In fact, it will never be perfect, and that's fine! The famous screenwriter William Goldman said that you never finish; you just stop. (Maybe I'll write about perfection another time.)
So, today I was reading Emma Gannon's Substack (she's a well-known British writer) and in her list of why she likes writing on Substack she includes, "Writing regularly makes you a better writer." I would add that it also makes you a more confident, less anxious, less perfectionist writer.
And believe me, I needed those three benefits.
If you read my post a few weeks ago (this one), you'll know that I used to hate writing. The Imaginative Storm method—writing by hand, 10-minute timer, writing what I don't know—cured me of the anxiety about being "good enough" that weighed down my spirit and my words as well. When writing is about curiosity rather than perfection, when it's about the process rather than the goal, it's genuinely enjoyable. It nourishes the spirit, because you discover new things about yourself and the world you live in; you notice more, so your sense of gratitude grows; you become more empathetic and less judgmental as you look at life from new angles.
What brings all this about? Practice.
Nobody finds it odd that musicians practice. Nobody finds it odd that artists doodle in sketchbooks. Nobody finds it odd that athletes train, or that chess players study theory and problems. But weirdly, the idea of writing practice seems . . . weird. Most people feel that any writing that doesn't have a goal (whether publication or personal introspection or business requirements) is wasted. Most people also feel that if they don't write well straight onto the page, that must mean they're just not good writers and should abandon the attempt.
I blame thank-you letters and "what I did over my vacation" school essays. Boring as hell, and subject to criticism for all the wrong reasons, such as penmanship, grammar, and spelling. No wonder the idea of writing for pleasure seems bizarre. Why would you write any more than you have to!
And even if you do have the urge to write seriously—a memoir, a novel or short story maybe—that sense of labor and "having to get it right" sucks at your confidence like some kind of subterranean troll.
What's needed, if you're to write freely—which I believe is vital if you're going to write well—is to change your subconscious approach to writing. And the only way to do that is to make it fun. It may be a matter of willpower to begin with, but as you develop a regular writing practice, you're drawn to write, especially if you have no idea what you're going to write! Curiosity is delicious. Plus, if you join us for the Prompt of the Week any Saturday or Thursday, you'll be able to read what you wrote to five or six people who will show you nothing but appreciation. This is very good for the morale.
That's not to say that criticism, and standards, have no place in the literary world. You're reading a post by someone who read English at Oxford, so believe me, I appreciate good writing! And I want my own published work to meet a standard that I set myself. But practice writing doesn't have to be great, or good, or even coherent. It just has to be 10 minutes of a pen forming words on paper. In fact, I even like it when my writing doesn’t catch fire at all—it trains me not to be attached to everything I write being good.
Musicians play scales and practice trills to turn conscious effort into subconscious ease. Athletes train to stretch and strengthen their muscles and hone their awareness of their body’s strengths and weaknesses. Writing practice does these things too: you stretch and strengthen your imaginative muscles, you become acquainted with your voice and its most powerful expression, you develop a new ease in navigating language. Your range increases, just as a pianist moves from “Chopsticks” to "For Elise" to a Chopin nocturne. If you get really good, you may tackle Rachmaninov, but what's wrong with Chopin? Nothing, in my book.
Which is to say, you don't have to write the great American novel. You might write poems or short stories or just the novel you want to write. You don't have to compete with Midnight’s Children or The Poisonwood Bible or Moby-Dick or The Waste Land. And maybe—as I did—you'll find that you don't care so much about the end product, and discover that simply writing, just for the sake of it, is reward enough.
Does the world need another great novel or story or poem or film? Maybe, maybe not. Does the world need more creatively fulfilled, empathetic, curious, nonjudgmental people? You bet it does.
Please join us for the Prompt of the Week, Saturday at noon ET, Thursday at 6pm ET, for an hour. It’s free, and you don’t need to register in advance. I promise you will be warmly welcomed!
Related to this notion of practicing writing is the idea of playing with writing. We play music, play around with colors or shapes or layouts in visual art, play around with vocal arrangements, so why is it so "weird" to play with our writing? When we play, we step back to our childlike selves when creativity was unbound and living room furniture and a bedsheet could be transformed into a Bedouin tent in an instant. Little brother is swaddled in a blanket and a dish towel is thrown over the back of the family dog. Suddenly, we have a setting and a story that pours forth where before there was none. And in the next moment, with the same props rearranged, a different story can emerge. Spontaneous and fun. Full of joy and movement. Yes, practice this by writing something one way. Then jumble everything up and write another way. Look through the kaleidoscope-the story is there.
'I blame thank-you letters and "what I did over my vacation" school essays.' I'd add book reports to this! Vivid memories of being confined to my room to finish reading 'Little House on the Prairie' and write a report, turned me off reading and writing for years. Practice that isn't perfect is so much more gratifying, we all benefit from goals but letting our minds wander does indeed invite creativity into our world.