your honor, she's in her flop era

on creative paralysis — entry 09

Mar 17, 2021

a question that always gets asked when applying for a writer job is, "how do you deal with writer's block?" my usual answer to this question is a brazen lie: i don't have to. "writer's block is a made-up term that uninspired writers use as an excuse not to create," i would say.

when i'm feeling extra confident, i will throw in a joke about how other professionals, such as doctors and engineers, don't have these so-called blocks. so why do creatives do? i know it's not funny, and of course, it's bullshit, but almost one hundred percent of the time, i walk out of these fancy offices with an offer letter in my hand.

but if you want the honest answer, i experience these creative blocks too often. in fact, not counting my regular meandering journal entries, the last time i wrote something was in november, almost five months ago.

there are days that i wish i never took this art seriously. writing is a painful process—one that requires so much of my brain and even more of my heart. some days, i would watch my sister finish her illustrations while watching a movie or a sitcom simultaneously, and all i could think about was how i wish i can do the same with writing. i'm not saying writing is more challenging than other creative pursuits, i just wish it didn't take my full brainpower and feelings to churn out a half-decent essay.

to distract myself from the creative paralysis, i've been devoting all my extra time to freelance creative writing gigs instead. clients tell me what they need to be written, and i do it for them. suddenly, writing is so simple. so easy. but once all of that is done, and i sit at my desk and try to write for myself, i'm empty. my hands feel heavy, and my thinking is cloudy. writing becomes a herculean task once again.

for months, i blamed this stagnancy on the fact that i've been in the same place for a whole year. a lack of inspiration, if you will. there's some truth to this. but i've learned that it's my own twisted thoughts that keep me from doing the work i once loved.

carrie bradshaw of sex and the city, 1995 — smoking and writing in her huge new york apartment that she supposedly pays for with her work as a full-time writer. yes, that’s realistic.

feeling behind

in the middle of reading an essay on a local publication last week, i googled the writer's name just to get a glimpse of who she was. i pulled up her linkedin profile, and found out that she's only twenty-three. almost three years younger than me. we graduated with the same degree; only i did so two years earlier. and yet, she had these passages that i was sure i would've never thought of myself and a perfect knockout ending that left me so insecure i closed the tab as fast as i could.

then comes the guilt and the shame. the shoulds and if onlys. i should be writing instead of watching this movie. if only i consistently wrote seriously during my teenage years or if i used my time writing instead of spending 200 hours beautifying my animal crossing island, maybe i'd be an excellent writer.

the truth is i feel behind all the time. in a society that believes that art has more value when it's made by someone younger, i can't help but think that everything i accomplish gets less and less impressive as i get older.

of course, i don't subscribe to this absurd idea but self-doubt is rarely logical.

gilmore girls: a year in the life, 2016. how reassuring!

in recent conversations with friends, i found that we all suffer from the same damaging cycle of thoughts: comparing yourself with other people or yourself and feeling like you will never measure up to your own standards. but so often, these standards are ridiculously high in the first place that it's almost like we set ourselves up for failure.

take me for example; why do i expect myself to produce a 1000 word weekly newsletter when i have a full-time 40 hour per week job as an editor, and two freelance jobs? in setting an impossible and maddening pursuit such as this, i've already failed even before i sit down and begin.

fear of fucking up

most days, the only problem is simply starting. i have the time, i have an idea, and enough of an ego to believe that this little idea can turn into something interesting. only thing left to do is start typing.

the first few moments are the hardest. when the screen is empty and the cursor is blinking at you, waiting for your next move. in order to finish the first draft, you have to allow yourself to be imperfect, and i always have a problem with that. i always want to get it right— fast and on the first try. and in my many years of writing, i have given up on so many projects just because they didn't turn out as i imagined right away. because if what i'm writing isn't brilliant or a genius work of art, then what's the point of finishing it?

excellent writing advice from the bold type, 2017

however, i found that writing can only truly work when i'm ready to embrace the mistakes and mess that come with the process—words used too often, metaphors that make little to no sense, paragraphs that seem to be in the wrong order, and thoughts that sounded better in my head. i'm learning to live now with the physical feeling of writing badly: typing and cowering to every word, but still trusting myself that it's okay, and there is time to fix it all later.

it took me years to realize that the biggest enemy of my creativity is my perfectionism. even worse, i expected "perfection" to happen right away on the first draft. this isn't a revolutionary realization, everything i'm saying here isn't. but i don't think we talk enough about how complex and how maddening the process of creating is.

creating any body of work is supposed to be hard and frustrating. it will never be just continuously stringing one perfect statement after the other, or painting the right strokes with the right choices of colors every single time.

it's messy and full of mistakes, and i wish i realized this sooner. because it's a huge relief to discover that it's just as hard for everyone trying to create a work that’s meaningful for them.

finding the rhythm

there's a piece of writing advice that gets passed on like gospel truth: write every single day. my favorite authors say it, professors back in college used to say it, and every speaker to every single writing seminar i attended said it.

i don't disagree with it. writing is a muscle, and if you don't want it to atrophy, constant practice is needed. so what happens when you're like me? i've been sitting at the same desk every day since november, thinking of writing, but never actually beginning. what does that make me?

i don't know. but what i do know is i'm finding my own ryhthm. every creative process has its own ebbs and flows, highs and lows. and embracing its unpredictable pattern is the first step to hopefully learning how to work around it.

writing is a muscle. in fact, creating any kind of art is. and i think just like when you're trying to work out your physical muscles, there are days that it has to be slow. it can be gentle and forgiving. you're allowed to miss a day or two. there is no room for guilt or shame. i don't have to be the best every day. some days, it's enough to show up, begin, and just get through it.

a tender corner

Discussion about this post