The Limit is the Sky
or how constraint sometimes helps
I use a workout app to help me vary my exercise, to try and keep this six-decades-in bone machine working as long as possible. And, because the trainers are fit and their usual audience is not 63 year-old women, they are always encouraging pushing past your limits—lifting heavier weights, holding that plank 10 more seconds, running your interval just a little bit faster—to make growth. As fitness goes, that’s usually sound advice. But this isn’t the ony scenario where this philosophy shows up. Ever heard one of these?
Get out of your comfort zone.
Why not you?
Send that poem to APR and Poetry. (Okay, this one is a little niche, but you get it.)
The sky’s the limit.
This advice is always meant to encourage, to move you from inertia to action, to expose you to new experiences, to risk. Sometimes it is good advice. But it can be intimidating and, depending on the scenario, create a lot of anxiety. For example, I am a terrible dancer. When I was still teaching several years ago, my team decided to do a dance routine to One Direction’s “You Don’t Know You’re Beautiful” as our contribution to an assembly. I practiced every day for fear of screwing up. I memorized those moves, but I still couldn’t do them with any natural grace. And when we finished, I was shaking. Was that good for me? Who knows? (And how many rejections do I need to get from Poetry before it just becomes embarrassing?)
So lately, I’ve been thinking about how constraint can be helpful. Sometimes limits are a good thing. Speed limits. Term limits. I mean, it’s right there in the name.
Even Cookie Monster has a song called “A Cookie is a Sometimes Food.” And placing constraints on the creative process can be quite freeing.
I’ve been participating in the annual Februllage challenge on Instagram where participants from all over the world create a collage a day based on a simple one word prompt. Some of the participants are professional artists with an abundance of materials at their fingertips. I, in contrast, have limited materials on a good day, but this month, my “office” contents (formerly my son’s bedroom) have been completely cleared out and stashed all over the house in preparation for painting and a new carpet installation. I have one accessible plastic bin of art things, and I’ve had to use what’s at hand to try and meet the challenges. It has simplified my process in good ways—I’ve often used only a few elements instead of overloading the page, I’ve repurposed failed or practice paintings as backgrounds, and I’ve tried some techniques that I haven’t before. I don’t like every result, but overall I’ve been pleased with what I’ve been able to accomplish with less.
Constraints are also helpful to me as a writer, especially when I’m feeling in a rut. I recently spoke with David J. Bauman on the In Three Poems Podcast about Jehanne Dubrow’s book The Wounded Line, how having a “container” (in poetry, a form, like the sonnet) can be helpful when approaching the difficult subject, though it may not stay in that form in the end. And it’s not just the difficult subject that benefits from limits. Other constraints can push language in previously unmapped directions.
Here are a few constraints to try:
syllabic limitation (for the poem or the line)
sound limitation (i.e., an alliterative or anagrammic word bank)
nonce forms (creating your own rules you must follow)
When I put constraints on myself, I often discover something: a pleasing color palette or a surreal feeling in a collage. A juxtaposition of words or a rhythm of language that are not in my usual wheelhouse. And allowing those limits to sing in their own way opens up so many possibilities, much more so than a prompt that might ask me to write “however I want” or “explore” a topic. In this way, constraint leads to an expansiveness of thought.
In this way, the limit becomes the sky.
A Prompt
For this prompt, I’m going to make a list of limits for you to impose on your next draft. Follow them ALL in the first draft, even if you hate it. The limitations of this prompt are completely randomized, so roll with it!
Choose a book that you are currently reading or one nearby.
Make a word bank of 20 words, 10 that start with the consonant “b” or “l” and 10 that use the long “i” sound. Try to avoid articles, common words (like, for example) and focus on words with some resonance or “meat.” (In the book next to me right now, the first page I turned to has the “b” words better, both, border, bucked, but, believed, broken, beyond, bend, beside. I would ditch all of those options except border, bucked, broken, and bend. And move on to the next page.)
Number the list.
Begin writing your draft using the ODD-numbered words IN NUMERICAL ORDER. Of course, there can be as much connective material as you wish in between each of the words, but you must use them all in order.
Continue your draft using the EVEN-numbered words in REVERSE NUMERICAL ORDER. (20, 18, etc.) Again, connect them however you like, but use them in order until you get back to word #2.
Wrap up the draft with a section/line that reuses words number 8 and 13.
Put it away for a while. When you go back to it, you may not like the results of the piece as a whole, but go through and highlight places where you like the language, the word combinations, and focus on those lines.
If you try this prompt, I’d love to see/hear about the results in the comments!