The Closet Effect

When discouragement stymies my efforts to write, I usually gain a surge of motivation from The Closet Effect. Maybe it's like The Bureau Effect on Emily Dickinsen's poems. Or The Wardrobe Effect on four children in The Chronicles of Narnia.

Here's how the magic works: if no deadline is pending, I set aside a rough draft or even a polished project in the file that sits on the floor of my walk-in closet. (Yes, I believe the process works better if a story or poem is printed on paper.  I came of age when a self-correcting typewriter was The Mother of All Inventions.)

But I digress.

While writing, I often feel that my work is cheesy/dull/uninspired. Pick your adjective. Then a miracle occurs within the depths of my closet. The longer a project vegetates, the better. Maybe it has something to do with mystic dust bunny rituals.

This would be a good place to insert a photo of vintage typewritten pages because this is a tutorial of sorts, right? And I'm a blogger who's been writing long enough to have her share of yellowed pages. The real deal.

At any rate, when I revisit a writing project that's survived the test of time, at least one of the following things has occurred:

• It still seems cheesy/dull/uninspired. Time to salvage a good line or scene and move on to something else.
• I suddenly see what needs revision and have a better idea of how to proceed.
• The words flow a little better than I remember, giving me the courage to share my work with someone else.

The result sometimes includes two or more of the above points but it never fails to help me progress as a writer.

Now if only The Closet Effect would work a transformation when I attempt to zip up a dress that I haven't worn for a while.