Tayari's Blog: Jazzing My Way Through

If there is one constant, it is that I think-write and I do that in all sorts of environments. While doing other things, I mull over sentences, scenes, and ideas until they’re at the point of bursting and must be committed to the page.

Because I wait until ideas are bursting forth, I can’t write with a pen—it’s not fast enough. And I’m reconsidering the way I use my computer since typing feels like just another intermediate step that requires me to spell out the words which hold my ideas. Voice recognition software seems like it may be more efficient—I’ll have to see. But, believe me, I’ll work however I can when things get crazy, which they often do.

On a recent trip where I shared hotel space with my children and mother-in-law, I used the following “routine.” I’d arise at four, tip-toe past my daughter who was sleeping with me, grab the first writing utensil I could feel in the darkness and retreat—yes—to the bathroom where I’d sit and write. I’d close the door so the light wouldn’t wake my son who slept on the hideaway bed. I re-wrote the opening to my novel this way, sitting on the toilet, lid down. But as usual, I had to improvise. One morning when I couldn’t feel my notepad in the darkness, I grabbed a book instead. I wrote my novel on the inside covers of a literary theory book.

I used to feel like a loser when I listened to established authors talk about the luxury they have to write. Maya Angelou is said to do all of her writing in a five-star hotel and even my friends sometimes summer in elite writers colonies. It was hard not to wonder if this free time, this luxury of leisure wasn't a basic, unreachable requirement for the life of a writer.

But then, while driving the kids to daycare, I heard a radio interview with Edward P. Jones. Now, here was a grown adult who was working a job and writing where and when he could. He kept his epic, The Known World, in his head. He’d think-write as he rode public transportation! Jones was a literary hero that I could relate to.

I know what it means to fit writing into a full life. I started an MFA program when my son was four. I became pregnant with his sister during my first year in the program. I taught high school while attending graduate school. And months before my daughter was born, my mother’s cancer recurred. I took care of mom and the baby until mom passed away. Life happens. Still, I wrote when I could. And I finished the degree this May.

I stumbled that day in workshop as I tried to answer the “writing routine” question. The instructor kept prodding me, “What must you do before you write?”

I’d say something, only to have her ask me again. Today, after much reflection, I can articulate my writing process.

My writing process takes its inspiration from a musical tradition. I imagine a quartet sitting down to play in a basement club in an iffy neighborhood. The drummer doesn’t know what’s going to happen on any particular night. There might be a brawl in the back near the bar, the microphone may not be working, or maybe the soundman is on strike. The musicians in the band know only what they came here to do and that is to make music. Who knows what they will come up with, on the fly, as they shape the vibe of the room and the vibe of the room touches them.

So the next time someone asks me about my writing program, I’ll keep my response short. I’ll just say that I jazz my way through.

--Renee Simms
June 1, 2007
Chandler, Arizona

(Here are more pictures of Renee Simms and her family)