What Matters Most

I’m in the opening stages of a new project after wrapping up revisions on my most recent manuscript.

As excited as I am about the work, I’ve been surprised at how hard it’s been to get past the first page. It’s not that I don’t know what to write; on the contrary, I’ve got the gall to feel pretty confident in the novel’s concept. The plot has been roughed out, and the characters are in the wings, bouncing on the balls of their feet, impatient to introduce themselves.

Yet there I sit, staring glossy-eyed at the page, psyching myself out before I’ve even fully begun.

This had better be good, whispers the voice in the back of my head. You’d better get this right.

Cue the furrowed brow, the fingers hovering over the keys, the repetitive CLACK-CLACK-CLACK of the backspace button jackhammering through the sanctum of my morning writing time.

It struck me today that the fear of screwing up has overshadowed any good reason I had for writing in the first place. Hence this post, which is mostly a pep talk, by me, for me. I hope you benefit from listening in.

Writing to Learn

I had a professor tell me once that drama is the study of humanity. The discipline of acting, for example, involves stepping into someone else’s skin and not only emulating their behavior, but also tapping into the thoughts, motivations, and emotional realities beneath those behaviors.

Writing a novel is much the same thing.

Yes, a novel includes a host of other threads that must be woven into place: wording, world building, grammar, and so on, all of which are important strands in our metaphorical tapestry, or whatever it is we’ve set out to metaphorically weave.

And yes, a novel might not even be about humans. You might be writing about robots, mythical creatures, talking animals, or aliens.

But let’s not be coy. Of course you’re writing about humans.

Martha Wells’ Murderbot Diaries, peppered with acclaim since the first novella was published in 2017, are brilliant for many reasons, but the heart of their success is that Murderbot is such a remarkably relatable character. People read the sarcastic, lonely thoughts of an insecure human construct and think, “Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel.”

Children’s literature contains countless examples of “books that aren’t about humans that are actually about humans.” How many beloved picture books, chapter books, and novels reflect the human experience through the adventures of random animals that have no business associating with one another save for the logic of the world on the page? Kids read to find out if the ThunderClan cats manage to defend their territory from the sinister ShadowClan or whether the mild-mannered newspaper mouse survives his journey to the jungle, and yet below the surface, they are learning about different ways to interact with the world. They are understanding more about who they could be and perhaps beginning to decide about who they want to be.

As authors, it is dangerous to approach our stories or characters with an inflated sense of our own understanding. The author should remain curious, open to discovering new things about the world and the humans who live in it. The moment we slip into the didactic mentality of I know best, we lose a spark of life from our narratives. Spontaneity, discovery, and revelation should be expected guests, popping in and out of our writing sessions like nosy neighbors.

Stay humble.

Write with curiosity.

Don’t prescribe the nuances of your work or try to force your characters to fit a mold. On every page, question how they think, speak, and act. Let them frustrate and delight you. Let them baffle you, astonish you, rile you up, and occasionally let you down. That’s what real people do, after all.

Writing to Play

Some people write because, for one reason or another, they think they should.

That’s totally fine. There’s nothing that says you have to feel passionate about writing in order to be a writer. Writing is a discipline, and it’s possible to develop your skills even if you’re not crazy about the process.

It’s the other camp of writers, the people who write because they feel they will combust like cheap flash paper if they don’t get it out of their system, that I’m entreating now. I’m talking to the word nerds and the book junkies, the folks who are tantalized by the promise of an empty page, who have found some solace in using the written word to duke it out with their existence.

To you—and to me (this post is a pep talk, remember)—I urge: Don’t lose the joy.

Not everyone experiences exhilaration in their work—certainly not when faced with a half-finished manuscript or a messy notebook full of ideas. It’s a privilege, albeit an uncomfortable one. (See: loneliness, isolation, depression, writer’s block, crippling lack of confidence, neurosis, rejection, and being broke)

Writing is hard enough; you’ve got to stand up for your right to the joy that comes with it.

Things that will rob you of your joy? Ego. Comparison. Unrealistic expectations. Did I mention ego?

It’s unlikely this is new information for you, but I hope it serves as a reminder. Ask yourself, honestly: Why, exactly, did you decide to start writing in the first place?

Whatever your answer is to that question, hold it in your heart and mind as you move forward with your work. You may even want to write it down and stick it up by your desk.

I’m writing for…

I’m writing because…

You fill in the blank. “For fun” is a legitimate answer.

The biggest favor you can do yourself is to take yourself less seriously. Find whatever dark corner you’ve stuffed your inner child into and pull them out. That part of you that’s infinitely curious, that’s willing to look a little foolish, that’s excited to get dirty and tousled so long as it’s all in the name of a good adventure? That’s the part we want in the seat of honor when you’re setting out to write.

Remember, your writing won’t be perfect, but it can be thoughtful, joyful, and passionate. Get out of your own way. Enjoy the adventure.