The "writing for yourself" quandry

I have to admit, I've been deeply skeptical of the advice to "write for yourself." Perhaps it's a byproduct of my upbringing, of being told again and again that the root of all kinds of evil is selfishness--greed, lust, hatred, coveting, the whole litany of deadly sins. Perhaps it's from interacting with beginning writers who are excessively prickly and hostile to any suggestion that their rough draft "baby" isn't a perfect masterpiece. I hear the phrase and think self-indulgent and even narcissistic.

What about readers? I'd wonder. Do you care about whether they can make any sense of your story? Do you want to pour months of time into something that will no one will want to read? 

The ironic thing is, spending too much time worrying about the questions above is more likely to hobble you than help.

And so will convincing yourself that you have unselfish motives. Because once you start worrying about motives, you're likely to get lost in a hall of mirrors, frantic to find a pure reflection. Could there be a more self-centered pursuit?

But reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Big Magic (or more accurately, about half of it so far) has got me rethinking my assumptions about what "write for yourself" really means.

Gilbert says that creativity is "your birthright as a human being, so do it with a cheerful heart.... Let inspiration lead you where it wants to lead you. Keep in mind that for most of history people just made things, and they didn't make such a big freaking deal out of it. We make things because we like making things."

How's that for a pep talk with a good dose of kick-in-the-pants? :-)

Essentially, then, "writing for yourself" means engaging deeply with your ideas: follow them, invest labor and energy into them, shape them, feed them. Delight in the ideas and let their song move you to sing along and dance with abandon.

It means you can (and should) stop trying to be helpful--it's a masquerade for the deeply selfish need to be important, and the crippling need for permission and validation from others.

"Writing for yourself" is light and free and doesn't take itself so utterly seriously. If the idea leads down a blind alley, oh well. Part of the adventure! Look around, discover something unexpected. Backtrack if you must, or step through a side door. But when you "write for yourself," these glitches are not devastating disruptions of some Very Important Thing that will make you matter.

"Writing for yourself" comes from a healthy place of a right-sized self that can accept its own simultaneous greatness and smallness. It says "you are enough." Not the be-all-and-end-all, but not trash. Just enough.

Gilbert's book has been an interesting complement to Around the Writer's Block by Roseanne Bane, which I've blogged about HERE and HERE. Bane approaches creativity through brain science, and her main finding is that anxiety derails creativity; to be creatively productive, you need to relax and have fun.

In other words, stop looking over your shoulder, wondering how others will react, or seeking their go-ahead for your creative endeavors, or signs of their gratitude for your "help."

When your authentic self shows up and explores the ideas entrusted to you (Gilbert has some fascinating theories about how ideas find us), you become radically liberated from the impulses of selfishness--specifically self-preservation. The work done "for yourself" then flows and grows.

What do you think about "writing for yourself"?

Read More

Confessions of a closet rebel

Like so many women, I've spent my life trying to be perceived a certain way. A way that earned me praise because it aligned with my parents' values: that I be thrifty and efficient and smart and competent and tidy and spiritual and nice and always on time. That I do the right things at the right phases of life. That I not be wasteful or a burden or a mess.

As I celebrate my birthday (I could now wear a jersey from a certain California football team), I can't help but reflect upon where life has taken me and my own choices in the journey. And at this phase of middle-age, I'm realizing just how much of my choices haven't been about embracing my gifts or pursuing joy, but merely avoiding censure.

Photo by Penywise at morguefile.com

Ouch.

I know I'm not alone in this. Women in our culture are held to very high standards. We're made to feel ashamed if, as Brene Brown put it, we can't "do it all, do it perfectly and never let them see you sweat." But, she notes "this web of unattainable, conflicting, competing expectations about who we’re supposed to be...is a straight-jacket."

Getting out of the rut of feeling "not enough," and all the ways that feeling impedes living life fully, requires being courageously vulnerable and authentic. Shame thrives in darkness, but withers when exposed to the light and to loving acceptance instead of censure.

That work for each of us begins with being authentic to and with ourselves. The one area I've struggled most with in my writing life is being reticent to allow my inner rebel to exist. The longer I suppress her, the more she returns the favor and keeps me stuck.

My inner rebel currently has me working on a new novel in my series, but *gasp* it's out of order. It would chronologically fit between my first and second published book.

The voice of shame says, "what kind of idiot writes book two after book three? It's creative suicide. You can't do that. It's wrong. Just stop now. You're going to ruin what you've already accomplished."

