I want to talk to you today about the creative journey.
Honestly, if there’s only one concept you take away from this essay, one little thing that makes a difference to your writing, your life, your world, it’s this:
Practice RECKLESS ABANDON at all times.
We become writers because we love books. We live for them. They’re our drug of choice. We will do anything for a good story, for transportation to a different time, for a sexy hero to sweep us off our feet, to find true love, to stop a madman, to revel in the evil humanity of a villain.
We read them, we write them, we obsess about them.
Story is in our blood.
It used to be that story was enough. Writers would pen a story, publishers would publish it. It’s all changed. We live in dangerous times. Ebooks and digital presses and Facebook and Twitter. We can’t just write a story and send it out to the world; we must promote it, endure public reviews, and scathing criticism from people who don’t know what their biting words do to us. Sometimes we must pull our books because our readers cry out; sometimes, there is a perceived injustice and an angry mob insists [you] your work isn’t appropriate.
No, we can no longer stay cocooned in story.
How do we navigate this world? How do we juggle our careers and our lives? How do we roll with the challenge of hate and derision and its Janus twin, love and adoration? How do we make decisions, good decisions, when there’s a Greek chorus singing on our shoulders all day, second guessing everything we do?
RECKLESS ABANDON.
When you sit down to write, open your work in progress, and face that blank page . . . what are you thinking?
Are you calm and focused, ready to tackle the day’s work?
Are you nervous and edgy, uncertain and afraid?
Or are you cocky and confident, anxious to get the words down because they’re flying out of your head and through your fingers onto the page so fast that you’re misspelling everything in your haste?
I am all three of these writers. We all are.
Every day is different. Every time you sit down to the page, you’re a different person than the last time. You’ve changed, be it from something your husband or wife said to you at dinner the night before, or something your kid shared before you took him or her to school, or that dream you had, you know the one I mean, where Benedict Cumberbatch calls and wants to option your book, and work with Spielberg on it.
Because you change from moment to moment, you must recognize that each day you come to the page will be different. Some days, the words flow and the story clicks, and all is right in the world. And some days, everything sucks. It’s trash. It’s the worst tripe in the history of mankind, and no one will want to read it.
And that’s okay.
Reckless abandon are the two words every writer needs to remember, whether the day is going well or badly. They should be tattooed on the inside of your arm, a place you can hide with a sleeve if you need to. Someplace just for you, so when things get rough, or you forget why you’re on this road, or some vagary of modern publishing conspires against you, you can look at them and remind yourself.
You want permission to follow your heart? Need to trash that chapter you wrote yesterday? Murder your darlings? Fire your agent?
Permission granted.
There. It’s just that easy.
Reckless abandon permits you to do whatever you need to make your story work. If that’s taking the afternoon off to read something juicy and fun, or having lunch with your friends, or going shopping, do it. If that’s editing the previous day’s work, do it. If that’s acknowledging you need to make a huge career move so you can write what you love, do it.
Do what you need to make your world work. Accept the change, And then you can return to the page the next day, refreshed and ready.
Too many of us torture ourselves into a finished manuscript. That’s crazy. We’re writers. We have the best job in the world. And that has nothing to do with being able to work in your pajamas.
OK, maybe it has a little to do with that.
In all seriousness, I see too many writers holding their hands in the flames, cringing and crying and hurting themselves to get their work done. There are ways to have a career in this industry that don't include self-flagellation.
When I start a manuscript, it’s hell. Though I’ve done it thirty times now, it’s the same each time. I forget how to write a book. The first ten thousand words are like digging fossils from rocks. They’re clunky and shallow and purple, and the metaphors stink. They sound like a third grader with her mommy’s thesaurus, stringing together consonants into nonsense.
But I grit my teeth and know that if I come to the page every day, day in and day out, by some miracle, I will have a finished draft in X number of days. And once there’s a draft, and words to edit, I can do anything.
YOU CAN EDIT YOUR WORK INTO BRILLIANCE.
YOU CAN’T EDIT A BLANK PAGE.
