Perfectionists do things well. If you’re a perfectionist as
a writer, you probably check and double-check every fact, deliberate over every
word choice, and structure your sentences with impeccable grammatical
correctness. These things are good.
Unfortunately, perfectionism has its downside as well.
Perfectionism can be crippling.
Have you ever faced a blank white page, the computer cursor
blinking at you from the upper left corner, and felt completely immobilized?
Nothing I write will be good enough.
How do I even start?
All I need is the perfect first line, then the rest of
the story will flow from there.
But the perfect first line fails to materialize. You make a
few attempts, only to backspace in frustration when the words don’t conjure
exactly what you had in mind.
Your fingers drum the desk in time with the blink of the
cursor.
Deep breath. It’s all
good. You know how to deal with this. They taught you how at the last writing
conference. So you grab your writing muse by its scrawny neck and try again.
This time you go gung-ho. A whole paragraph flows out. Then
another. This is great. You’re gonna be the next Steinbeck. The next Hemingway.
The next Lisa Samson or Francine Rivers. Your words will go forth to the masses
and bring transformation to peoples’ lives.
Then you read back over what you’ve written.
It’s terrible. Completely, irredeemably bad.
You select the whole pile of drivel and hit delete. It’s
obviously time for a coffee break. Some chocolate might help, too. You slink
from the room, casting a guilty look over your shoulder at the still-blank
screen, the cursor blinking a challenge you don’t think you can meet.
Can anyone relate?
The internal pressure to be perfect can make it
extraordinarily difficult to begin a task or follow it through to completion.
The bar you set for yourself is so high you get a nosebleed just looking at it.
You compare every word you write to the authors you most admire, noting every
flaw and fault and shortfall in your work.
And while sometimes this commitment to excellence can be a
very good thing, other times you just need to unzip all those restrictive
expectations and let yourself breathe a little.
Have some fun again with this whole writing thing.
Let yourself play.
You see, story-telling is a creative art. The side of the
brain responsible for imagination, spontaneity and fun is the right side, and
this is the mode of thinking we need to tap into if we desire fertile words to
spring up on our page. For us perfectionists, however, the left side of the
brain can be a constant tight-lipped, toe-tapping presence.
You spelled that word wrong.
That’s a dangling participle right there.
Your voice is as dull as dishwater. You really think
anyone will read this dreck?
Trying to write with the critical, editorial side of the
brain engaged is like trying to drive with the handbrake on. One technique I
learned years ago that helps me unlock the free, fun-lovin’, loosey-goosey
creativity on the right side of my brain – without all the criticisms and
comparisons from the uptight left – is the technique of free writing.
You may have heard this referred to as “automatic writing”
or “stream of consciousness.” The idea is to sit down at the computer – or with
a good old-fashioned pen and paper – and simply write EVERYTHING that comes
into your head, without censorship or editing.
No punctuation. No purpose.
Just… write.
Write as fast as you can. Write impetuously. Write without
thinking about what you’re writing. Write until you feel like your hand might
drop off.
One thought will flow into the next, and the next. Much like
rivulets of running water, merging and diverging, the brain forms a constant
stream of associations. Your job for this exercise is not to judge or qualify
or harness these, but simply to record every whimsical direction your mind
chooses to wander.
This can be a great tool for unlocking writer’s block. It’s
also useful as a daily warm-up, say for five minutes before starting work on
your MS.
Free writing teaches you to write instinctively and reminds
you of what it’s like to play with words for the sheer pleasure of it – the way
you used to once, perhaps as a child, when you simply wrote for fun, with no
expectations.
When you’ve finished, you may choose to read back over what
you’ve written. It will undoubtedly make no sense whatsoever. That’s okay. The
end product is not the point.
The point is how it makes you feel. When I take the time to
do this, I feel limbered up, fluid, reckless, ready to dive in and splash words
around on the page with abandon.
And my perfectionism is stunned into silence… for a while,
anyway.
Your turn. Perfectionists, raise your hands. Do you
ever find your perfectionism stifling? Do you have any tips that have helped
you to loosen up and have fun with your writing?
Images courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net
Karen Schravemade lives in Australia. When she's not chasing after two small boys or gazing at her brand-new baby girl, she spends her spare minutes daydreaming about the intricate lives of characters who don't actually exist. Find her on her website, on Twitter or getting creative over at her mummy blog.
