[I posted this on my blog back in 2017. I’m re-positing it here to hear what the WSW community thinks of this idea. I’d be delighted to hear your comments! –Berthold]
Most days, it’s a real struggle for me to get started on writing even a paragraph in one of my stories. Once in a great while, I’ll be struck by some inspiration and then it’s just a matter of getting the words down as fast as I can, but that’s rare. The more normal case is something like this:
I need to write something where X happens.
[Write a word or two]
Huh, I wonder what’s going on in the news.
[Half hour later, force myself to write another sentence or two]
Are there any good videos on YouTube?
I have to consciously force myself to stay on task and write something down. If I manage to do that, most of the time I hate what I’m writing up until I finish, at which point it starts to seem possibly decent. But the whole time I’m doing it, I feel like I’m doing lousy work, and moreover, it takes all my willpower to even do that.
Why is this? Writing is supposed to be what I like doing. No one is forcing me to do it—it’s what I want to do. But then why am I strongly tempted to avoid doing it, like it’s a job or something?
At first, I thought maybe I was just a lazy bum. But I follow lots of hard-working writers on Twitter, and they frequently report this same problem. I even did a poll of my followers, and while the sample was small, 100% reported they procrastinated.
So, it’s not just me being lazy. Other writers face this problem too.
The simple and obvious explanation is that writing is active. You have to consciously do something to make it happen. Whereas reading the news or watching cat videos is passive—you just find your way to the site and put your mind on cruise control.
But this doesn’t totally explain it. One of the ways I procrastinate is by playing video games. And that’s not passive; I still have to press buttons and make decisions to get the outcome I want in the game. Yet it’s far easier for me to play a game of FTL or computer chess than it is to write. I don’t have to will myself to play a game.
My next-door neighbor has had all kinds of hobbies over the years I’ve known him, from shooting guns to building model airplanes to mixing drinks to, yes, playing video games. And he doesn’t seem to need a huge amount of willpower to make himself work at any of his hobbies. Why is my hobby different?
Part of the problem is that I’ll write something down and then think, “Well, that’s not any good”. This feels unsatisfying. And at some level, I think procrastination is a defense mechanism. Skimming the sports headlines may not yield much satisfaction, but at least it won’t be as disappointing as writing something imperfect.
But why should that be disappointing? After all, no one else is going to judge me by the first draft. No one else will even know it existed unless I show it to them. So why am I bothered if it’s not right the first time? I don’t get discouraged if I don’t win a video game right away. On the contrary, losing a game just makes me want to try again.
Writing, unlike other activities, is more closely associated with having an audience. After all, if you’re just writing for yourself, why bother writing? You know the story already—the only reason to write it down is to communicate it to others.
That’s the heart of the difference: When I play a video game or exercise or any of the other things I do for fun, my only audience is myself. If I’m satisfied with my performance, that’s all I need.
We are trained very early on that writing is different. Writing is what you do when you want to tell other people something. As a result, when you write, you are subconsciously trying to please other people.
Ta-da! This explains the mystery of why writers procrastinate. Procrastination is something you do when you are assigned a task by other people, and writing feels like that because that’s how we’re trained to regard it. It’s the same reason we all procrastinated when our teachers assigned us to write a paper on such-and-such-thing-no-one-cares-about.
Some of the most common advice I’ve seen from successful authors is stuff like “Write for yourself,” “Ignore your inner critic on the first draft” and perhaps the most common, “Lose your fear of writing”.*
This advice always puzzled me. Of course I was writing for myself! Who the hell else would I be writing these weird stories for? And my inner critic? Who’s that? As far as I knew, I didn’t have one. The fear thing seemed the most sensible, although for me, the fear wasn’t so much of writing as it was of publishing.
But now I see what all those famous writers were saying: you think you’re writing for yourself, but you aren’t really. In your unconscious mind, you are still trying to figure out what the readers are going to think of what you wrote. It’s a deeply-rooted habit, probably one that evolution instilled in us—the societies where people could clearly communicate their ideas to one another were the ones that flourished.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t write so that other people can understand you. But the point is, that has to come later. First, you have to treat writing as a personal challenge between you and the part of your mind that wants to stop you from doing it. It’s like working out: you know it’s good for you, and you know you will feel great afterward, but you have to overcome the natural instinct that tells you it’s easier not to do it.
