The Impossible Gift of Flow

How, against all odds, the story of "Departures" is carrying me through some rough waters.

To be in a flow state is a rare, almost out-of-body experience, and I hope you get to enjoy it at least once in your life. At 4:41 PM on June 5th, defying all logical expectations, I found myself in one as I began writing my new novel “Departures.” As of today, June 21st, I have completed the first twelve chapters, a total of 27,496 words which is easily a quarter of the book.

I’ve had some highly productive periods of output with writing and delivered some performances that transcended my limitations in music over the years, but a part of me was always there, conscious, and making calculated decisions. I was aware of myself and my relationship to the thing I was doing.

I was playing the music, the music wasn’t playing me.

While it's fresh, I want to attempt to describe what it feels like to experience a flow state, not because I think I can give you or even myself a repeatable recipe, but because I want to acknowledge and celebrate it on record as a reminder for all the days in the future when I will hoist the sails and they do not move.

I didn’t see it coming. The conditions were not ripe for a flow state, quite the opposite. As I write this, I’m not sure how I will actually be able to pay next month’s bills. I’ve spent every day for the past three months looking for steady work. When I was thrust out of the plane of my technology career 20 months ago I chose to allow myself to free-fall for a while and pursue my dreams of writing mostly full time. As someone who was the sole provider for a family of four for over 25 years, this was not a decision I made lightly. But after a traumatic divorce and navigating the sorrows of an empty nest the last few years, I needed time to heal and to reevaluate.

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The idea behind “Departures,” was not a new one for me. It’s a theme I’ve attempted to bring to life twice before in the past eight years. Why should I have had any reason to believe the third time would be a charm, especially now under this mounting pressure just to survive? Sitting down to write a novel every day under these conditions is not what any sane person might consider optimal for entering a flow state, and yet, here I am, against all odds disappearing into a story that is unfurling before me faster than I can commit the words to the screen. A story won’t solve my problems. It won’t pay the mortgage, my children’s student loans or my daughter’s health insurance. But for some reason, this story really wants to be told and it’s picked me to tell it and tell it fast. So what does it feel like, this state? Let me try to describe as best I can knowing full well how completely absurd it might sound.

It doesn’t matter what time of day I sit down to write or where, the minute I focus my cursor on the page and begin to type a few halting words that sputter into clauses that whir into sentences that merge into paragraphs, the wind picks up and then I’m moving. The unlikely story of the man I’ve invented comes to life in the way that you might imagine if you were to open the door of a darkened warehouse and all you can see is a single lamp before you. The door closes behind you. You reach for the lamp and pull the chain. In the circular throw of its dim glow, you can make out a few shapes, one of which is another lamp which you walk to and switch on. And so it goes as you make your way through the vast space, switch by switch, illuminating a world that was always there but previously unseen.

As I’m writing, I’m not thinking exactly as I am right now while writing this essay. I’m not organizing and strategizing, and trying to be clever. I’m not concerned what you will think. I’m not aware of you or me. I’m only aware of what the character suffering at the center of my story wants and what stands in his way as he and I stumble through this warehouse of unknowable dimensions. It’s not an all day affair. Within two or three hours, I must reemerge into the world where things must be done. A dog must be fed, plants must be watered, applications must be sent, a precocious little girl must be picked up from camp, and aging parents taken to the doctor. But through all these activities, the story continues to flow in the background, and my observation of it, like the fish at the end of a line, allowed to swim downstream until I’m ready to pick up the rod and start reeling again.

But in those precious hours, I’m not unemployed. My back doesn’t hurt. I don’t miss my kids. I don’t have to pee. I’m not worried about tomorrow or next month. I’m not chasing or even following something as much as being pulled by it which sounds ridiculous. How can something I’m inventing from my imagination be so fully realized, so close to the surface that I don’t just see its full form, but I can make out the texture of its skin and be swept up and propelled in its wake?

Why now? I can only speculate why this story of a man who has the curse of knowing the exact date everyone he comes into contact with will die wouldn’t let go of me. In the last ten years, I’ve thought more about death than I ever had before. I wrote about some of the reasons in a previous post. Watching as my parents enter the final chapters of their lives that started together when they were just eighteen is perhaps the biggest reason. Death is coming for all of us and yet we have this mechanism that allows us to believe it’s not. When you are shaken from that dream of immortality by a loss or some failing, you have a chance to walk outside at four AM when everyone else is asleep, still enjoying the morphine drip of dreams that conjure the illusion of safety. My life is no longer safe. But it never was. Only now I can see that. Maybe that’s why I can sit and write this story as the ground is rumbling and cracking beneath my feet. Wow, I’m just a little ray of sunshine, right?!

The Simple Math

I will keep writing this novel, even on days when the flow slows to a few drips. That’s enough to keep the pipes from freezing after all. I will publish it here as a serial on Catch & Release, and I will give it away for free initially as I did with my previous novels “The Memory of My Shadow” and “Harmony House.” The story needs to find its people more than I need to earn a living. Such is the calculus most writers and artists must perform.

I want to thank you, dear reader, for being here with me on this journey to bring this new story into the world. All stories are collaborations, and you are a part of this one. If you subscribe to my work, I am grateful for your precious attention. If you pay for a subscription, I am in your debt, and it’s for you that I keep pushing even in weeks when I don’t feel I can.

If you have ever considered becoming a paid subscriber to support my work, there’s never been a better time for you or for me. Through the end of the month I’m offering 30% off an annual subscription which amounts to $42. That $42 gets you access to both my previously published novels with audio narration and all the posts in the Catch & Release archive which includes songs, short stories, and essays similar to this one.

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While You Wait…

Until “Departures” is ready to launch with the first episodes in a month or so, if you’ve not had a chance to read my previous novels, you can enjoy the first few episodes for free, complete with audio narration and original music.

A Deal is Brokered in a Sweat Lodge

The Memory of My Shadow #01