Going down the ramp

How do you get into the book?

Some writers call it going down the ramp. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.

Going down the ramp is that NASA-style flight checklist before liftoff.

It’s the system or series or processes an artist develops — sometimes over a lifetime — that puts you in creative mode, transports you into the world of the book (or film or play or concert or TV show or whatever you’re creating).

Some argue it’s a handicap—you shouldn’t have to go down the ramp, you should be able to open the tap any time, anywhere, whether you have five minutes in the dentist office or 12 weeks at MacDowell. And others argue—going down the ramp creates a predictable ritual, a set of conditions that can reliably carry you back into the book every time. Even when you’re not feeling it or are hopelessly distracted.

I am the most distracted person I’ve ever met. I need the ramp, the jetway, the horse blinders, whatever you want to call it. It’s emotional, psychological.

One thing that always works for me is putting my legs above my heart. No idea why. Maybe because it’s like a fetal position, or it tricks the body into relaxing. I put my legs up on the back of my sofa, or I lay on the floor and put my legs up the wall. That works.

And I’ve been thinking about other things that feel like going down the ramp, and why that works so well for me. Skiing. From the minute you bundle up, un-freeze your car doors, dig out your wheels, get there, get your bib on, get your boots on, get your coat on, get to the lift, get to the top of the hill … you’ve got one goal. You get back down in one piece. You don’t have to think about anything else. Nothing else matters now. Your job is returning.

Or winter camping in Yosemite, where I’m writing this. Same thing. You pack a shovel, you pack multiple flashlights and tarps and pads and a tent and two coats and leave all your ski gear in the car, you set off … and you’ve got one job. Survive. Get back home in one piece and without too too much misery. Your job is returning.

So why do it? Because with both skiing and winter camping in Yosemite and writing … the trip in between can be exhilarating, surprising, freeing, if you really let yourself go.

It’s all going down the ramp. Setting up a tunnel for yourself so you can find your way inside.

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How do you go down the ramp? Reply to this email and let’s discuss.