Let me repeat that. You can’t edit what doesn’t exist. I can’t tell you how many writers fall into the trap of trying to make that first draft perfect. (I fall into this trap myself, all the time. Then I remind myself how much I love revising and push on.)
Take the pressure off yourself. Nothing will be perfect your first time through. It might be close, but I only know of two or three writers who actually turn in their work when they type The End. The vast majority edit.
Something else I’ve been noticing lately that upsets me is the self-deprecation of our writerly selves. We need to be humble, right? We need to be likable. It’s an artist thing, partially, but it’s also a lot easier to have 1000 or 10,000 or 50,000 friends now than it ever was before.
And pride’s a sin . . .
It’s a conundrum. We want to be writers, capital W. We want to share with people that we’re writers. We want to sell a gazillion copies of our books and be lauded for our efforts. But we can’t sell ourselves, or brag about our good reviews, or tell people when we’re having a crappy writing day, without worrying about how it makes us look.
All that must go away. It’s about you, and the words. You and your story. That’s it.
We are our own worst enemies when it comes to taking ourselves seriously. We’re so good at finding ways to talk ourselves OUT of success.
THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER IS THIS: NO ONE WILL TAKE YOU SERIOUSLY IF YOU DON’T TAKE YOURSELF SERIOUSLY.
Take yourself seriously, and your passion for your work will bleed through.
Reckless Abandon. It’s another term for boundless passion, isn’t it?
We talk around it, like our passion for writing is a bad thing. Or makes us a little unbalanced. But without passion, what else do we have? Passion — equals drive — equals success.
And some people don’t have it. I think the difference between the one-offs and the glory seekers and real writers is our unique brand of passion. For literature. For books and bookstores and readers. For creativity. For living on the soul-sucking edge of the pit of despair and dancing with fairies on the tips of the Himalayas — which is basically how we spend all of our days, teetering between the two. For the words, man. The words.
I am a fan of Hemingway, and one thing you can NEVER accuse that man of is lacking passion. He lived for his words. They made his life bearable. Even through the alcohol and the women and wars and the eventual pain that chased him into the grave, the words were what made him complete, and tore him apart.
And he had a habit, a schedule. Done by twelve, drunk by three.
It might not be healthy, but it’s a schedule. And that’s important to a writing career.
Find a schedule, and stick to it, no matter what.
Schedules become habits. Habits create consistent output. And consistent output allows you to have a successful career. No one can buy your brilliant novel if you don’t sit down and write the thing.
But passion and output aren’t enough. Another habit you must cultivate is confidence. Believing in your work, and believing in yourself. Not allowing the brown noise that oozes through the Internet to leak into your delicate ears. Tune it out. Tune out the naysayers, and the shouters, and the chest-beaters. Don’t let them influence you. Write for you, not for the market. Write what you’re passionate about. Do it well, and your work will find a home. Do it well, again and again, and you’ll have a career.
The next time you catch that urge to demean your writing, or your writing life, or distract yourself because you’re scared, STOP.
Remember the passion that drove you to write in the first place. Embrace it. Give thanks for it. Take it out for dinner. Maybe even buy it a new pair of shoes. Never, ever, EVER, put yourself and your writing down. And persevere. This isn’t an easy path. Only the strong survive.Close your eyes. Go on, close them. Dream for a moment. Give yourself permission to embrace reckless abandon with your writing, and with your life.
Think of these things, and realize the universe wants to give you what you want.
It’s out there for the taking. The glorious person you just envisioned? The one who’s content and happy, who writes every day and works hard, who learns how to prioritize and juggle and stay sane? Who has a successful career writing books you love?
That’s you.
Right now. You’re already that person, that writer.
Revel in this truth. And let the rest go.
Reckless Abandon. The two words every writer need. And it’s easy to achieve. Live for your story. Respect your writing time. Sit down every day and pound out those words. Let everything else go.
Let the universe give you what you want!!!
You put into words what’s on my mind. I will read this post over and over. It’s so perfect that you’ll be in trouble because this one will be hard to top. 👏👏👏🏅💛
I absolutely love this, J.T., and it's something I needed to hear at this exact moment. Thank you! ❤️