I hate monkeys. No offense to monkeys or monkey enthusiasts. They seem so smart yet unpredictable and mean. Once a monkey tried to pee on my kids and I through the zoo cage. When I have a bad dream, monkeys are always there, lurking, biting or chasing me.
I am telling you this now because whenever someone says to me, “You’re a writer? *shudder* I hate writing!” It’s hard to fathom anyone hating something I love so much. Then I think of monkeys and I understand. People fear writing almost as much as they fear doing their own electric work on their homes. You could die by touching the wrong color wire. No one is going to die by writing the wrong word, but you’re just as vulnerable. Will it hurt? Will people laugh (when you’re not trying to be funny)? Does it say what you want it to say? Will you sound like an idiot? Are you an idiot?
Here are five ways to less your writing anxiety and hopefully hate writing a little less:
#1 First drafts are like first loves. Remember your first romance, when you’re intoxicated by the possibilities? First drafts can be like that–you’re excited about the idea, you see the potential, it seems absolutely perfect–until you pick up your pen and start to write. Don’t let that stop you! Let the words pour out. Turn off your censor. Let it rip. See where it takes you. You and I both know that somewhere down the line, your head will need to step in and help your heart sort it all out. But not here, not in the first draft. OK?
#2 Revision is like plucking weeds. I used to think that anything I wrote was perfect the first time I wrote it, exactly as I wrote it. But seven years of MFA training taught me that the first draft is simply planting the seed. Revision is growing that first draft by watering it with a strong editor’s eye, plucking out the dead spots, spraying for bugs that eat at the heart of the story and fertilizing what’s left until it’s the envy of all your neighbors/readers/other writers.
#3 Writing is yoga for your brain. It lets your mind breathe. It makes your brain more flexible. It keeps your linguistic muscles limber. A little writing a few days a week in or outside the office can help you feel more comfortable in your skin, especially when you have to write. If you only write once a quarter, of course you’ll feel rusty, hesitant and uncertain. The sound of your own voice on the page will be like hearing your voice on a recording–weird, unnatural and not at all what you thought it sounded like. It would be like jumping into an advanced yoga class when you’ve been a coach potato your whole life. So practice once in a while, even if it’s just a Facebook status update (it counts).
#4 Feedback is like foreplay. Too much, too soon and your mojo is out the window. Not enough and you’re left unfulfilled and pissed off. Good feedback starts small–you share your work when you’re ready with a small, trusted group. If they don’t laugh at the right spots–or the wrong ones–or if they fall asleep in the middle, then see #2. Revise. Try again. When it works, your audience will laugh, cry, nod their heads voraciously or gasp in surprise, you’ll get off on getting the reactions you wanted. Soon you’ll come to love how the right feedback pushes your work forward, inspires new ideas and honey, you’ll want more more more.
#5 There are worse things than writing. Speaking of getting the reactions you wanted, my friend Kim recently told me about a zoo that had an “issue” with monkeys throwing their poo at visitors. No sh*t! The over-reactions of patrons made the monkeys throw more poo. Eventually the zoo hired actors to stand in front of the monkey cages and not react when they got smacked by monkey poo. Soon the monkeys got bored and stopped flinging their poo. What’s a little writing compared to a sh*tty job like that?
How are your words disabling you?
Published August 25, 2010 Business , Creative Life , Creative Parenting , Creative Writing , Creativity Coaching , Kids , Social Commentary , Work Life 8 CommentsTags: adversity, Aimee Mullins, dealing with change, disabled, disabling words, Happiness Project, power of words, powerful words, TED, The opportunity of adversity
The other day I was feeling blue and typed these words into Google: “feel like you’ve lost your way.” Curiously, one of the first search results was the Happiness Project; the author wrote a book and blog about a year she spent testing all the advice, theories and conventional wisdom about how to be happy.
I skimmed the article–it was a little too happy for me–and scrolled down to the comments to see how people reacted. One commenter posted a link to Aimee Mullins’ speech, ”The opportunity of adversity“ on TED. (If you aren’t familiar with TED, you might find this article from FastCompany interesting.)
Curious, I clicked. Ms. Mullins, who had to have both legs amputated below the knees when she was an infant, discusses the dictionary definition of “disabled.” The writer in me immediately recoiled–starting with a dictionary definition is a standard way to begin a term paper, but writers are encouraged to think more creatively.
Mullins says that when she repeated this definition to a friend, her voice cracked in the middle and she had to stop. Despite all of her tremendous accomplishments–model, actress, paralympic athlete, truly inspiring human being–the negative definition of “disabled” broke her.
This is the power of words.
This is why I take my job as a writer seriously. Words can change the way people think. Words can persuade, inform, enlighten, but they can also hurt, destroy, maim, define…disable. They are more powerful than weapons. That old saying, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” is wrong. Words can and do hurt.
This is the power of words.
Words can crush your spirit. And there is nothing more sorrowful in my mind. OK, sure, death sucks. But as a friend of mine once said in her sage way, “We all have to die someday. Can’t hang around forever.” With death, life is over. But how long can you live with a crushed spirit? How long would you want to? What kind of life is that? I imagine it’s like living with Alzheimer’s. You are a shadow of the person you used to be or could be. You are never whole again. You are never the same. You are damaged. Hurt. Disabled.
Mullins also posits that adversity gives us a sense of ourselves, that it’s a part of life rather than something that we need to just get through, emerging unscathed on the other side. She suggests that adversity is “change you haven’t gotten used to yet.” Hence, “the opportunity of adversity.”
This is the power of words. A shift in thinking. A different way of looking at the world, at change. I don’t know what I’m going to do with this yet. But it has made me rethink how I “disable” myself and those around me, often unintentionally. I resolved to work on three things:
Use less “disabling” words. I’ve tried to remember to say thank-you more and share positive feedback. It’s easy and tempting to harp on what’s wrong rather than focus on what’s right. For example, I sent Hubby an email that just said “have a nice day” instead of the usual to-do list. I told a friend who always shows grace under pressure how much I admired her strength and courage. I am trying to remember to say something nice to myself, too, but that one is harder.
Examine unintentional “disabling” actions. School starts this week and I remembered how crushed my son was last year when one of his B grades slipped back to a C in a class he had worked very hard to improve. Hubby and I always told both kids that letter grades don’t matter; it’s the effort and learning that count. But our reward system–$5 for A’s, $3 for B’s, nothing for C’s–was negating our words.
I told my kids that effective immediately, we would reward them for effort, not specific letter grades. My daughter shrugged, but my son visibly relaxed; a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. I am on the lookout for other ways I may be disabling someone, unintentional as it may be.
Stop disabling myself. I am my own worst enemy. I take on too much work. I multi-task to the nth degree. I burn myself out. So this week I cut myself some slack. I asked for help at work. I came home one night exhausted and burnt out and put myself to bed instead of forcing myself to continue working on a project that I was stuck on.
Another night, I gave myself permission to snuggle with my kids instead of going to the gym because “I should.” On a Saturday, which I might normally spend cleaning, I stocked up on healthy food and went to the gym to reward myself instead of eating chocolate. (Huge for me, by the way. I should own stock in Hershey’s.)
I feel better today than I did when I first Googled “feel like you’ve lost your way.” Maybe I didn’t lose it so much as disable myself from seeing it. I think I’m on the right path again.
How do you unintentionally “disable” yourself or someone else? What can you do to embrace adversity and see it as opportunity or “the change you haven’t gotten used to yet?”