How To Save Your Life If You Write For A Living
For every writer comes a point where writing becomes an escape as opposed to a road of discovery. At that point two things have happened and they are both a trap. First, some level of technical accomplishment has taken place as far as writing is concerned. Crafting expressions has become easier. Choosing words is no longer quite the struggle it used to be. Second, writing has started to feel safe. The space where a writer burrows into in order to hide from the world.
Both of these spell “comfort zone” and for a writer they are a mental death. It’s like trying to live life from a rocking chair pulled up in front of a cozy fire. It may feel like life, but it’s not. Similarly, “comfort zone” writing is not writing. Sure, all the vital signs are there: words get created, pages get filled up, but nothing of note ever takes place.
I wouldn’t be writing any of this, of course, were I not all ready with a cure. Having experienced the allure and felt the pull, I have kinda smashed the figurative rocking chair to bits and put out the cozy fire. How? Why?
The last one first: writing is never easy and good writing is incredibly hard. It really feels like you’re pulling out teeth which is not far from the truth. A writer’s words uproot the truth from deep within the weeds and hold it up for everyone to see. Rooting for it is painful; full of false starts and stops and self doubt and the writing itself feels like your own lifeblood is just flowing out – it’s that draining.
Cozy was never designed to be part of the experience.
Now that we’ve got that out of the way here’s how I do it: I write 5,000 words a day. I write posts and articles and blog posts and drafts. The first 1,000 words or so come flowing out and they feel right and they are, every time I look at them later in the day, utter drivel. The kind of rubbish that sounds OK until you actually start to think about it.
That leaves me with about 4,000 words of meaning to arrange in a way that addresses our deep need for sensemaking. Just like these 500 plus words, this gets down later, when all I want is to stop. When the double-espressos course through my veins like wildfire and when my fingers threaten to dance across the keyboard faster than my mind can think. Late at night, when just staying awake is a struggle, the struggle makes everything real.
There’s no moral here. I found my ‘hairshirt’ and I am making it work for me. If you write for a living, like I do, you need to make sure your words are alive, their sound screeching across the consciousness of those who read them. Anything less than that and you do your craft a disservice and disrespect your readers. Worse still: you are officially dead; your writing (and your life) only pretend to be alive waiting for time to catch up.
The Sniper Mind: Eliminate Fear, Deal with Uncertainty, and Make Better Decisions
Both of these spell “comfort zone” and for a writer they are a mental death. It’s like trying to live life from a rocking chair pulled up in front of a cozy fire. It may feel like life, but it’s not. Similarly, “comfort zone” writing is not writing. Sure, all the vital signs are there: words get created, pages get filled up, but nothing of note ever takes place.
I wouldn’t be writing any of this, of course, were I not all ready with a cure. Having experienced the allure and felt the pull, I have kinda smashed the figurative rocking chair to bits and put out the cozy fire. How? Why?
The last one first: writing is never easy and good writing is incredibly hard. It really feels like you’re pulling out teeth which is not far from the truth. A writer’s words uproot the truth from deep within the weeds and hold it up for everyone to see. Rooting for it is painful; full of false starts and stops and self doubt and the writing itself feels like your own lifeblood is just flowing out – it’s that draining.
Cozy was never designed to be part of the experience.
Now that we’ve got that out of the way here’s how I do it: I write 5,000 words a day. I write posts and articles and blog posts and drafts. The first 1,000 words or so come flowing out and they feel right and they are, every time I look at them later in the day, utter drivel. The kind of rubbish that sounds OK until you actually start to think about it.
That leaves me with about 4,000 words of meaning to arrange in a way that addresses our deep need for sensemaking. Just like these 500 plus words, this gets down later, when all I want is to stop. When the double-espressos course through my veins like wildfire and when my fingers threaten to dance across the keyboard faster than my mind can think. Late at night, when just staying awake is a struggle, the struggle makes everything real.
There’s no moral here. I found my ‘hairshirt’ and I am making it work for me. If you write for a living, like I do, you need to make sure your words are alive, their sound screeching across the consciousness of those who read them. Anything less than that and you do your craft a disservice and disrespect your readers. Worse still: you are officially dead; your writing (and your life) only pretend to be alive waiting for time to catch up.
The Sniper Mind: Eliminate Fear, Deal with Uncertainty, and Make Better Decisions
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Gina, yes! In retrospect we always remember the amazing part of the experience. The truth we forget, as you say, is that it is dearly bought and the cost is always personal. Being able to openly share these things allows them to acquire value for others. Here's to a world where we constantly raise the bar.
...deep need for sensemaking! I write then reorganize for the sensemaking.
David Amerland on Writing
Writing has changed. Like everything else on the planet it is being affected by the social media revolution and by the transition to the digital medium in a hyper-connected world. I am fully involved
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Art making is a treacherous endeavor and oddly if we manage to skirt that somehow, in the end, the piece usually has less depth and meaning. Not only to our audience but also to us as the creator. It's hard to enter into the activity of making something out of nothing knowing how pain will be a part of the process and yet still inviting it. On the other hand, it's an amazing experience and the joy of that can be bigger, more rewarding than just about anything else we do. Nothing compares to the learning we give offer ourselves.