A pocket full of (creative) therapy.

February 21, 2016

I carry an index card with me every day that has a list of statements written on it. The statements themselves are a bit cryptic, and they stand for some basic things that I tend to forget between writing sessions. I keep them with me to quell any misgivings I have about plowing ahead as a writer. They're meant to carry a lot of weight and still fit on a single line of an index card.

The list started as a record of my favorite short directives from Elizabeths Sims’ book, You’ve Got a Book In You. After really thinking about what it meant to follow any one of these and apply them to my writing, I began to think about the lessons I’d already learned on my own.

Most of the statements on the card are based on what has worked in the past to keep me on track, but a couple of the statements are paraphrased quotes from other writers. For example:

5. The horizon of good writing is infinite. Just write.

The quote is attributed to David Foster Wallace, an author whose talent often seems infinitely far away from wherever it is I’m standing. The second part is supposed to knock me down a peg, or at least point my nose in the direction of the grindstone. The full quote is as follows:

“Good writing isn’t a science. It’s an art, and the horizon is infinite. You can always get better.”

When I read this one off of my card, a couple of things come to mind that help me to come back from the brink:

There is not and will never be a World’s Best Writer Championship. I have a tendency to be competitive. This means that I’m driven and prone to seriousness. But if I take any of it too seriously–myself, the writing, the criticism–it becomes a weight around my muse’s neck.
I can always get better at writing, and as long as I keep going and taking in new information, I will get better. I think it was Ira Glass who said that our tastes as artists are the reason our work disappoints us. If I keep reading and writing, then theoretically they will both improve. So even if I could match the pace of my tastes, I would never be able to overtake them.
If I truly believe that the horizon of good writing is infinite, then I have to keep going to honor its perpetuity. On this infinite plane of creativity, there is a place for me at every stage. There’s a place for everyone else, too. We are each trapped in our minds and somewhat limited by our experiences. But that’s one of the best reasons to read–to get a sense of another perspective. And so I humbly offer my own perspective which lies on the good writing plane at a different place for everyone who reads it.

It’s probably impossible to make any kind of art without comparing your work to everyone else’s. This seems to be to be as unhealthy as it is healthy. You can’t stand on the shoulders of giants unless you understand what makes them great. But if you constantly compare your work to other people’s work, you might never go off in a direction that ultimately puts you in the ranks of giants.

So in the tradition of every one who has ever dared to called themselves a writing instructor, I urge you to find some nugget of knowledge about your craft that resonates with you. Examine it carefully. Change the words around to make it more applicable to your exact situation, and keep it with you for frequent reference.

Most importantly, pull it out often and actually read it. Force yourself to reconnect with its meaning. Do this before you start writing and again when you get stuck.

Questions or comments? Please contact me.

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