Love the One You’re With
By Julia Munroe Martin | November 26, 2018 |
By Photo Graphic on Flickr’s Creative Commons
In my last blog on Writer Unboxed, three months ago, I wrote about being a weary writer.
I miss the feeling of being lost in my writing, of being in the zone—I haven’t felt like that in a while. I wake up every morning with an empty feeling inside, longing to feel lost in a story like I used to. Some mornings I feel so bad about it, I want to cry. I shuffle downstairs, make coffee, and look at my writing projects, jumping from project to project. I want to write. I do write. But not with excitement or passion.
That post produced a flurry of reactions. Over forty comments from other writers who had at some point (or currently) felt the same way and offered empathy, solace, and advice. I received ten emails, some from writers I’d not met before. And a few days after I wrote my post, Donald Maass wrote one addressing my post.
I am so grateful to all of you. Thank you for taking the time to reach out and make me feel less alone. Here’s what I learned: most of us have been here at some point or another. Unsure. Unable to find the flow of our writing. Frustrated. Some at the point of giving up.
Here’s what else I learned: there are many ways to approach this problem.
Experts often fall into two schools of thought: write through the “creative block” (although I hesitate to use that terminology, it’s the description that seems to fit best) OR take a creative break—do something besides your “primary creative endeavor” (for me, writing), perhaps do nothing at all.
Write Through, Write On
I am terrified of taking a break. (This could be a whole other blog in itself—not intending to be secretive here, it has to do with fear I’ll never restart and/or get too old and never get published.) Instead, I’ve chosen the write through approach, or as I call it: love the one you’re with.
Remember the old song: Love the One You’re With? This song’s lyrics actually fit to a “T” the approach I have these days. Take this riff:
Don’t be angry—don’t be sad
Don’t sit crying over good times you’ve had
There’s a girl right next to you
And she’s just waiting for something to do
Exchange girl with work in progress—you may have to sing the lyrics really fast, but it works—and see what I mean?
Part of the reason this approach works for me is that I don’t have writer’s block—not technically speaking—I can and do write. Instead, I feel stymied. Locked in a feeling of a lack of passion for what I’m writing, whatever that is (yes, sadly, even this blog post). But I can write. I am writing. I have written over ten thousand words in the past month—part of a novel, a short story, and a couple of blog posts—even during this whirlwind excitement of life.
It’s the flow, the passion that is so different from what I used to have.
Maybe it goes without saying that I’m a passion-driven writer (I’d go so far as to say it’s the way I live my life), so figuring out this particular part of the equation—why I feel the way I feel and what is keeping me from returning to the enthusiasm and flow—does not feel natural and is a work in progress. I’ve never had to do it before. On the other hand, I don’t know if I need to figure out exactly why, but I do know I need to figure out how to get back in touch with those feelings. Who of us doesn’t want to experience that effortless feeling when the writing flows?
But there’s another important reason—I’m afraid my words will reflect my lack of passion. Although I may have all the words in place, they may fall flat and reflect my feelings of ambivalence. In short, I’m afraid whatever I write will be boring to read.
Go Gently and Be Kind
As I work through this period, I continue to try and be gentle with myself, to use language that doesn’t demean my writing. To use positive language and take action that encourages me to write. When I described my writing, above, as potentially flat, that’s as negative as I want to get. Sometimes I catch myself using language to describe my new WIP as the “the dumbest story ever,” which I fear is counter intuitive as well as demoralizing. When I feel that this is true, when I feel that fear, I am gentle with myself. I acknowledge my feelings of inadequacy, but I also remind myself that even if this work is not my finest, I am learning.
To help me accomplish this goal, I started working with an editor, to help me hone some of my new ideas and to re-read an already-completed manuscript. When my fear creeps through my writing, I can turn to her and get a more objective view. I can also use her feedback and encouragement as a way to learn how to develop my fiction-writing skills—another positive I can get out of this less-than-enthusiastic writing period, a time to improve my mechanics.