The precise way to do this can vary from person to person. You’ll discover the method that works best for you as you go along.
One exercise that I think can help teach how not to write for an audience is to just try writing stream-of-consciousness. For this post, I deliberately tried an experiment where I turned off my sense-making filter and just spewed forth whatever came to mind. This is what resulted:
Grey window skies empty noises and duahgter nothing al dhpauiw hope thjat move listen coffee righ fjor wdesk need time hope sk
Sitting on a cold day that is grey and deporessing why am I doing this write exercise imagine plains vision skies weird black nebulous
This seems like incoherent babble, but it’s really not all that random. For context: I was sitting at my desk by a window on a cold grey day, drinking coffee. I could hear people outside talking and someone said something about a daughter.
For the second paragraph, the other people shut up, and I started to let my imagination roam, which led to visions of Lovecraftian weird cosmic horror, because that’s my favorite genre, or at least the one I’m most familiar with.
As sloppy and gibberish-filled as that is, you can see my thought process even through all the errors and downright nonsense. Which brings me to my point: as in many other fields, “true randomness” is actually pretty hard to achieve in writing. Your brain will work very hard to force you to make sense. Which is helpful in many other ways, but the problem is that our brains have become so good that they will try to prevent us writing anything less than the perfect sentence on the first try. That part of the brain would much rather procrastinate than risk writing something nonsensical.
This is what all those famous writers mean when they say “Write for yourself” or “Don’t worry about the audience” or “Ignore the inner-critic.” It’s all true, but it’s not specific enough, because when you are tempted to put off writing and procrastinate instead, you don’t realize you’re writing for someone else, or that it’s your inner-critic, or your fear of the audience. It feels like you’re just trying to write something that makes sense, and for some horrible reason, you can’t.
That’s because it doesn’t make perfect sense, and your brain hates that. But it’s okay. You can fix it later. Editors and beta readers will make sure of that.
So my advice is: don’t worry about making sense. In fact, I’ll go even further: actively try to avoid making sense on the first draft. Just put down the most basic, sub-literate version of what you want to convey. You’d be surprised how hard it is to not make sense—your unconscious mind will keep you at least within saluting distance of it most of the time. After that, you can just iterate until your visceral idea has been refined into something your readers can understand.
FOOTNOTE
* As Phillip McCollum has observed, fear can also be extremely useful for writers. But that’s fear of other things, not writing itself.
Writers Supporting Writers 
You may be onto something here, Berthold. I too find writing a first draft really hard. Doing it is hard and not doing it feels like failure and weakness. My own personal theory was that putting imaginings and concepts into words requires a lot of energy, makes big demands on the brain. But it may be that we are always aware of a potential reader and are trying to meet that reader’s expectations. That ghost reader is most likely a projection of ourselves, so is in part the good old inner critic.
The hardest thing for me is making sure each scene follows the plot’s internal logic. I’m always convinced I’m violating that logic, and that I’ve set the plot on the wrong path. I really wonder what I’ll think of the current WIP when I go back to the beginning and type it into Word.
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Oh, you’re definitely right that it makes big demands on the brain; that’s for sure.
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So it may be that some of us are feeling the effects of getting older, just like we can’t run or ride the bike like we used to. But hey–you’re a lot younger than me, so there has to be more to it.
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One of the things I find interesting about this whole conundrum of writing is how many of us say that we love to write, and then we struggle with it because it’s hard. Not to say that anything one loves is supposed to be easy, but there certainly seems to be many writers who have a love-hate relationship with the whole concept.
The simple reality is that writing is hard. At least I think for most of us. It takes a lot of energy. Mental energy. Emotional energy. Energy from the stockpiles that are not unlimited. There are writers who tweet regularly about “I wrote 5,000 words today!” or “Yep, just completed the first draft of my novel in three weeks!!” And I just have to wonder about that. How can they do that? How can they shut down the inner critic? How do they have the energy needed to produce like that?
