Writerly Wrevelations

I write poems (you can find my books here: Please Buy These Books ASAP!) Over the past 14 months or so of lockdown, I’ve had an epiphany or two and faced a few come-to-jaysus moments about my own writing and process. I wish I’d realized/discovered/faced these a few decades back, so I could have gotten more done by now: 

1. Most writers I know (referred to henceforth in this piece as “writers”) are crazy insecure. We think we’re imposters. Each of us thinks we’re the BEST. WRITER. EVER. We think no one will want to read what we write. We’re not sure WE want to read what we write. We need approval. We don’t need no stinking approval. Yes, we do. You like me, right? RIGHT?!? 

2. I haven’t decided yet if writers are the “precious and private” (Bukowski) hermits of the stereotype, or we’re just the wordy, nerdy kids with masking-taped glasses no one will pick in Red Rover, so we preemptively claim loner-dom, because see #1. 

3. Writers have enormous, ponderous, stumbling egos, fragile as antique bone china. We know that a rising tide lifts all ships, but it isn’t in our nature to help/promote/mentor other writers; we’re more like frightened roller derby queens rounding a curve, elbows out and ready. Generosity is something we have to consciously work at (somewhere in the backs of our minds, we think YOU getting published means I CAN’T). 

4. I wouldn’t be here, in writerly terms, without the generosity of some amazing folks who've mastered #3. 

5. Cats are demanding, aloof, and disinterested. They dish out emotional abuse. Most writers have cats (self-abuse, see #1). A few have dogs (constant approval, see #1). 

6. What conditions do I need to write? Complete solitude. Total silence. Time. That’s why I have six full/part-time jobs and live in a house with other humans, dogs, parrots, canaries, and 75 houseplants that need watering or repotting on a perpetual, unending schedule (self-sabotage and martyrdom, see #1). 

7. I started writing when I was in elementary school. When I was in grad school, I learned “the craft” (like witchcraft, but with MLA style; poetry as technically precise as it was bloodless). After a decade of grad school recovery, I remembered how to write. 

8. It’s best not to have your desk facing a window (see #14). 

9. All writers want to be published. Some writers lie about this (see #1). 

10. Publishing is the devil. It’s a numbers game. It’s like weight loss: you really do have to burn more calories than you eat. To get something published, you have to continuously send off work in huge numbers (then cast spells, light candles, repeat incantations, and dance naked at midnight around a manual typewriter). Rinse & repeat ad infinitum. Publishing takes 25% talent and 75% stamina. 

11. A mere handful of writers (you and I are not among them) will achieve enough name recognition to improve the odds. Some will even BEAT the odds, and people will start ASKING to publish their work. They are the writerly version of the rare albino freetail bat. The rest of us boring brown bats might as well hang from the lampshade, pound down a bag of Doritos, and binge a season of Fortitude. 

12. Winning prizes for your writing is really cool. It costs big $$$ to enter contests. Again, those odds: the more you spend…you get the idea. 

13. All writers want to be published and win cool prizes. 

14. Any writer who claims: (1) It just pours out of me in one draft; (2) It’s like I’m channeling the muse; (3) I never revise, so I can keep it honest and authentic; (4) I just write down what the voices say, or some such nonsense, is either revising in secret or writes horrid drivel. 

15. I’m a procrastiwriter. Writing is hard work. And there are dishes to do, grout to scrub, socks to darn, backyard bird feeders to watch, junk drawers to organize. If I completely rearrange my home office, I can create a more productive writing space. Maybe some candles. Aromatherapy. More plants. Maybe I should build shelves behind my desk. If I took the kayak out for paddle, it would relax and inspire me…