I was watching a video on how to freestyle rap (because I think it's cool and I'm curious how people do it), and one of these videos (I can't remember which), the teacher, Scott Para, said something that really caught my ear: He said that good freestyle rappers are those who are able to dissociate their prefrontal regions of their brains, thus allowing them to speak without the impulse to regulate the thoughts as much.
Curiosity piqued, I did a quick Google search and came across this article, which verified and expanded what Para claimed: The brain stops trying to self-censor. Or, as it says in the article, "these shifts in brain function may facilitate the free expression of thoughts and words without the usual neural constraints."
That's really interesting to me. The brain is a complicated organ, but the fact that we can think about our brains is fundamentally cool, as well as the idea that professional rappers can reroute where they are thinking in order to tap into this kind of rap is really interesting. I wonder if it's the same for improv comedy artists, too?
Anyway, this led to me wondering about writers. Do good/professional writers have a similar thing? Do we (assumptions, assumptions) release the ideas in a similar way? Do professional writers drop the self-censoring in order to write?
This article doesn't bear out that idea, but I think I know why: Writing is less improvisational for most than what I was assuming. See, while I feel like I'm improvising on this essay--I have an idea that's interesting to me, so I'm going to follow it to see where it goes--there are a lot of different mechanisms that I have to keep moving in order to continue my thoughts. Grammar and spelling, for example, are important to me. I delete those letters that are incorrect--that is, you, the reader, don't see how many mistakes I've made in this paragraph alone. I noticed, a couple sentences ago, that I said "I'm going to follow...". Then, on the line beneath it, I wrote "to keep going in order...". I saw that I had said going in the line before. Immediately, I deleted the second instance of going and replaced it with "to keep moving in order...". I didn't drop that self-censoring impulse. In fact, that's one of the downsides of writing on a computer: You tend to fumble-finger more often, striking a key that you didn't mean to, and having to revise the sentence as you construct it. Of course, I can type much faster than I can write by hand, so typing allows me to think more quickly because my fingers can keep up with my thoughts better.
Returning to the article, I can attest to both experiences described. (I would be interested to see how much non-fiction writing, like the kind I'm doing here, parallels the creative/literary writing process. My guess is, the brain is firing up different places.) In terms of conceptualization, I do "envision" what I'm going to be describing. It's how I build up scenes, consider how characters interact, and (I hope) create compelling characters whose stories are vicariously experienced by the reader.
The next phase, in terms of seeing the story more as a movie in the head, also makes sense. I try to write cinematically (at least, I did with my last book), and that means having a lot of sensory details to help the reader out. I also structured the book that way, focusing on three characters (protagonist, antagonist, and relationship character), a single, large goal, and plenty of try/fail cycles to give the sense that the protagonist is striving for her desire.
However, the place where the experienced writers go, an area of language where they narrate, is also a place I can be. There's a control to the narration that you don't get as much when you're in the cinema. That is, watching a movie is passive; narrating is active. According to this article, that's the difference between a pro and an amateur.
Still, I feel they didn't watch the writers for long enough. I can understand the controls, but doing a lengthy study--say, tracing the entire course of a short story, from original idea to finished edit--would probably do a lot more to show us how the different areas of the brain interact. It could also help explain when and how a "writer's high"* can occur.
Again, this study is tightly considering literary/creative writing, rather than the process I go through with here, but the very idea that there is a difference in the brains of professionals is interesting. I don't have any illusions about my ability to freestyle rap, but the idea of perhaps learning the techniques in order to achieve a similar state is exciting. Practicing can physically change your brain, which also makes me wonder how different my brain is now that I've gone nearly an entire year with (almost) always writing...
That's something to think about.
----
* Everyone's heard of a "runner's high", which I've never experienced because that would require running and, unless it's with a broom and quaffle, I don't have a reason to run. But I've experienced a "writer's high" that's similar to what I've hard runners describe. It's euphoric, and though there are still mistakes, the typing seems to go faster, the ideas congeal better, and the movement from scene to scene feels more natural. Because of its pleasurable side effects, it's addicting. This is why I'm always so excited to have my writing retreat: It gives me the time I need to get into the euphoric zone. Why do I need time? Well, it takes upwards of three or four hours to get there, and sometimes I don't arrive. And the more often I get there, the harder it is to return. It's a vicious cycle.