But … we keep at it, don’t we?
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I guess acts of creation shouldn’t be easy, and it seems right that we both love and hate engaging in them. I’m starting to think this whole writing thing is analogous to falling in love and getting married. Remember the giddy excitement when everything is just starting, and how after a few years an element of slog creeps in and you have to work at keeping that thing you value? I think it’s like that. (I’m not sure this helps, though. No magic bullet, sadly.)
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Yes. I’m far past the butterflies in my stomach stage. 😉
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Someone, I forget who, once said that ‘you cannot edit a blank page…’ so I think we should get it all down, warts and all, and create a masterpiece afterwards…
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Yes! Exactly. Thanks for the comment. 🙂
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I’m a perfectionist, and I’m getting worse as I get older. I simply can’t do the whole ‘first draft’ thing. When I know something isn’t. quite. right. my brain seizes up. I really hate things that don’t make sense. They nag and whine and won’t leave me alone. -sigh-
Don’t you wish there were a pill you could take and hey presto, instant inspiration?
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That would be delightful!
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But it would probably have bad side effects, like you could write only about zombies. 😉
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I wouldn’t say I’m a perfectionist. The first novel I wrote was remarkably easy, likely because I didn’t know what I was doing and had nothing to judge it again. But as I have written more, it has become more and more difficult because now I have expectations. A desire to improvie what I do. And I am constantly seizing up because of those expectations.
I’d like a pill that shuts down my inner critic and eliminates those expectations from my creativity zone.
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My fear of the blank page is more fearing a failure of imagination.
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I know what you mean. Thanks for the comment!
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I have that one too, Liz. Starting a new work is like building something from spun sugar in the rain.
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I always wrote for myself first. In fact, when I returned to writing in the year 2000, I never even thought about publishing for 10 years, until I turned 70. Writing was so much fun and I loved everything I wrote. Egotist that I am, I still enjoy reading my own books more than anybody else’s – yikes! But now that I’m almost 81, I’m not sure I could write anything new. I’ve probably published my last book, but that’s OK. Everything has to end sometime.
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No wonder you have been so prolific. I always enjoying hearing from people who love writing so much–and they invariably produce great books, too. Thanks for the comment!
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Oh no! I hope that’s not true, even though I know how hard it is to write, edit, format, design, publish and promote. And I’ve had that “this is my last book” feeling too.
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I just have this feeling I’m not going to be around much longer. You’ll note at the end of Rare Birds, I didn’t put my usual note about “Coming next: Part Nine, blah, blah.”
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I did notice that, but i hope you’ll be part of the company of writers for some time yet.
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I certainly hope that is not the case. Like Audrey said, I hope you’ll be with us for a long time to come.
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Interesting. I rarely write fiction. Its only when inspiration hits which isn’t often.
My genre is poetry. The non-personal poems are either prompt driven or more usually, inspiration based. The personal poems that rattle and nag and I procrastinate are because I don’t want to deal with the emotions that are driving them.
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I see. Yes, it makes sense that poetry would bring its own set of challenges. Thanks for the comment!
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For me there’s also an addictive element; chasing the dragon as it were. A good writing day feels good. Those rare mornings where the right neurons smash together, words come pouring out, connections that eluded me before suddenly become elegantly intertwined are sublime. I find that’s the state of mind I want to hit and some days it’s harder than others.
I feel like that’s what gets me reinforcing the butt-print in my chair day after day. The hope that today will be one of those good days.
The ironic thing is, I find, that the days when every word feels like pulling teeth are the days some of my better lines come out.
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That’s a great way to put it. There are those times when it all comes together, and those are what make us willing to endure the rest of the grind. Thanks for the comment!
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That for this post, it is interesting reading. I am a slow writer but a plodding one so I get the job done. I do edit afterwards up to 6 times and then I accept 95% happiness.
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“Accept 95% happiness”–I like it! 🙂 Thanks for the comment.