And my rebel voice replies, "who says you have to write a series in order? What a dumb rule. This project is awesome, and deep, and will take you to amazing places creatively, emotionally, and spiritually."

And so the project stutters along, flowing when I let the rebel have her way, and stalling when that paralyzing fear of breaking a publishing taboo wins the day.

In 2015 I began gathering a bunch of blog posts, and writing some new material, all focused on productivity, especially on tips to leverage small pockets of time to keep in touch with writing projects when life is hectic. That book is about 85% written.

Why haven't I finished it? The voice of shame accusing me: "You writing about productivity? What a laugh. You're the most unproductive writer in the history of the world. You've only put out two novels, four years apart. Why would anyone want your tips?"

And my inner rebel counters, "Well, who wants productivity tips from some four-novels-a-year person who has no friends, no hobbies, no side hussle, and neglects her family? That's not where much of anyone really lives. But there most certainly are people who want to know how you squeeze a little creative joy into an already full life."

See, when I let my inner rebel talk, she's actually pretty awesome. She isn't interested in life's shoulds but rather coulds: "This idea could be a little scary and weird and possibly not pan out, but it could lead somewhere cool. Let's explore!"

What risks does your inner rebel goad you toward? 

Read More

A surprising key to productivity (you probably haven't let yourself try)

I've read far more books and blog posts about how to be productive than I can accurately count. So much of the advice sounds exactly the same: have a routine, commit to it, don't stop until you meet your goal, treat it like a job. These little tidbits sound great for just about anything other than creative work. Some people can approach writing like it's laundry or at worst, doing your taxes. It might be a bit tough at times, but any momentary qualms can be powered through.

Well, that's not how I'm wired. I set aside time to write, commit to it and...freeze at the keyboard. Or think of twenty other things I'd rather be doing. Or simply beat myself up for not being Shakespeare yesterday. And trying to dedicate more time? Well, it often only makes me more anxious.

Steven Pressfield came along and gave my affliction a label. He called it "resistance," and made it seem pretty normal. Anything you care about, he argues, will bring with it a certain level of fear. His book The War of Art goes into great detail about what resistance feels like and what causes it. His solutions to it, however, haven't borne much fruit for me. Yes, routine can help; silly rituals can help; taking yourself seriously as an artist can help.

But none of these things remove the anxiety factor for me. So when I stumbled across Around the Writer's Block: Using Brain Science to Solve Writer's Resistance, I had to take a look. The author Rosanne Bane goes into a lot of detail about the brain science behind how anxiety derails creative control. To summarize, what writers need most is to develop habits that create a state of mental relaxation so that the fight-or-flight instinct doesn't make you want to leave your desk before you even type one word. And because of neuroplasticity (the brain's inherent capacity for change), new habits can actually cause lasting brain changes.

Photo credit: Maena from morguefile.com

The most powerfully different habit she advocates to be a productive writer?

Play.

You're probably thinking, "Whoa, what? If I want to be more productive, I need to play more? What is this, Opposite Day?"

Bane says writers need to build in a habit of doing something fun and nonproductive 3-5 days a week for any period you can easily commit to. Ten, fifteen or twenty minutes is fine. The point of this play commitment (what she calls "process time") is to retrain your brain toward a relaxed state. The neural pathways you are building will become stronger than the ones that link creative work with fear.

Frankly, I'm tired enough of tangling with my inner resistance to give it a try. Bane recommended coming up with a list for yourself of things you find relaxing and writing down what you are committing to.

My brain balked at this at first. It was surprisingly hard to actually remember what activities I once did for fun, years ago before I started focusing on novel-length writing. Digging through some boxes in storage refreshed my memory about the many hobbies and enthusiasms I once regularly enjoyed.

Here's my list:
play with my cats
play tin whistle
improvise on the piano
sing
do calligraphy
sketch
bake
scrapbook
do scherenschnitte, quilling, and other paper crafts
garden
take photos
make collages
play with magnetic poetry
play Wii

I've committed to fifteen minutes three times a week. Today I unearthed my Irish tin whistle and played a handful of tunes by ear, then worked in the garden. I can attest that my mood improved.

As I think back to the days when I wrote most prolifically (middle and high school), I also made space in my life for hobbies. Maybe hobbies are what enabled me to be on honor roll, work part time and be in band, choir, art club, and school newspaper while writing lots.

It's a theory worth experimenting with. Hey, at least I'll be having fun regularly.

Do you include play in your routine? What favorite activities might you give 45 minutes a week?

Read More