I’ve had kind of a rough month. My working vacation at the beginning of April turned into more vacation and not so much working. Which was fine as far as recharging the batteries and having fun, but left me with a pile of stuff to finish when I returned.
Living out of a host of hotels up and down I-95 for the past few weeks left Ashley particularly clingy; I’ve spent a disproportionate amount of time holding her, at the expense of housework, work or any sort of social life. To add to it all, I’m trying to transition her into her own sleeping space (we’ve been co-sleeping for at least half the night, every night). Ironically, when she’s sleeping on her own, I’ll get a lot more sleep but the interim brings a lot more sleepness nights. (Just when I grew accustomed to five hours being a “good night’s sleep!”)
Enough whining, I promise. It gets better. And it got better. Because I remembered a very important writing rule: Writing breeds writing.
I had fallen out of the groove. I felt like everything I wrote was garbage, I had no ideas, and couldn’t put a sentence together. Finally, yesterday morning, I popped in a Baby Einstein DVD for Ashley and promised myself I’d just write one blog post. I put up a short post for www.paintballsportsmag.com. Don’t worry; I’ll wait while you go read it if paintball is your thing and you’re so inclined.
See? It’s not my best work, but it’s informative, short and useful, and the editor liked it. From there, I did some work on another blog project, finished a review of the Cushi Tush infant seat for Babies Online, and by the end of the night, I felt like my writing wasn’t half-bad anymore. I had also gotten considerably faster.
I’ve been doing this a long time, and it’s the same story every time. Not writing feeds on itself. If you don’t make that commitment to sit at your keyboard and produce something, not writing becomes the habit.
However, writing does the same. And beating writer’s block really is that easy.
Here’s the six-figure secret to becoming a full-time freelance writer: Just sit down and write.
You will probably think what you created was awful. It might be. Or maybe it won’t.
If you’re really unsure, send it to a trusted friend or colleague. If you need a boost in confidence, send it to your mom. The point is, you will have written! And as you write, it gets easier. As you don’t write, it gets harder and harder to begin. So just take that step.
Some people might ask, “Do e-mails count?” Here’s my answer: They count if they count. I use e-mail as such a basic part of my existence, I don’t mentally count them as “writing.” Some people do, and say writing an e-mail is a great way to beat writer’s block. It’s never worked for me but if it works for you, then yes, it counts. If a 140-character Twitter post gets you out of the funk, more power to you!
In more than two decades as a paid writer, this has worked for me every single time. The problem is, when you’re in that funk and can’t write, the obvious answer (to write) doesn’t seem so obvious. I know it’s not for me, until I do it, and then I say, “Why didn’t I do this earlier instead of wallowing in misery.
Post this on your wall as a reminder, if it helps. You can do it!
JUST WRITE.
Showing posts with label writer's block. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writer's block. Show all posts
Writer's Evolution
Writing is evolution. Individual works evolve as a story grows from a germ of an idea to an outline, then a first draft, second draft, etc. etc., to final copy. (And then, if it is accepted for publication, continues to evolve until it is in its truly final stage on the newsstand or bookstore shelf.)
Evolution also takes place within a writer's larger body of work—in everything that a writer has created throughout his or her career.
A friend of mine noted that writer’s block is, itself, a form of evolution. (Or, again, revolution). It is our mind pushing us to that next level of writing… to push us beyond the cliché, the usual phrasing, the voice that flows so naturally from our fingertips, to create something truly wonderful and unique.
We all fall into ruts as writers. We grow to love certain words, phrases, rhythms. We adopt them. They become part of our repertoire. Then they become second nature. Writer’s block is, quite often, our minds telling us that we can do better than the instinctive writing that tends to pour out during first drafts.
When Rachel, over at That Which Deranges the Senses, and I were discussing the evolutionary stages of writers, we decided that you can gauge the stages of evolution by noting when you started creating work that doesn’t make you cringe when you re-read it. (This is also, probably, a good way to determine a final draft—when nothing makes you cringe! Although, we may want to aim higher than that. Say, no cringing, along with a few “oohs” and “ahhs.”)
The other day, putting together clips to post, I pulled out two old magazines, from 2000 and 2001. I re-read two of my favorite stories—stories I had re-read over and over when they came out, marveling at my journalism skills, my wit, the flow, the layout. (Yeah, really. Every so often, you hit a winner like that).
Blah and Bah Humbug! My work was stilted. It needed tightening. It sounded forced. I could barely stand to read anything in the magazine except my editorial, which was written in my journal-ing voice. That particular style (what you’ll see on my blogs and in forums) hasn’t changed much.
I have noticed a more recent evolution, too. After teaching an online writing course for paintball writers, re-iterating the principles of good writing to my students-- I became more conscientious of these principles in my own work. Work I wrote just last week bothers me in some way or another.
I’d like to hear others’ ideas on their evolution as writers. Have you ever noticed yourself going through stages? (“Ah, that was my ‘make sure I include all five senses in every scene’ stage or, “Oh, my ‘use everyone’s height in their description’ stage.”)
How new does a piece of work have to be that it doesn’t make you cringe when you re-read it? Do you notice evolutions you’ve already gone through in other, less experienced writers? Has an evolution ever snuck up on you, like it did to me just recently? Is my friend’s theory on writer’s block true? Have you noticed a significant difference in the quality of your work after you’ve successfully battled a bout of Writer’s Block?
Evolution also takes place within a writer's larger body of work—in everything that a writer has created throughout his or her career.
A friend of mine noted that writer’s block is, itself, a form of evolution. (Or, again, revolution). It is our mind pushing us to that next level of writing… to push us beyond the cliché, the usual phrasing, the voice that flows so naturally from our fingertips, to create something truly wonderful and unique.
We all fall into ruts as writers. We grow to love certain words, phrases, rhythms. We adopt them. They become part of our repertoire. Then they become second nature. Writer’s block is, quite often, our minds telling us that we can do better than the instinctive writing that tends to pour out during first drafts.
When Rachel, over at That Which Deranges the Senses, and I were discussing the evolutionary stages of writers, we decided that you can gauge the stages of evolution by noting when you started creating work that doesn’t make you cringe when you re-read it. (This is also, probably, a good way to determine a final draft—when nothing makes you cringe! Although, we may want to aim higher than that. Say, no cringing, along with a few “oohs” and “ahhs.”)
The other day, putting together clips to post, I pulled out two old magazines, from 2000 and 2001. I re-read two of my favorite stories—stories I had re-read over and over when they came out, marveling at my journalism skills, my wit, the flow, the layout. (Yeah, really. Every so often, you hit a winner like that).
Blah and Bah Humbug! My work was stilted. It needed tightening. It sounded forced. I could barely stand to read anything in the magazine except my editorial, which was written in my journal-ing voice. That particular style (what you’ll see on my blogs and in forums) hasn’t changed much.
I have noticed a more recent evolution, too. After teaching an online writing course for paintball writers, re-iterating the principles of good writing to my students-- I became more conscientious of these principles in my own work. Work I wrote just last week bothers me in some way or another.
I’d like to hear others’ ideas on their evolution as writers. Have you ever noticed yourself going through stages? (“Ah, that was my ‘make sure I include all five senses in every scene’ stage or, “Oh, my ‘use everyone’s height in their description’ stage.”)
How new does a piece of work have to be that it doesn’t make you cringe when you re-read it? Do you notice evolutions you’ve already gone through in other, less experienced writers? Has an evolution ever snuck up on you, like it did to me just recently? Is my friend’s theory on writer’s block true? Have you noticed a significant difference in the quality of your work after you’ve successfully battled a bout of Writer’s Block?
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