Several weeks ago I read this article about a writer, Stephen Elliott, who gave up the Internet for a month.

It was a neat read—I find myself wanting to quote the whole thing though…

So what did I do during my month offline? “You must be getting so much done!” was the refrain I heard constantly. That wasn’t exactly true, not initially. My first week offline was mostly spent in a state of withdrawal. I suffered from bouts of extreme boredom. I realized I hadn’t been bored in years because I’d gotten in the habit of never giving myself the chance.

But slowly I began to find other activities to fill my time… It was only in the fourth week that things started coming together. I wasn’t just breaking the Internet habit, I was breaking the habits I had learned on the Internet: that addiction to continual bursts of small information.

I started reading a lot more books, which is good for me since I’m a person who writes books. And I read more challenging books. I would read and write all morning, take a lunch break, and then write until evening. I could feel my attention span lengthening. I would think about problems until I figured them out.

When I ask people why they need to be online, they inevitably focus on the stream coming toward them—the information they receive passively from e-mail lists and messages from friends and associates that contain crucial information. But it turns out that you don’t miss much being offline. If something important and newsworthy occurs, you can find out from the newspaper or The Daily Show With Jon Stewart.

Today in our writing group we were talking about the Internet’s effects on creativity. Certainly it can be a wonderful catalyst for ideas, for making connections. But I have felt my attention span diminish over the years on the ‘net. And I have felt my need to multitask rise. One woman in the writing group remarked, “I used to take breaks from writing to allow myself one game of solitaire. Now I read blogs, but it’s harder to get back into the writing after taking a blog break than a solitaire break.” Certainly I have experienced that. It’s not just that it seems to engage a different part of the brain, but the Internet is like one really, really, really deep rabbit hole. When and how does one stop?

Several weeks ago in the Suburban Pres. writing group we were talking about Julia Cameron’s suggestion in the early part of her book that writers take a week every so often during which they fast from reading. (I interpret that to mean no recreational reading—I don’t think she’s suggesting you ignore your work e-mail, or avoid reading street signs!) The thought is that frustrated writers will immerse themselves in other people’s words rather than take a chance on their own. They fool themselves a bit into thinking they’re doing creative work by basking in someone else’s creativity. If nothing else, taking a break from reading gives a person who “never has time to write” some additional time. And c’mon, it’s one week.

It is a hilarious chapter because people find every reason in the world not to even try this exercise. “I couldn’t possibly!” They even actively resent the suggestion. Reading is seen as an intrinsic good; why would one abstain? Even for one week? These are the same people who are attending her workshops precisely because they are feeling stymied and stuck. This is all hilarious precisely because I heard the same arguments and downright hostility from the writing group at Suburban Church (and if I’m honest, from within myself too) toward the idea.

Can you tell where this is going?

The attention span and time-suck aspects of the ‘net sort of ebb and flow for me. Every so often I get very overwhelmed by the nonstop firehose of information, even as I am so grateful for the relationships I have made through the Internet. I’ve been feeling lately that this is one of those times. So I’m going to do 25% of Stephen Elliott’s experiment and abstain from the Internet for one week, with the following exceptions:

1. I will spend an hour a day on e-mail, negotiable if that really doesn’t feel like enough, though I suspect it is.
2. Since this is my primary journal, I may post my thoughts on this experiment as I go along. I might respond to comments if I have time within the hour allotment. We’ll see!
3. I have a commitment to a few things such as the Friday Five next week and the Sunday prayer over at RevGals. I will definitely post those.

Those exceptions may seem like cheating, but I don’t really care since it’s my experiment!

I have no idea what will come out of it this. After the experiment, Stephen Elliott realized he could put boundaries around his Internet use that worked well for him. Maybe I will arrive at some similar conclusions. (The reactions of some of his friends were interesting, and in some cases, downright nasty. I doubt that will be the case here. It’s one measly week!)

So, no ‘net through next Friday, or through Memorial Day, if I can stand it.

Task number one: make a list of activities, both productive and whimsical, practical and not, that I might undertake.

How about you? How has the Internet impacted your “creative work” (however you define it)?