3 … 2 … 1 … It’s Lift-Off Time For A Writing Career
Other people do it, so why don’t I?
I used to have a personal blog. It was hard work because I saw writing as an art that asks each sentence to earn its semiotic, psychic, or poetic place alongside its basic aim to communicate meaning. Writing wasn’t just writing: it was wordsmithing.
I often fell short. I’m a pedant and my own worst critic. Such perfectionism meant that finishing anything became an uphill battle — I couldn’t possibly make something public until I was satisfied that my curation of words created something beautiful.
During those days using a WordPress blog to chart travels, parenting, and social justice issues, I compromised my own voice and style in striving to be seen as a ‘nice’ person.
Distinctly aware of my relative privilege, I found myself watering down anything that might be perceived as controversial or entitled. I was scared of offending anyone or of over-sharing. My lower self-esteem at the time made me petrified of online trolls.
This meant I often held back, both personally and politically. This meant I obscured the unique and slightly rebellious person I knew myself to be and presented myself as normal and accommodating. In trying to appeal to everyone, I could appeal to no-one.
I attempted to fit myself into professional boxes that felt equally unnatural: to stick to a writing routine and learn the rules of online content creation and copywriting; to discover a niche rather than being multifaceted; to write poetry that was Instagram-able for an attention-deficient generation; to create a personal brand in an attention-seeking culture of individualistic influencers.
It began to seem like a modern writing career would be less about creativity and more about being a marketing automaton. Ugh.
As a lone parent to four children, I found it challenging to find the quiet time or mental space to finish my work amidst these competing ideals. Between my own high standards, mainstream ‘best practice’, and all the social nuances that could result in debate or hate, the path forwards looked overgrown with brambles. I needed new tools if I was going to clear the way.
The creative writing stopped for a couple of years. This wasn’t a conscious decision, more a lack of motivation and clarity. I decided to resume my degree studies to satisfy my desire to learn and write and succeed.
The unexpected bonus of honing my academic writing was that I realised I could be extremely disciplined and follow through to a deadline.
Time’s up on procrastinating due to perfectionism. For every single assignment I learnt to say “This isn’t perfect but it’s good enough.”
Perfect would be a grade of 100/100. I averaged 87/100. I was on track for a first class degree. The 13 points I dropped were not the important figure!
What if I could apply this to my creative writing? What if I could accept that good enough really was good enough? What would it feel like to have 87 satisfied readers to every 13 critics — and to focus on the former not the latter?
During my final degree assignments, I quit social media and became more purposeful about being present. I spent more time meditating and reading. I found myself writing again. In the middle of covid lockdown, the Muse kept me company in place of the flimsy ‘socialising’ of virtual community and textual relationship.
Between the friendlessness of lockdown, the insights of critical social theory, and the revelations of my psychospiritual practices, I began to see through all the false beliefs that had previously held me back.
I had an identity to shed.
I no longer had anything to lose.
I stopped caring what anyone might think and allowed the words to flow.
I fell into a habit of writing at least 500 words per day but often up to 3000 (not including the university work). I even thought some of it was pretty good. I even finished some of it.
In the course of editing my university essays down/up to academic standards, I recognised that I was in love with the lyrical essay. I found it difficult to write prose without bringing in poetic and philosophic elements. My reluctant edits to my social science assignments showed me where my passions lay but also how adaptable I could be.
On one hand I disliked the constraints of academic vigour and on the other hand those same constraints helped me develop my skills, confidence, and discipline.
I’m now planning to make the most of this realisation by deviating from my original plan (a career in social psychology) and pursuing a Creative Writing Masters. The combination of accountability to peers and tutors alongside the commitment to produce a significant body of creative work is exciting!
By following my intuition into a creative writing qualification, I trust that I’m striking a course towards the confluence of my interests. The topics I frequently end up writing about are creativity, simplicity, spirituality, social identity, individual and collective freedom, and the nature of reality.
The social psychologist in me is intrigued by how we construct our understandings of these subjects through the words we use — from casual remarks to pieces of poetry to official publications. The Word is not merely a linguistic tool but a spiritually- and politically-loaded mechanism. Perhaps I will discover the place where these topics converge and my calling becomes clear.
It feels scary to accept that at some point I will receive criticism or even hate mail, but my worst fear is to be on my death bed and realise that I kept my gift hidden away. Even as part of me worries that this post is an exercise in navel-gazing, another part knows that the people who appreciate it will be able to relate to it on their own terms. Either way, it’s better out than in.
I realised I had to stop focusing on the fear of any gaps or imperfections or implicit prejudices and had to start focusing on what I could share from my unique worldview. A writer who doesn’t put themselves on the page is just an actor.
Without worrying about performing for an audience, I granted myself the freedom to be myself. Without worrying about conforming to political correctness or a specific niche, I stopped editing my ideas before they’d even reached the page or screen. Without worrying whether or not my words would ever be read by somebody, I relaxed into writing whatever came to mind. Without the pressure to share anything with the world at large, I found myself wanting to share.
I’m breaking some rules. I’m consciously making the mistakes of an amateur. Perhaps this is part of the process? Someone might tell me off for using the first-person pronoun rather than writing for you. But it’s about neither of us and both of us.
The art comes first and the audience will follow. And if it doesn’t? Well, writing has taught me that I really thrive on and enjoy my own company. As I type this, my enjoyment rests on the dare to push my comfort zone and press ‘publish’. Perhaps that is also where I shall thrive.
I’m a writer. Let’s write!
