Practice

“You heard my talk,” said Barbara Baig. “You’ve got my book in your bookcase. True, it’s about writing practice, but it applies to any kind of practice.” “I know,” I said, embarrassed. “I didn’t realize it until now. It’s obvious.” “I told you,” said the doorknob. “Well, he did finally remember it,” said the metanovel. “That’s something, isn’t it.” “More blather,” said my inner critic. “Shut up!” Barbara said to my inner critic. She turned to me. “Remember what I said when you heard me talk at the Blue Hill Library,” she said. “It’s also in my book.” I pulled out my copy of Barbara’s How to Be a Writer and checked it: Everyone accepts that athletes and musicians learn their skills and keep them honed through practice…We accept that if someone is going to undertake a public performance —on an athletic field, or in a concert—she has to build her skills and prepare herself through practice. …it’s almost impossible to learn skills under performance conditions; …we’re too focused on the result… “You’re right,” I said. “And you also said that one of the problems with most practice is that it’s focused on the characteristics of the finished product, not the skills needed to produce it. “Precisely,” Barbara said. “So what are the skills you need?” I thought for a moment. What did I need to do to get the result that I wanted? I didn’t have trouble putting words on paper. I’d had enough practice. And I wasn’t having trouble editing any more. I had, in earlier sections of the book, but I’d had enough practice. I wasn’t good organizing and making plans, but I could do it. But once I had a plan, I was horrible at following through. I would get distracted. I would lose track of time. I would forget that I was trying to follow a plan. “You think that your distraction due to ADD,” Barbara said. “You think it’s a personality trait.” “More like character defect,” said my inner critic. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Asked Barbara. “Now shut up!” She turned back to me. “There’s no such thing as a personality trait,” said Barbara. “And there’s no such thing as a character defect. They’re not real. They’re imaginary. Don’t make the Third Classic Blunder. What’s real is skill, lack of skill, and degree of skill. That’s all.” “I already know that practice is a skill,” I said. “What’s missing.” “It’s so obvious,” said the doorknob. “The doorknob is right,” Barbara Baig said. “Think about it.” I thought: Practicing was a skill, but it had component skills, I thought. Perhaps one or more of those skills is missing or weak. I thought some more: To develop a skill, I’ve got to organize my practice. It’s a complex skill, so I’ve got to identify its components. I’ve got to organize time for my practice. And I’ve got to monitor my practice to ensure that it gets done. I thought some more: If something’s wrong I’ve got to take corrective action. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies I thought more. I’m a practiced thinker, I thought, so I have no trouble thinking. “I see what I need to do,” I said to Barbara. “I need to structure my practice.” The author was right, but he’d fail to structure his practice several times before he figured it out. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies