How's the writing going?

‘How’s the writing going?’

It’s the million-dollar question. Often it’s best to bat it away with a ‘fine, coming along’ followed by a rapid change of subject. Do people really want to know that sometimes the writing gods smile down, showering inspiration and motivation on all who call on them, and sometimes they… well… don’t?

As a person given to overexplaining I’m fighting to the urge to list the excuses. But the fact remains that writing was hard for a while, and as someone who can’t help but pick at metaphorical scabs, it’s taken some figuring out. Not the excuses, the reasons -  because excuses are easy, but reasons are trickier. I could have said I’ve been very busy, which is true, but if writing was vital, I’d find the time. So what was at the core of why I wasn’t writing as much?

It’s fear.

The perennial problem.

What if everything I write is wrong? What if I spend hours working on something, only to find out I have to rewrite most of it? [Spoiler: this is expected, so why do I fight it?] Or worse, what if it’s so bad, it has to be permanently shelved? [Spoiler: that happens too!] What if everyone hates what I write? What if I’ve already written my best pieces? What if I make the most colossal fool of myself?

The ‘what ifs’ came so thick and fast as to completely incapacitate my imagination until there simply wasn’t room for any creative what ifs, and definitely no room for joy.

The thing is, I think making mistakes is a vital part of the human existence. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone gets things wrong. The logical part of me also thinks that good things come out of the mistakes. You don’t get a great draft seventeen without sixteen less-than-perfect drafts and in particular that first hot-mess of a word pile draft.

I recently heard the story of why WD 40 is called WD 40. A chemist called Norman Larsen was trying to develop a formula to prevent corrosion by displacing water – hence WD. It’s 40 because the first 39 formulae didn’t work.

How cool is that? I love it. I buy into the belief that persistence and effort can bring about something good.

So why is it that when I’m gripped by fear, all of this hopeful, clear-thinking evaporates?

I was preparing to speak to a group of students on an MA creative writing course and I was puzzling over this and came up with a strategy. It’s not a new strategy, but one I needed reminding of.

It takes a shift of paradigm. In our capitalist society, time is money. If you waste your time with something that doesn’t pay off, then that’s something to be frowned upon. It is A Very Bad Thing. It is wasteful and you have nothing to show at the end of it. No product as a result of your time.

Now shift your mind to a creative viewpoint. Here, there is no timeline, only steps along a winding path. There is a destination but that’s not the important bit; it’s appreciating the views along the way, it’s taking the interesting looking detours, stopping to check out the signposts, or chat with others as your paths overlap. It’s finding the space to play.

Playfulness is the antidote to fear. If I turn up to my writing time with an attitude of fun, then there is no room for fear. The joy in the doing is the point.

So rather than aiming for 1000 words per writing session, or to finish a first draft by Easter, I’ve been following the sparks of interest and letting them light my way. And so far it’s working.