The Arrogance of Not Writing

Happy Lunar New Year, and greetings from Seoul, South Korea!

I’m going to be honest, I don’t think I’ll be able to leave this city. Every block has 10 different cafes with the most jaw-dropping aesthetics I’ve ever seen. It’s literally the dream. I feel so fortunate that I get to visit this place, meet up with old friends, and study a new language and culture. I’m so grateful my work allows me to jet-set like this, and that I can focus on writing + working with writers like you.

Even with all of that wonderful freedom, I often find myself posted up at a cafe experiencing the paralysis of choice. There’s admin tasks to get done; new lectures to outline, emails to respond to, submissions to format. There’s plenty of creative tasks, too. Making progress on a draft, transcribing handwritten notes, or applying feedback to a revision. Sometimes it feels like there’s just too much to choose from and I don’t know where to begin.

But there’s something I learned in this state that almost always snaps me out of it. You don’t have to borrow this exact phrasing if it sounds harsh, but here’s how I think about it — my paralysis, my refusal to begin, is actually an act of arrogance.

I don’t start a new project because it’s already perfect and finished in my brain. Why would I mess with that perfection? It’s so comfortable and familiar to continue to replay and witness the story in my own little mind.

Here’s where the arrogance is — I act as though in that imagining stage, I have everything the story needs. The reality is that the true story or creative work is almost always unearthed through the drafting and revision process. A line in a paragraph of description completely changes the atmosphere of a scene. A character says something I never could have predicted. Characters reveal histories, crushes, or dreams that didn’t exist in their outline. Though I often write a lot of notes for a project before beginning, it is still never near as good, interesting, or complex as its final form.

I’ve seen this process enough times to know that I need to snap myself out of my ‘frozen state’ before pen hits paper. I don’t know everything, even if I think I do. Writing isn’t the hard part, it’s the interesting part. It’s where the hunger gets fed and the curiosity gets satisfied. It’s certainly a strange endeavor into the unknown, but that’s why I need to humble myself before I embark on it. I need to remind myself that no matter how fascinating my daydreams are, they will only grow and get stronger when I give them life.

So, instead of feeling comfortable in the resting stage where the story is ‘perfect’ but unwritten, I’ve become addicted to gathering the unexpected beauty that crops up when I begin writing. I’ve taught myself that’s much better than the false safety of keeping stories unwritten.

For example — every time I try to plan or outline this newsletter, I feel exhausted and overwhelmed. As soon as I upload my silly little recent photo for the header image and give myself permission to write whatever comes to mind, the words just come. It’s because I’m not exhausted by the thought of it already being ‘done’ in my head and then having to drag it into reality.

One more thing to note in this practice of bridging the gap between imagination and practical application; often when we sense it’s time to get down to work, we activate the familiar mechanism of guilt to get ourselves to write or move the story into a new stage. This is a really complicated habit because our instincts are correct — yes, it is time to write it, and take it out of your brain — but our strategy is flawed and rooted in a negative self-image.

So, if you’re feeling hunger for the page, you’re correct. It’s time to get there and get the words down. But change your strategy. Instead of guilting or blaming yourself, seek out other tools to help you get started. Get some accountability with a writing partner and head to a cafe. Sign up for a generative writing class. Handwrite in a notebook to circumvent perfectionism. Honor your instincts without forcing them into familiar processes such as negative self-talk. You should feel excited and proud of yourself that you are making time and plans to honor your work.

Then, the next stage that often happens is that when we finally get to the page, our writing isn’t perfect. It doesn’t do the story in our minds justice. This naturally leads to frustration. Why did we ever leave that magical, safe world where our art was perfect? How could this messy series of words possibly be better than that?

Here’s where the arrogance comes in again. We need to accept that we cannot predict or control how art will flow from us. We need to humble ourselves before the process of translating our strange visions. We cannot recreate it exactly from our minds, which is a good thing, because what actually gets written is so much better.

Yes, we are not good enough to bring this story into the world yet. And we should not expect ourselves to be. Why should any of us perfect our craft on the outside, without doing the work? Get humble and get started. We will not be good enough until we begin. You can’t predict how it will go. The only way to do an idea justice is to get your hands dirty.