Writing Update 2

Whoops. I missed a few weeks there, didn’t I?

It was a streak of 15 articles in total, one article per week. Thinking about it, I’m amazed with myself. I honestly don’t know where all of it came from.

I’m glad that it did, of course. Sometimes, as I was getting to the end of an article, I got so excited about what I had done that I started considering what a shame it would be if I had a sudden heart attack and never got to publish it. In those happy evenings, writing was ikigai, a reason for being.

We should reflect on good times in the hopes of learning how to keep them.

When you get into a tarry situation like I have been in over the past month or so, you look back on your previous work with wonder, trying to work out how writing could have once been that easy. Of course, it was never actually easy, just easy enough. Easy enough for things to get finished. But that’s the important bit.

The ideal frame of mind to be in after a writing session seems to be “pleasant surprise” at what has been achieved. If you’re happy when you’ve worked, you’ll come back to the table the next day. Before long, however, a little success leads to having expectations of yourself. For me, that seems to be the most deadly thing of all.

Not being able to think of what to write is very similar to not being able to think of what to say in conversation. It’s not so much that there is nothing in your head, but more that there is a big empty balloon filling your brain and obstructing the pathways to good ideas. The balloon is filled by doubts and stress and expectations, stale-air thoughts that rush into the void and inflate a rubbery film between your forebrain and your creative subconscious.

You can make an emotional effort to stamp out the balloon, or you can relax and release the air from it. Either approach can be effective.

Writing itself is my most effective weapon in the fight against my weaker selves. When I have trouble with something, I write myself a self-analysis of the problem. When I found myself having trouble writing in public spaces — coffee shops, my work cafateria, hotel lobbies — I noted the following problem in my phone:

Thinking about what you look like writing — are people watching you? Self consciousness is creative kyrptonite.

Another example: one evening when I was an hour late to the writing desk, I asked myself why, and came up with this:

Half-finished work scares you more than work not started. You’ve got the hardest work yet to do, and you can also see the potential the work has clearer than ever before, so your fear of ruining it is at its highest.

This is like hitting the problem with a freeze ray: it is immediately crystallized in front of you and, now immobilized, far less scary. Even when you don’t have a solution right away, taking a step to understand the problem is powerful in itself.

This is how I eventually built up a writing habit, against the odds. My home, like all others, is fraught with distraction. There are ten other things I would rather be doing than writing. Any alternative is preferred: videogames, internet browsing, eating, texting, shopping, and everything else. This is where my brain takes me if I leave it on autopilot.

This is not, however, indicative of my having tepid feeling towards my hobby. It’s indicative of the fact that sometimes our brains lie to us.

We surely all know this contradiction of feelings: mental resistance to getting out of bed when you’d planned a gym session, in spite of the feelings of satisfaction that always follow after you’ve had good work out. Most people don’t actively desire exercise, but we all feel better for doing so — better after the workout, better for the rest of the day, and better, basically, for the rest of your life, as the benefits of exercise build up. So, our brain lied to us. In the same vein, in the evening I could do what my brain wants to do and spend four hours on Reddit and feel shit about it, or I could “force” myself to write and go to bed emotionally high and satisfied.

That’s why I try to follow my schedule regardless of passions or caprice. I go to my laptop whether I want to or not, because it’s what I do at a certain time, much like I go to work at a certain time. My writing schedule is an extension of my work schedule, and the crazy thing is that “forcing” myself just to enjoy my hobbies has meant I’ve never been happier with them.

Now I can consistently get to the writing desk each day… but that’s only half the battle.

On bad days, I am constantly fearful of getting to my laptop and not having anything to write, of my brain being empty. Of trying to force myself to think, and making the situation worse. I try to remind myself that my day is filled with cheerful ideas and quantums of inspiration, but this leads to a second fear: of not being able to remember my best ideas. I get quite self-conscious about the limits of my memory, though I’ve no idea if my memory is better or worse than average. My fear is that I don’t write down a good idea immediately, it will be lost forever.

Then I remember that Stephen King doesn’t keep a notebook. “The best way to immortalize bad ideas”, is how he puts it. He remembers his stories by telling them to himself in bed, then trusts the good ideas to stay with him when he comes to write.

Stephen King also said that life isn’t an aide for writing; rather writing is an aide for life. That brings to mind Think And Grow Rich and similar philosophies that indicate that visualization is the key to self-improvement. Imagination is the practice arena for life, and writing is a more focused, developed application of this, carefully constructing scenarios for which you constantly have to ask yourself “How does this work? What would be the effect of this? How do we get in or out of this or that situation?” Useful stuff, potentially.

Creativity is not an idle byproduct of consciousness, but a practical survival skill.

I know my notes to myself about writing also have positive effects beyond the realms of word and story. I’ve already posited a similarity between creative writing and creative conversation. As I improve my writing habits, my skill in speaking is benefiting also: the frame of mind to take up in conversation, how to explore ideas, and how to pull an encounter this way or that, these are the same skill that are tested in writing. You teach yourself to write your destiny, learn how to be the protagonist in an improvised play, written in real-time.

That’s just one example. It takes some self-assurance and control to write on demand. Imagine how much more productive you could be taking those lessons into the rest of your life.

I should say, though, that such boons are not exclusive to writing practice. You can learn discipline from any hobby, and creativity from a great many of them, too. Following your passions motivates you to get the most out of what you are doing. It is that which that leads to holistic life improvements. Teenagers are most inspired to become the best adults they can be in pursuit of those they desire. Love is what you need, though love of other people is too narrow a definition. Any sort of genuinely held desire can take you further and make you stronger than you even realized you needed it to.

To close, I point out that this semi-serious meandering may conceal one key tenant of my writing habits, perhaps the most important of all, that has kept me going so far, and that I intend to use to keep me going for years to come:

For God’s sake, enjoy yourself.

Catch you later.