Just write a Page a Day

I made the mistake one day of telling a co-worker about my writing related anxiety.

Let me explain that first. Writing is hard. The actual writing is only half the problem. When you sit down to write, you have to face all sorts of self-doubts about yourself as a writer (maybe I’m not, maybe I’m not good enough to be a writer, etc.). If somehow you push beyond this and start writing, you deal with a whole new set of problems (how is this going to fit in with the rest of my novel? That sentence was really good what if the next one doesn’t live up to it? Is this character too one dimensional) and sometimes, even worse (Do I think like that? Am I like that? If people are like that to each other, how the fuck can we ever be intimate with each other?). And when I’m done, even if I get a significant amount done, it’s always worry about the amount (If I keep writing at this pace I will never get my novel done. All I need to do is sit down and write, and I can’t even do fucking that. I work part time, and don’t go out much, why the fuck can’t I write more than that? What is wrong with me? It’s so close, all I have to do is sit down and plug away, and I can’t do that. Jesus!)

As you can imagine, there is often overlap, and often, all of those feelings/thoughts are mixed together all at the same time and feed each other. If I’m not careful, they spin together and I get myself extremely worked up.

I can’t remember why I was like that at work. Maybe I spent my supper hour trying to write, or worse, planned to spend my supper hour writing and ended up looking at ebay instead.

In any case, I said something when I came back on the desk. My co-worker Goofy is a fucking middle-aged yuppie Unitarian who has bought into some crap businessy way of looking at problems and solutions and cites this “co-operative learning” consulting group he is a part of as his source for his ideas. He said. “All you need to do is sit down and write a page a day, and then at least you’ll be 365 pages further ahead at the end of the year.”

First, let me explain why that is complete bullshit.

When you are writing a short story or novel, you write things in drafts. The first draft, while hard, is the easiest draft to write. Afetr that, you are changing things and you suddenly feel this huge weight of everything you already have. Anything new has to fit in somehow. Writing a one new page just isn’t an option. More often, you sift through several pages, changing a few things here and there, changing the tense or the POV, adding a character, or taking out a description. A new page isn’t always going to help.

Furthermore, this can actually be detrimental to your writing in the long run. Everything I’ve read about writer’s anxiety suggests that A) you need to take frequent and long breaks from writing projects B) Only work on the project when you have something to write and C) when you are working (especially on a first draft) stop just before you run out of things to write, in the middle of a sentence even (that way you have a place to pick up at later). Lots of other helpful suggestions about making time and room to write, and scheduling and all that, but I won’t go into that now.

So I tried to shrug him off. Offered what I knew were impotent excuses about time, about how writing doesn’t work like that, but he kept pushing and pushing. Finally he said “You know what your problem is? You think you know better than everyone else, and you’re unwilling to consider anyone else’s opinion.”

Funny, but when you are fighting off anxiety, someone telling you what your problem is doesn’t seem helpful. I don’t remember how the conversation ended, but it did.

While I do need help managing my writing time and anxiety, Goofy’s advice didn’t help. I think he had good intentions, but he didn’t help. And knowing he wanted to help didn’t help either.

I don’t talk to Goofy about my writing anymore. If it comes up at all, I tend to give one word answers and change the subject.]

The worst thing about it is that I know I do similar things. Pooh is the best example because she is trying to figure out how to handle other people’s unwanted advice, including mine. In the past, I have forced my advice on her and become frustrated when she doesn’t listen, because I think I know better, or at leas that she should address the problems I raise. To me. Then.

On the other side, I remember Huckeleberry Hound and the way he used to give advice like he was perpetually in a therapy group. “May I comment on that? May I make an observation? May I share something?” FUCK I wanted to punch him in the head every time he opened his Goddman mouth! My favourite was the few times he lost his temper and the therapy language disappeared. He didn’t punch holes in the wall or become too insulting or anything, but it was good to see the layer of pop-therapy-bullshit dropped.

Anyway, there has to be a compromise, a middle ground where people can give each other helpful ideas and support without being overbearing or sounding like a sedated talking doll. I haven’t found it (still on the overbearing side) and I find myself forced to temper my annoyance and frustration because other people around me haven’t found it either.

In the meantime, I, um, er, am going to try to write more often. Maybe, even, um, a page every weekday.

I’ve got this book. Room To Write. Little writing assignments. Going to do more of those with the hopes it will make regular writing easier. Look for those to show up beginning tomorrow.