I hate to say I’m hopeful—in case I jinx myself—but there are moments this month I feel a fleeting passion for writing. Not for what I’m currently working on, but once in a while I’ll have what feels like a zap of clarity and thrill, an idea comes then goes, and in that instant, I feel a cloud lift. A feeling that if I write it will be easy and beautiful and it will flow. I can’t say that I feel this way even close to as often as I used to—in the old days, I could hardly type fast enough to keep up with already-fabricated-in-my-mind stories—but this is a glimmer of hope that didn’t exist when I wrote my last post, a step in the right direction, a step outside the locked-in feeling I’ve had for months.
If I’ve learned anything from this period of time, it’s that you can’t always predict how or why your mind will work in certain ways. Maybe sometimes the one you’re with becomes the one you love . . . I don’t know. That’s a part of the story I haven’t yet written. All I know is to write on.
What about you? Have you been here? Have you ever loved the one you’re with? Or are you passion-driven (like I was and sometimes still am)?
[coffee]
Julia Munroe Martin (@jmunroemartin) is a writer and blogger who lives in an old house in southern coastal Maine. Julia’s other passion is photography, and if she’s not writing at the dining room table or a local coffeeshop, you’ll likely find her on the beach or dock taking photos. Julia writes The Empty Nest Can Be Murder mystery series as J. M. Maison.
Julia, thank you for sharing such a personal part of your writing journey. I think everyone in every walk of life gets down and loses the passion at various times. It is part of the human condition.
When that feeling settles over me, I remind myself of the advice I share with new writers. 1. This too shall pass if you really want it to. 2. Be kind to yourself. Nothing kills creativity like negative self talk. 3. And finally, I share my grandmother’s wisdom. She reared 11 children and made most of their clothes. By all accounts, she was a marvelous, creative seamstress. She advised that when you become frustrated with a project, put it down for a little while and do something else. When you return, whatever had you flummoxed will have worked itself out. By “a little while”, she meant for an hour or two, not days or months. I have found her advice to be some of the best I’ve ever received.
Best wishes for your continued success and the return of your passion.
Thank you for your (and your grandmother’s!) great advice. I appreciate your best wishes and kind suggestions, Linda!
Julia, although I’ve followed Writer Unboxed for years, I’ve never left a comment until today.
Several months ago, I was exactly where you are now. It was almost two years since the publication of my debut novel. I wrote, but everything I produced felt stale and forced. I decided to take up a project I’d considered for sometime, but that was outside of my current genre. I hope I don’t jinx myself (we writers are a superstitious lot), but three months later, I am in love with this project and can’t type fast enough.
In the meantime, I sent several of my earlier, boring projects to editors, and it turns out that they are some of the best work I’ve done to date. My point is, (finally) what you are producing now is probably much better than you think it is.
Thank you for sharing, and please know that you are far from alone in this unpleasant but temporary slump.
Thank you for your empathetic comment, Anne-marie! Means so much. “Unpleasant but temporary slump” sounds totally bearable. And yes we writers are totally superstitious, so enough said!!
PS So proud to be your first comment! <3
Great and heartfelt post, Julia. I firmly believe you will break out of this bad patch by working with the text you currently have, loving the one you’re with. Something will catch fire, either on the page or in your life that will lead you back. You are a writer and that means you can never truly walk away.
Thank you for the kind and encouraging comment, Beth. So appreciate the support. And you really nailed it with this: “You are a writer and that means you can never truly walk away.” Yes. Exactly why I think I feel the torture I do. Thanks again!
Hey Julia,
I’ve been following all three posts and the response with great interest and empathy. I didn’t really feel I had anything new to offer in the replies to your first essay – so many had already offered the advice I would’ve, to power through or step back. I’ve done both.
