I went to see Anne Lamott speak and read from her new book last night. Anne is one of those writers, Harlan Ellison being another, who I almost enjoy more as a commentator than as a writer. "Enjoyable." I get such a kick listening to her speak, just as I as do reading what Harlan says about things and people. I love their published works, of course, but those are not as much fun.

Last night was fun. It's great to see the person in the flesh; there's something desperately human about the need to experience live what, frankly, is better in its published form: books and cd's are better quality than live performance, but they lack the elements of humanness and of presence. When I read Anne's books, I don't get her asides, the way she skips the "boring parts," the way she uses her voice so we understand clearly just what she's trying to say.

Anne Lamott has another special quality for me, one that I appreciate hugely as a wannabee writer. When I read Harlan or Pam Houston and WS Merwin, I find myself thinking "I can do that." I'm almost competitive in my own mind, which is a ridiculous attitude in so many different ways. Not only am I not WS Merwin — part of being a great artist is the unique character of your work — I don't have to be. My poetry can stand on its own merits. I know I write good poetry, and I know my poetry will improve as I give it more energy (and less doubt). And there's no way anyone on the planet can hope to imitate Harlan; Neil Gaiman might, but he's the great example. Gaiman doesn't need to imitate Harlan; he just needs to be Neil. That's more than good enough.

Anne helps me to accept that I am good enough. That is one of the major themes of Bird By Bird (which I got signed by her last night, yay). Write what you can, write all that you can; it will be your best because it will be yours. By encouraging writers to begin with a "shitty first draft" (she replaced the first adjective last night in respect to be being at the Seattle Baptist Church), Anne pushes them past the barrier of writing "good enough." The only writing that is good enough is that what gets writ. No work is any damn good if it just sits in the imagination.

I have done the "morning pages" exercise off and on for the past five years, more on than off. I find it very useful; it gets me up early, when I seem to have a bit of creative energy, and it gets my mind moving freely. Amazing thoughts emerge in the course of three hand-written pages; not earth-shattering amazing, but fix-a-bit-of-my-life amazing. But after a while of doing morning pages, I'll find I'm just sick and tired of writing about myself in that way. As I was Thursday morning; I did one page and sat for five minutes, just thinking, "Bleah." Then I thought, "Screw it" and went back to bed for an hour. When I got up, I went down the street to the French bakery, had a croissant and a latt?© and, after checking email, wrote a few hundred words of a novel that is growing very slowly.

It was wonderful! Not the writing; just the process. I loved sitting in the quiet bakery (the first quiet public place I've found in Seattle other than the library) and working on a piece of fiction. I had to leave for work, but I could have sat for another half-hour at least (my writing "muscles" have a long way to go). Yesterday I went to a different place, and while the first time is always the best, to get up and work on fiction was such a great feeling.

But as Anne read from her new book, Grace Eventually, I found myself thinking about how I write — or, more accurately, don't write. The morning pages ritual has been very good for me, but I really do get sick of it at times. And I have an additional problem: I have a number of blogs I want to post to more. I want to write regularly here in Subboy and in Tin Cup Chalice; not because the world demands it but because I need to do that kind of writing. But with work and obligations and novels to be read and movies to be watched, the time just slips by. So, duh, easy answer: If I'm sick of morning pages per se, but mornings are a good writing time, why not write for these instead?

Ok, I'm not necessarily a genius when it comes to obvious solutions to personal needs. It can take me a while to get to a good solution, perhaps an hour, or a week, or thirty years. Circumstances vary. I am just thrilled when I find something that works for me. So this morning, the next morning, I am making this change (I'll notify the New York Times this afternoon). I am looking forward to seeing what this becomes. I don't believe in editing blogs; I love the idea of using them as repositories for shitty first drafts. (Not, dare I say, for crappy writers, however; I think I'm good enough to get away with it. Not gonna win any awards for the writing, but I can plonk out a non-embarrassing first draft for this blog — and perhaps from that will come material to work on more professionally.) I want to see what kind of writing I do here and at TCC; if nothing else, to post to both sites 5 or 6 times a week will be a good thing.

And yet one more reason to be grateful to Anne Lamott. Even if she might want me to keep her name out of this.