Curiosity piqued, I did a quick Google search and came across this article, which verified and expanded what Para claimed: The brain stops trying to self-censor. Or, as it says in the article, "these shifts in brain function may facilitate the free expression of thoughts and words without the usual neural constraints."
That's really interesting to me. The brain is a complicated organ, but the fact that we can think about our brains is fundamentally cool, as well as the idea that professional rappers can reroute where they are thinking in order to tap into this kind of rap is really interesting. I wonder if it's the same for improv comedy artists, too?
Anyway, this led to me wondering about writers. Do good/professional writers have a similar thing? Do we (assumptions, assumptions) release the ideas in a similar way? Do professional writers drop the self-censoring in order to write?
This article doesn't bear out that idea, but I think I know why: Writing is less improvisational for most than what I was assuming. See, while I feel like I'm improvising on this essay--I have an idea that's interesting to me, so I'm going to follow it to see where it goes--there are a lot of different mechanisms that I have to keep moving in order to continue my thoughts. Grammar and spelling, for example, are important to me. I delete those letters that are incorrect--that is, you, the reader, don't see how many mistakes I've made in this paragraph alone. I noticed, a couple sentences ago, that I said "I'm going to follow...". Then, on the line beneath it, I wrote "to keep going in order...". I saw that I had said going in the line before. Immediately, I deleted the second instance of going and replaced it with "to keep moving in order...". I didn't drop that self-censoring impulse. In fact, that's one of the downsides of writing on a computer: You tend to fumble-finger more often, striking a key that you didn't mean to, and having to revise the sentence as you construct it. Of course, I can type much faster than I can write by hand, so typing allows me to think more quickly because my fingers can keep up with my thoughts better.
Returning to the article, I can attest to both experiences described. (I would be interested to see how much non-fiction writing, like the kind I'm doing here, parallels the creative/literary writing process. My guess is, the brain is firing up different places.) In terms of conceptualization, I do "envision" what I'm going to be describing. It's how I build up scenes, consider how characters interact, and (I hope) create compelling characters whose stories are vicariously experienced by the reader.
The next phase, in terms of seeing the story more as a movie in the head, also makes sense. I try to write cinematically (at least, I did with my last book), and that means having a lot of sensory details to help the reader out. I also structured the book that way, focusing on three characters (protagonist, antagonist, and relationship character), a single, large goal, and plenty of try/fail cycles to give the sense that the protagonist is striving for her desire.
However, the place where the experienced writers go, an area of language where they narrate, is also a place I can be. There's a control to the narration that you don't get as much when you're in the cinema. That is, watching a movie is passive; narrating is active. According to this article, that's the difference between a pro and an amateur.
Still, I feel they didn't watch the writers for long enough. I can understand the controls, but doing a lengthy study--say, tracing the entire course of a short story, from original idea to finished edit--would probably do a lot more to show us how the different areas of the brain interact. It could also help explain when and how a "writer's high"* can occur.
Again, this study is tightly considering literary/creative writing, rather than the process I go through with here, but the very idea that there is a difference in the brains of professionals is interesting. I don't have any illusions about my ability to freestyle rap, but the idea of perhaps learning the techniques in order to achieve a similar state is exciting. Practicing can physically change your brain, which also makes me wonder how different my brain is now that I've gone nearly an entire year with (almost) always writing...
That's something to think about.
----
* Everyone's heard of a "runner's high", which I've never experienced because that would require running and, unless it's with a broom and quaffle, I don't have a reason to run. But I've experienced a "writer's high" that's similar to what I've hard runners describe. It's euphoric, and though there are still mistakes, the typing seems to go faster, the ideas congeal better, and the movement from scene to scene feels more natural. Because of its pleasurable side effects, it's addicting. This is why I'm always so excited to have my writing retreat: It gives me the time I need to get into the euphoric zone. Why do I need time? Well, it takes upwards of three or four hours to get there, and sometimes I don't arrive. And the more often I get there, the harder it is to return. It's a vicious cycle.