[First in a series of rambling, disconnected thoughts on the writing process.]
You should write a little more than you think you can.
I can’t remember which member of my wonderful 2011 anchor team, John Kessel or Kij Johnson, said this, but it was one of those sentences that turned my mind 90 degrees from where it had been.
What they were talking about, in that particular conversation, was the question of how many stories you should try to turn in over the course of Clarion. And the advice was the above: think of how much you feel like you could write without too much sweat, and then write a little more than that. If you feel pretty confident that you could get three stories done over the course of the workshop, aim to get five stories done. Even if you end up writing four stories, hey, that’s still one more than you thought you could.
There are two important pieces to this advice, depending on which part of the sentence you accent:
Write a little more than you think you can.
Push yourself. Find the edges of your comfort zone in terms of time or length or subject matter or speed or whatever and consciously push past them. For one thing, that is the very definition of how you grow as a writer. For another, that is where the good stuff happens. Really. That is where the wobbly stuff appears where you’re not quite sure if it’s genius or insane. Where you’re a little scared to show it to your writing group. The stuff inside your comfort zone is safe and skillful and that is good too, but the thing that pushes your writing into excellence is going to be finding a way to live in that wobbliness just beyond what you already know how to write.
Write a little more than you think you can.
Be gentle and kind to yourself. Set yourself small, realistic goals and then sincerely celebrate them when you achieve them. This is harder than it looks. It’s a weird aspect of human psychology that many of us are capable of kindness, compassion, and patience when teaching other people, but when teaching ourselves we become cruel, impatient, punishing taskmasters. Fight that discouraging voice by choosing goals about which your confidence level is “well…maybe I could…I could try, anyway….” Things that are not quite within your grasp now, but could be with some strenuous stretching. A very easy way to punish and discourage yourself is to decide that you are going to start writing this novel right now, and you are going to write 5000 words a day, and then you discover that you can’t, you can write about 1500 words a day on average, and so you give up because you can’t write 5000 words a day. It sounds silly presented that way, but we play this stupid trick on ourselves all the time. Slow down, be kind.
If you were teaching writing to someone with your level of practice and experience, what would you assign as homework?