New Scheduling Strategy

I don't know how other mothers do it, but for me with two kids I find it difficult to maintain a consistent writing schedule. I write for two hours here. Grab another hour when the baby naps. Hit it hard at night. Today I'm trying something new. Baby woke up at 5:22 am. While husband insisted he do morning bottle duty, since he is a rock star and has the routine for getting her to fall right back to sleep down, I decided I would take the opportunity to embark on something I've been wanting to try for weeks -- getting up before 6 am to start writing. No matter what. Just write. No distractions. Nothing. Just hit the ground running and see what happens. I have to admit I feel a bit sluggish, but the Earl Grey tea with honey and soy milk seems to be waking me up. I'm reading Twyla Tharp's book The Creative Habit, and must say I'm thoroughly inspired. If you don't know who Twyla Tharp is, get the book. Read it. She is a force of nature. The woman has been creating for over thirty-five years. She offers wonderful insights into her own creative process. It's an invaluable resource.
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Years ago when I was a young dancer I had the opportunity to work with Twyla alone in her studio at the venerated 890 Broadway in Manhattan along with another young male dancer. He and I had made it through a lengthy audition process. We were chosen out of 100s of dancers to be her "apprentices." The three of us worked together in the studio for over a year. The only other people who came in were 1 or 2 seasoned company members who would teach morning warm-up and/or repertory and the occasional outsiders (I'm assuming friends, producers, musicians -- I really have no idea who any of them were) who would drop by to watch. Other than that we were alone with Ms. Tharp day in, day out. We two younglings were, what I suppose you might call, her muses, hired for the sole purpose to learn new choreography. I was too young at the time to absorb all that she was throwing at me (mentally, physically, psychically). Just the task of keeping up with her exacting demands and rigorous daily schedule was overwhelming. Now, I see that her highly regimented process was something she had cultivated over the years in order to  to create her seemingly effortless dances. We would meet for morning class at 8 am. Nothing unusual. I was used to taking early classes before I'd head off to rehearsals, auditions or punching in at whatever dreaded day job I was doing at the time. With Twyla, the first thing we did was usually a ballet barre, alternated with yoga or an aerobics class. Whatever it was, the purpose was to get our bodies warm and ready to dance. Next, we moved on to learning a piece of choreography from her company's repertory. This was so that we could become familiar with her unique style. Next, it was non-stop improv sessions that lasted for HOURS, during which she barely spoke. She'd put on some music, turn her back to face us and start dancing. We were expected to learn the combinations she was doing by sight alone. There was no talking. No time for asking questions. Just her dancing and us  struggling to keep up behind. She'd do a phrase. Stop and repeat it. Do the phrase again stop and repeat it. This process would go on for awhile, as she added more and more movement until you were doing an entire combination. At that point, she'd finally turn around and ask us to show her what she'd done. Terrifying. She would watch us with eagle eyes, scrutinizing every little detail, occasionally calling out "Okay, now double it, triple it." Meaning whatever we were doing suddenly had to be done faster. If we were counting the music in 4s, suddenly we were counting in 8s, then 16ths. Moving faster and faster. If you made a mistake, fell out of a turn, lost your place you were expected to jump back in and keep going. I found her process to be one of the most challenging ways to learn that I have ever encountered. At that time my brain was used to both hearing and seeing choreography taught. By removing the verbal component my body became more in tune with each and every little nuance she conveyed. Now, reading about her creative process all these years later, I have a better understanding of what she was doing. We younglings weren't merely parroting choreography back to her, we were her ignition. The spark that might trigger something she could use in a dance.  This attention to the creative process is important. Each one of us has our own style and unique way of doing things to kick ourselves into gear. What's yours?