The story goes like this,

For the third time in almost as many weeks, a young moose wanders out of the wilderness, and straight into an Ottawa residential area.

That part sounds kinda like the intro to an unoriginal joke, doesn’t it? Predictable, maybe. Hackneyed, even.

The tragic part is, for the third time in almost as many weeks, Ottawa police cornered, shot and killed the disoriented animal.

Not so funny anymore, is it?

What is it about a moose on the loose—typically so harmless and benign—that prompts a police force to act with such savagery?

Well, in each case, the moose, so it appears, was in an frantic and frenzied state.

Unpredictable, muddled and, therefore, potentially dangerous.

And, each case, so it appears, demanded that something be done.

Something be done…

Deal with it

Do something

Anything

Just get rid of the problem.

Why are we so preoccupied with having to do something?

Why are we so eager to take charge, be in control, look busy?

What’s wrong with slowing down, waiting it out?

Because, maybe, there are times when being busy, acting like we’re in control, doing something, is precisely the wrong strategy

And maybe it’s a good idea to remember that, sometimes, unforeseen events will just take care of themselves.

Ideas? Suggestions? Questions? Please leave a comment.

At a Solo 2 event a few years ago, I was becoming frustrated by my inability to improve my time. When a more experienced club member jumped into the passenger seat and coached me around the course, his intructions sounded, to me, completely illogical. “Hit the brakes,” He’d command as we’d approach a corner. Again and again, he’d repeat the same intructions, “Slow down right here,” then “Brake hard now.”

Imagine my surprise then, after completing what I was convinced would be my slowest run, to  find that the exact opposite was true. I had, in fact, just set my best time.

So how does any of this relate to writing? Let me cite two examples.

While writing the novel, I’d often feel apprehensive about the amount of time it was taking for completion. I’d give myself a deadline, maybe three months hence, only to find, as the target date approached, that I’d have to increase my output. All of which resulted in chapters that were, let’s just say, less than noteworthy. Not understanding that writing doesn’t lend itself to production-line principles, I’d end up edgy and frustrated over the resultant major rewrites and writer’s block. And all of that because of an arbitrary and unrealistic deadline. It was only when I deep sixed the deadline that I found myself slowing down, writing with relaxed conviction and, increasing my output.

Here’s another example. When unable to come up with interesting dialog, I’d sit at my computer, hours on end, only to get increasingly dejected for not coming up with something clever. When I learned to slow down, shut off the machine, walk away from the book, maybe go for a bike ride, I discovered ideas of all kinds–and good ones too–popping into my head. It was almost like the book was writing itself.

My advice then, if you’re barreling along at full speed and not making progress, is to hit the brakes. It’s amazing how much faster you’ll go.