Resistance creates a tug-of-war

The War of Art by Stephen Pressfield is on a lot of Top 10 Writing Book lists (for example, this 
one: Its subtitle is Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles.  Pressfield's title is a riff on Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, which is a famous book I’ve never read. A lot of business folks do read it, though. It’s no doubt full of Eastern Wisdom about the nature of war, applicable to the battle for business supremacy as measured by dollars. Pressfield’s title is a catchy inversion, no? Creative folk also seek success, although perhaps on different terms, and we can use all the help we can get, especially in our business-centric society. In a nutshell, Pressfield’s idea is that resistance, or should I capitalize it, as Pressfield does, Resistance, is the Enemy when it comes to creating. According to him, creating art, or undertaking anything that moves us “from a lower sphere to a higher,” such as education, “an innovative enterprise,” or spiritual growth, forces us into pitched battle against Resistance. Resistance is what stands between “the life we live, and the unlived life within us.”

Pressfield goes on to define resistance, in its apparently multitudinous forms, in a series of short, aphoristic one-page paragraphs like the following:

Resistance cannot be seen, touched, heard, or smelled. But it can be felt. We experience it as an energy field radiating from a work-in-potential. It’s a repelling force. It’s negative. Its aim is to shove us away, distract us, prevent us from doing our work."

So Resistance is invisible. Resistance derails. Resistance is obvious, but also insidious. It’s internal. It’s omnipresent. It’s unavoidable.

Okay, look, I don’t buy it. Resistance-shmesistance. I admit, I haven’t quite finished the book, so maybe I haven’t totally understood Pressfield’s point, but listen. I’ve got a plan. Resistance isn’t my problem. Repeat, I do have a plan. Here it is: pitch a couple articles, keep blogging, write a book proposal. Pitch that. While I’m pitching the proposal and the articles, scrounge up some paying meat ‘n potatoes freelance writing so we can tick off a few budget line items.

Resistance? Big talk about nothing. Now, I mentioned I haven’t finished the book. That’s because once I started it I thought I’d better read The Art of War, so I’d know where The War of Art was coming from. So I had to download a free copy. (I recommend the Internet Archive. Got me a nice PDF.) Then I had to print it, and lo and behold, there was no paper, and then I ran out of toner, which I had to organize the desk to be sure of, because who knows where People Who Live With Me put these things, maybe there was an extra cartridge somewhere—there wasn’t. Which meant a run to Staples and who wants to do that? First I needed some fortification, also known as lunch; and during lunch I got lost in Edward St. Aubyn’s Patrick Melrose novels which are about a bunch of repulsive rich British people in the 1980s and 1990s, really reprehensible folk who are quite fascinating in their way….A bunch of do-nothings, really, when you get down to it. Procrastinators, wastrels.

Also, after starting The War of Art, I seem to have become obsessed with making sure my bed is perfectly made. Hospital corners, lining up the quilt, and folding the duvet just so, are just so satisfying. Why haven’t I realized until now the beauty of the perfectly plumped pillow? Clean counters, too. They are really important before a person can get down to work. And if you’re in my house, you can marvel at the array of objects the 10-year-old uses as bookmarks, such as: instructions for the game Apples to Apples; the Roku remote control; hairclips; even other books; as well as that old standby, the couch cushion. All of these items need to be dealt with before cleaning the counters, because all of them are on the counters.

You know, stuff needs to get put in places before a person can do other--stuff. So a week’s gone by, and I haven’t done that proposal yet, but no biggie. I haven’t finished the Pressfield book yet, either. I have gotten through two and a half of St. Aubyn’s novels about those reprobate Brits, and my bed’s been perfect every day. I’ve been working out. I’ve cooked some delicious meals. I’ve even changed my earrings. Several times. Today. I even had a whole extra hour this morning because the 10-year-old went to school early. So I went to the grocery store. Sure, I used my freshest hour when I could’ve been writing to shop for groceries. Grocery shopping takes energy, too, you know. I’m getting a lot done. This isn’t resistance. It may not be my art, but it is, uh, stuff.

Now where is that Pressfield book? Oh, look, it’s my daughter’s bookmark. How fun! Now I can figure out if I’ve understood what he means by Resistance. I’ll give it another shot. See if anything resonates. Because it’s certainly nothing I can relate to so far. After all, here’s a blog post.

©Hope A. Perlman October 17, 2012

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