Dear Shitty Little Voice In My Head,
I’m sick of you. I’m done listening to the disapproving, negative, creative-mojo-killing fuckery you say to me (ME! A miasmatic ball of electric creativity and throbbing life!) anytime I sit down to write. I am banishing you by doing what I do best: shouting down your most common criticisms with brilliant, carefully considered arguments and enough profanity to make my entire host of ancestors spin in their graves.
Stupid-Ass Statement #1: I have nothing new to say.
Bullshit! You’re always talking/thinking/pontificating/blowing smoke up other people’s asses and a lot of it is good and interesting and well-thought out and some of it is total and complete shite and you know it while you’re saying it, but goddamnit, you’ve started down a certain path and you’ll see it through. But the beauty of it, the reason you do it is that no one knows when you’re serious. Ever. Most people think you’re fucking with them all the time. And sometimes you’re not sure if you are or not. What?! I know! So write and you’ll figure out how you really feel and then you can decide whether or not you want to fuck with people.
But you’re right in a sense. There isn’t anything new to say, only new ways to saying. And that’s plenty to aim for.
Stupid-Ass Statement #2: I haven’t thought out my idea clearly, I’ll write about nothing.
So fucking what? Start with nothing and then figure out what you sat down to say because THAT’S WHAT WRITING IS! It’s an exploration, a journey, an investigation. It’s an essay, in the oldest Frenchest sense of the word (hat tip, Old Masters) and a journal in the oldest, pillowbookiest sense of the word (deep bow, Old Mistress). It’s Nellie Bly, Truman Capote, bell hooks, Les Gutkind, Barbara Ehrenreich. It’s every writer writing. It’s every person speaking. It’s truth and lies and everything in the middle. It’s fight and struggle and blood and it’s The Written Word and it’s all you’ve ever believed in. It’s been your only constant, your best friend, your lover, your life ring, your child, your sustenance and flesh and breath and blood and bone. It is all there is and it is in every cell of you and how can you deny that? Write nothing because at least you have created something tangible and real and true in this vast, horrible world.
Plus Seinfeld was famously “about nothing” and while that’s more of a dismal statement on the mind-numbingly stupid consumer culture we live in, dude still made mad cash writing about NOTHING. And after all, wouldn’t it at least be fun to try to prove the validity of the adage “mo’ money, mo’ problems?” And while you have no desire to own a house in the Hamptons or a private yacht or any of that shit, taking off for a month or so every year to go write and read and eat and drink and smoke and fuck in a cabin somewhere with your brilliant, sexy husband is, in fact, your version of the American dream and it’s absolutely attainable. So get writing; the cabin is waiting.
Stupid Ass Statement #3: I never finish anything so why start yet another new thing?
Don’t you fucking “never” me. What’s that shit? Fuck “never.” Fuck “always.” You hate that shit. It’s lazy and dismissive and ridiculous and you’re better than that. And why start something new? Because if you don’t, you’ll forget what you were going to say and then you’re fucked. Plus, if you write more, you’re eventually going to just glue your ass to the chair and get it done (hat tip, Nita Sweeney’s Bum Glue) so stop bitching and write. Computer’s not charged up? Your hand’s not broken, fucker. No paper? What do you think your inner arm is for? WRITE.
Stupid Ass Statement #4: If I turn off the Little Voice, my writing will get sloppy.
Wrong. The Little Voice is never far away. The Little Voice likes to make our life a living hell and criticize everything we do. We’ve tried to get rid of her before and it’s never worked for long. The best we can hope for is temporary banishment.
And yes, your writing will get sloppy but guess what? Your Writing will exist and Your Writing will get better when you sit your ass down to edit. Why? Because you’re fucking good at it and you know it. DON’T FRONT! Modesty is for liars and people who aren’t good at anything. I am a good writer and a good reader and a good editor. I’m not the best, most brilliant, shining little star but for fuck’s sake, I’m not the dimmest one either. Read some samples on Kindle and tell me your shit doesn’t smell a whole lot better than a lot of the shit out there. You can at least crank out some $2.99 pulp novels. Jesus. Who cares? Sell out if you want. Just sell out doing something you love instead of just to pull in a paycheck. You’re better than that.
Stupid Ass Statement #5: What if I fail?
First of all, what does that mean? If you’re writing every day, you’re already succeeding. Period. That should be the ONLY measure of success or failure. Are you creating? Are you doing what you were meant to do? If you are, good job. You’ve won. Keep going. If you aren’t creating every day, you have failed.
Second: publishing? Is that what you’re worried about? Didn’t you have a pretty fucking good ratio of submissions to rejections when you were still sending your shit out? And how did it feel to hold something in your hands that has your name on it? To see people reading your shit and responding to it? To get hate mail? Seriously?! HATE MAIL! That’s the best fucking compliment a writer can get! Why wouldn’t you want that again?
I know there are more (you are nothing if not prolific) but you’ve finally gone silent. When you start whispering again, casting doubt and slowing my fingers, I will address each item in turn. You will not win. I will not let you. Go fuck yourself, Little Shitty Voice.
As ever,
D
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