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So I started out writing as a means to gain extra income…No don’t laugh. Let’s just brush over that episode. Anyway when the clouds of delusion were blown away…
From having read a number of posts and replies on the subject of writing there is always this unmistakeable image of creation striving to break through and the inevitability that there will be a written piece at the end of the day. There will be a multiplicity of reasons, yet the seed is there, striving to grow, upwards towards the light, irrespective of what barriers there may be. Maybe not this season, maybe next year. Who knows?
There are minimal chances of success of a fantasy trilogy; total word count 630,000+ self-edited, re-written several times & self published; indie through Amazon Kindle. In fact chances are nearing zero. But those are my 630,000+ words re-worked and honed until that ‘Yes’ moment flares bright. Of course there will be some disappointment at not connecting with a three figure audience (I have modest targets), and heck the journey was one I would not have missed, because those words are ‘out there’.
And if those efforts by some interaction might cause someone to write and write and strive to publishing success by any measure.
Then that is a big plus.
Write because you can people. No matter how long and variable in direction the journey is. Let no one say you cannot.
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Hear, hear! 🙂
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Lots of good points, Berthold. I think that I actually follow some of the suggested solutions to making writing easier because, while I kind’a hate to admit it, I don’t find writing all that hard. Oh, I’m really glad when I finish the first draft – there are times when writing it seems almost like work. I do have to sometimes force myself to sit down and start writing – 30 seconds into it and two hours have gone by. Second or third drafts are just playing with words.
And though I am a pretty timid fellow, I’m a pretty fearless self-publisher. I attribute this to several things. First, since I don’t write for money, I can truly write the stories I want to read, and not worry about anyone else. I know all stories will find some sort of audience, be it large or small. Secondly, I know that I can’t please everyone. The more I might try to please readers, the less the story will be mine, the less enthusiasm I will have for it, and the harder it would be to write it, because of that.
I spent 13 years working in the printing and daily newspaper business. There I learned the power of two phrases – “Oh, well” and “Good enough.” Mistakes are made, and sometimes they’re not caught until they’re on the press. The presses stop for the correction, copies are tossed, time and money lost. Nothing can be done then, but to shrug and saying “Oh, well.” Sometimes I was given bad photos to scan for the newspaper, knowing that they’d look even worse on newsprint. All I could do is try to make them “good enough.” Perfection wasn’t an option. In my writing it’s the same. I can’t read more than a couple of pages of anything I’ve ever written without wanting to change some word. So at some point I have to say, ‘Oh, well – good enough,” I’d never get anything published. Masterpieces are rare – they’re a combination of luck and circumstances. I think that its easier to write if one approaches writing as a journey – the next story will be better for the experience of the present one — if you get it done. You can’t get to the next one without moving on. Trust your luck and create the circumstance. Masterpieces happen.
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All great points, Chuck. Approaching it as a journey is a great way to look at it.
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Some good points here, Chuck! “Take that, inner critic!” Thanks for weighing in.
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My inner critic is very benign. As a painter for many years, I could see what worked and what didn’t, in every painting. I’d just try to remember not to do what didn’t work the next time. (Oh well.) Sometimes I even did. Luckily it never discouraged me — paintings are not books and it’s a lot easier and faster to learn from your mistakes.
However, I gather that other writers’ inner critics are more domineering than mine, which is a shame.
I watched a nice K-Drama about the publishing business in Korea (Romance is a Bonus Book) where a writer wanted to withdraw his book on the eve of publication, because he thought it was trash. They talked him out if it, and one of the things they said to him was that unless a book is a best seller, only a few thousand copies would ever be sold — at best. So what if a few thousand strangers might think that you’re an idiot? That’s even more true in self publishing. Maybe the secret of suppressing the inner critic is not taking it all so seriously.
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I think a lot of that comes from all the advice we writers read. It’s everywhere; heck, I even dole out some myself. That makes the whole thing seem fraught and takes a lot of the fun out of it. I like your attitude, Chuck.
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An actual and tight deadline was the only thing that ever beat my procrastination problem.
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That will definitely help! 🙂
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