A Run For the Word Count

Once upon a time someone wrote a song about the number 'one' being a lonely number. They may have been talking about love and relationships but the same can be said about writers. We are a rather lonely lot when you think about it. I suppose most creative people tend to work alone. Letting the creative part of the brain run rampant allows us to form certain ideas but it isn't always enough. Sometimes we need help to keep us going.

I first heard the term "sprinting" a couple years ago. Of course, I knew the term had to do with short distance foot races but this time it had a different connotation. Someone came up with the idea of getting a group of writers together to sprint. The idea was never meant to be a contest and it isn't. It's a means of focusing on the work at hand and writing for short periods of time.

Some 'lonely' writers can shut out all distractions, focus on their work in progress and do quite well. Ninety-nine percent of the time ... I'm not one of them. My creative thoughts have a bad habit of wandering when they shouldn't, much like a curious child's habit of wandering off when the parent isn't looking.

So this concept of sprinting caught my attention and I decided to check it out. The idea is to write for thirty to forty-five minutes (or whatever length of time you decide on) nonstop then take a break that can vary anywhere from five to fifteen minutes depending on the length of the sprint. The break gives you a chance to recharge your batteries so you can start again. Usually our group opts to write for forty-five minutes. For each sprint we keep track of our word count. It encourages you to keep striving toward your goal. It's amazing how much can be done in that span of time and if you sprint several times in a day, the word count can be tremendous.

Personally, I found it a great way to keep me focused on what I'm working on. By the end of the day, I've tripled my work compared to what I might have accomplished as a lonely one.

Writers are always looking for ways to increase productivity, especially if they're up against a deadline. Wandering thoughts have their place in the beginning, and sometimes further along the the creative process. But there comes a point when you need to focus on those all-important details and descriptions. In the long run there is a method to our madness.

Sprint, anyone?

A Piece of History Vanishes

We often don't think about the (physical) history surrounding us until it begins to disappear. Living in an apartment complex I haven't given much thought myself, to the idea.

A block west from where I live is an old railroad track that runs north/south. Most every weekday between noon and three p.m. the freight train goes by, ambling along the track that bridges the street. Often it has an engine on either end and see-saws back and forth between the nearby businesses. There are a few days when you hear the train whistle before you actually see the train. Other days you don't know it's passing by untill you hear the clickity-clack of the wheels on the trestle.

Now when we hear the train the whistle blows forlornly as it takes another route to its destination. Will we see it again? Who knows. After twenty years of impact studies the state has finally decided to allow the commuter train in our area. While it's something we need to connect us to the rest of the state, it's slowly putting an end to an era, a piece of history.

For the last month I've been watching workers slowly dismantle the track at either end of the trestle. Surrounding trees and bushes were uprooted then the railroad ties were systematically removed. When I first heard the chainsaw buzzing and chewing away at the tree trunks I was shocked at what the workers were doing and could picture all that loose dirt being washed down the hill in a hard rain. It puts you in mind of California's mudslides but on a smaller scale.

This past weekend I kept going back to the window to watch the trestle being dismantled. Sparks flew from cutting torches and separated the sides from the trestle bed. The three pieces were separated from their supports and a large crane carefully hauled them out of the way.

The next day, the workers cut into the supports and eventually took them down. I wasn't home to see them complete the work but when I got home, it was strange to see two concrete walls devoid of the iron it flanked and supported for at least a hundred years. The land on either side, for perhaps a quarter mile, is now barren except for mounds of dirt, the new but temporary landscape.

I've seen what the new trestle will look like, sleek and battleship gray but it lacks character, as do all new things. I imagine in another hundred years, someone will write about the commuter train and wax nostalgic over its passing. "The more things change..."