The Smartest Person on the Planet

A writer friend of mine talking about her process this weekend explained that when she was working on her first draft, she felt like she was the smartest person on the planet. She let herself drift and simply typed whatever the smartest person on the planet was experiencing. She turned off her internal editor and wrote whatever popped into her head. Because if you’re the smartest person on the planet, why wouldn’t you do that? Why wouldn’t you believe it would be good? Why wouldn’t you trust that everyone would want to read exactly what you wrote, without any editing or any reconsideration?

I love this description of free writing. I don’t always feel this way on a first draft, but when I do, it is really great. There is a serenity that comes with not second-guessing yourself, with connecting directly to the creative part of your mind. It doesn’t feel like work when you write this way. It feels refreshing rather than draining, and you could go back to it every day and do more of it.

The trick is getting there. I don’t know if women find it more difficult than men to believe they are the smartest person on the planet, but the longer you are a writer, the more often you have turned off your creative brain and turned on your critical one. And it can be hard to switch back, in part, I think, because your creative brain is more vulnerable. And because it is sad to be jerked back to reality and realize you aren’t the smartest person on the planet.

If you are writing today, try to allow yourself to believe that whatever you are writing now, this minute, is perfect. Try to forget about how many drafts you normally write, all the mistakes your first drafts tend to have, and what your editor is likely to tell you about this. Forget about deadlines, contracts, the NYT Bestseller list, and earning out. Forget about agents and query letters and what your market is or what books might be like yours. Forget about the last conference you went to and the advice you got there. Forget about your last rejection letter and what your second grade teacher told you about your first handwritten story. Forget about what your mother says about you when gossiping with friends, and about your old boyfriend who told you you’d never amount to anything.

Write like you’re the smartest person in the world. Tell yourself that you are, and maybe you will actually become it for just a moment. Long enough to write what you need to write. And then hold that small part of yourself that believes deep inside and go back there and be the smartest person in the world again tomorrow, and the next day.