By Lorraine Comanor

Lorraine and Zoey

Though I prefer writing in the mornings, I often don’t have much time to spare between walking my dog Zoey, a healthy breakfast, and a 30-minute commute to my 9 a.m. fitness class. With barely 15 to 20 unspoken-for-minutes, I’m left with just enough time for bunny hop practice.

The bunny hop is one of figure skating’s most elementary jumps—a forward glide on one foot, hopping to the toe pick of the other, and landing back on the forward outside edge of the first.  (Check it out on YouTube.) Early in my skating career, when I asked former Olympic champion Tenley Albright about her practice routine, she told me, “Some days I just improve my bunny hop.”

It’s amazing how many bunny hops you can accomplish in 15 minutes, and applying this principle to writing proves that you don’t need a two-hour time slot to significantly improve your essay or chapter.

I have an extensive repertoire of hops, but I begin with the first three sentences of a work in progress, deciding if I’ve started in the right place. If unsure, I may spend the entire time slot listing other possibilities. On the other hand, if I’m okay with where I’ve begun, I examine what those first sentences have accomplished. Do I have a sense of my narrator, what he or she might want, what his or her obstacles might be? Is the premise of the essay clear, is there a hint of what will be delivered? Have I set the correct tone, found the right diction for the piece?

Those questions answered, I read the sentences out loud for rhythm and cadence. If either seems out of whack, rather than delete them, I space up and try some new ones. Essayist and editor Sven Birkerts, when asked how he knew he was on the right track, paused and replied, “When I get the first three sentences right.”

The first sentences dealt with, I move on to additional bunny hops that can be accomplished for a short piece in a quarter of an hour:

1. Omitting needless words—a Strunk and White commandment—including trimming adjectives and adverbs
2. Checking for sentence variety
3. Eliminating repeated words
4. Examining the strength of the beginning and the ending of sentences
5. Paying attention to transitions
6. Tightening

Some would argue that this approach is simply wordsmithing, that one should face the anxiety-producing blank document and begin a new draft entirely. But sometimes I have to trick myself into going to work. The blank sheet of paper or Word document in need of a thrilling story is as daunting as an unblemished sheet of ice waiting to be filled with beautiful elements. Unless forced to create something new, I avoid both. To keep my cortisol levels in check, with writing as well as with choreography, I start with what I already have. Progressing through the manuscript, taking care of little items, I begin to see larger ones that need attention. A paragraph that would be better in a different place. A paragraph that isn’t doing any work and could go away.

Sometimes I practice to my own background music, with admonitions of former teachers as the lyrics: “You’re beginning to sound like Web MD” (I used to write medicine) from Sven Birkerts, and “You can do better than that” courtesy of Sue William Silverman. Before I know it, I’m in the groove, working my way into a more significant revision. It’s time to leave for exercise class, but I’ve made progress and am less anxious about a longer afternoon session.   

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Recently an agent asked me to fill in the gaps in an essay collection I’d submitted. He wanted  numerous topics covered which translated into an additional ten essays on subjects I’d avoided.  Although given no time limit, I was aware of the clock ticking, but simultaneously afraid that rushing would produce garbage. Reluctant to give up my morning exercise schedule, I forced myself to create the new pieces in the afternoon, starting with short ones, working up to longer ones, marinating them during my late-in-the-day walk with Zoey. Mornings, I subjected the new drafts to bunny hop practice. After three sessions on a given piece, I began to make friends with it. Over two months, they all took shape.

So, the next time you have only 15 to 20 minutes, consider trying a bunny hop practice. You might be surprised by what you accomplish.
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Lorraine Hanlon Comanor is a former U.S. figure skating champion, U.S. team member, and board-certified anesthesiologist. A graduate of Harvard University, Stanford Medical School, and Bennington Writing Seminars, she is author or co-author of 35 medical publications. Her personal essays have appeared in the NER, Boulevard, New Letters, RavensPerch, Ruminate, Gold Man Review, Deep Wild, Book of Matches, Little Patuxent Review, Consequence, Joyland, Creation, Unstamatic, Burningwood, MicroLit Almanac, and The Rumpus.