Minimal Talking/Maximal Writing
Before a word can be written, a writer must sit. But I’m a writer who finds sitting hard. When I sit, wonderful things happen – eventually. But it’s getting to the gate. When I was a staff writer for someone else, I was at the screen at 6 a.m., logging on, ready to write. The key was accountability: Someone else was waiting.
So, when playwright Katherine Murphy, author of Aunt Flo is Dead, Hades and Back (Again) and Greater America, suggested I join her for a two-hour block of “Minimal Talking/Maximal Writing” at a local café, I jumped.
The rules were simple. We met at 10 a.m.; caught up for five to ten minutes; then we wrote, sitting side-by-side at adjacent tables like two reporters in a mid-century newsroom.
Two hours later, I had a solid start on a new chapter for a forthcoming book. Could it be so simple? Yes.
At noon we parted, but my mind was primed. I listened to no radio on the way home – on Katherine’s advice – so as not to cloud my creative signal. When I arrived home, I lay down for a bit, but the story miraculously continued to unspool in my mind.
“It’s an accountability thing,” said Murphy, who takes no credit for originating Minimal Talking/Maximal Writing. A friend in San Francisco, she said, posted a message one day on Facebook: “Who wants to join me for minimal talking and maximal writing?” Murphy saw it and knew she’d found an answer.
“I had a feeling of self-loathing about not writing,” said Murphy, who’d been a highly productive member of a well-structured Bay Area writers’ group. But, back in LA, she hadn’t found the right fit. “I don’t like this about myself, but I’m better meeting you at the gym than going to the gym by myself,” she said. “I’m good at showing up at a day job, so I’ve created a structure for myself – like the accountability of an office – to write. I’d like to be a purely self-motivated person, but I’m not. I’ve come to terms with that and developed a work-around.”
The Minimal Talking/Maximal Writing protocol is straightforward. A café will do, or someone’s home workspace. Zoom, in fact, is perfect for this purpose.
Before the pandemic, the leafy patio garden in the rear of Jackson’s Market in Culver City was a favorite spot for Murphy, as was the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ Margaret Herrick Library, in Beverly Hills.
“The Internet access at Jackson’s was crappy, which, happily, prevented me from spending time on online,” she said, laughing. “And the Academy Library is the quietest place in the world. You can bring only your computer and a pencil – not even a pen – and you absolutely cannot talk.”
“I’m not saying I never talk,” added Murphy. “If something comes to your mind, we talk. But the point is, we always go back to the page.”
The one hard-and-fast rule of Minimal Talking/Maximal Writing: Positively NO extraneous screens, forbidden for their hypnotic effect and potential to distract.
“I have a problem with screens,” said Murphy. “I’ll look at a television screen, a computer or a phone, rather than move my fingers across a keyboard. I get sucked in by checking the news; I think, ‘What if I miss something?’ But you know what? It’ll be there in an hour.”
Perfectionism, too, can be a problem, she said, recalling author Anne Lamott’s reminder that the “shitty first draft” is a necessity and the foundation from which all good work evolves. Lamott’s ‘shitty first draft’ gives Murphy permission to write, she said.
“I have a voice inside that says, ‘What if what you write isn’t any good?’ So, the ‘shitty first draft’ is the biggest gift in the world. It’s the thing that saves me,” said Murphy. “In the end, the most unique thing I can do is to be absolutely myself. I’m Katherine, and this is what works for me. That’s liberating: Be yourself and work with that. I double-dog dare you.”