May I first say that I too miss that passionate, on-a-roll high that I had during… oh, I’d say the first six years or so? I really loved that. But I’ve sort of made my peace with its absence. For me (and this is just a hunch), I think part of the reason it’ll never be the same is due to my own improvement. Having breezed (for lack of a better word, and relatively speaking) through the first draft of my trilogy, and then having undergone the years of work it took to try to “fix” the many, many issues I’d breezed myself into, I am no longer the same writer. I can never not know what I now know again. Hence, I’ve concluded that roller-coaster-ride of my early passion for my first epic attempt at composing a novel shall forever be nothing more than a memory with fleeting snatches of its recurrence. That’s sort of bittersweet, I know. But, for me, it seems to be reality.
But here’s the sweet part of my bittersweet truth – the one that, again and again, has kept me going: I know I can’t quit. I’ve tried. Every time I do, my gut revolts – my subconscious screaming that writer-me is not going to go away quietly, my characters crying out in anguish, my unfinished books fading from mental pictures like Marty’s family from that photo in Back To The Future. The revolt in my head is so damn noisy, echoing in my cranium, that I fully understand that I could never live with it.
On its surface, that might not sound very sweet. But think about it. Something, or somebody, or some force (sorry, I’m a little woo-woo about this, but you don’t have to be) is trying to tell me that this work is not only worthy but necessary. It’s not mine to know why. Only that it is. I am *meant* to do this. I can’t explain it, nor can I deny it. As I say, it’s my truth.
Also remember, passion comes in all shapes and sizes. Will we ever be as passionate about Christmas as we were when we were kids? Not me! Still, Christmas is pretty darn nice, isn’t it? I mean, there’s a lot of soothing comfort to it – all of that brotherly love and peace on earth-speak. It still feels so nice, still fills my heart. And that’s a sort of passion, isn’t it? Just because we’re not out-of-our-minds, giddy with excitement for Santa and presents and candy, etc., we would never want to “quit” Christmas, would we? I sure don’t.
Just a few thoughts. Wishing you warm, fuzzy passion, and an inability to quit, and your own version of writerly truth, my friend. Thanks so much for showing us that we’re not alone through your open, honest, and awesome essays.
Vaughn, I love this reply. We cannot recapture those early days (years), high on the flow of easy writing, because we are writers who know more, who are better at writing and storytelling. We can still get a thrill and be entranced by the thrall of a new idea, of a deep insight, but this will feel different from that high of the early days (years). So although it may not be as exciting or all-encompassing, it is a sign of progress. This way of looking at it feels encouraging to me :-)
Hi Natalie! So glad it feels encouraging. Also, miss you! :-)
I agree, Natalie, Vaughn’s way of looking at what I’ve been going through seems much more encouraging!!
Your comment really, really hit a nerve, Vaughn. Thank you.
I think you’re on to something when you say… “I know I can’t quit.” Yes. And this: “Something, or somebody, or some force (sorry, I’m a little woo-woo about this, but you don’t have to be) is trying to tell me that this work is not only worthy but necessary. It’s not mine to know why. Only that it is. I am *meant* to do this. I can’t explain it, nor can I deny it. As I say, it’s my truth.” WOW YES!
I am not normally a woo-woo type either but this truly resonates with how I feel, why I feel so driven to write through this time. The work is certainly necessary to me, as you say, I cannot deny that.
Thank you for reminding me to look beyond the “puppy love” passion to the lasting, more mature love (to use a slightly different example than you used with Christmas). It makes so much sense. I truly do have an inability to quit, and here’s hoping your more-encouraging (or enlightened) suggestion for how to see my current state will lead to a healthier way to view my writing.
Thank you again so much!
Aw, this is lovely. Knowing my outlook has been even a little helpful, well, it just fills my heart right up. You might even say I feel a warm and lasting passion over it. ;-)
Thanks for making my night! Here’s to an increasingly mature and healthy view of our writing, my friend.
Vaughn, you have captured so well the sentiments that rose in me as I read Julie’s post. Our relationships with our work and writing are not dissimilar to our personal relationships, and they, too evolve over time. I am in the winter of my life, maybe LOL, but certainly late autumn, and my passion for all things has softened and mellowed. And I think that is perfectly okay.
I especially like your comparison to Christmas, so apt at this time of the year. Happy writing to us all.
Julia, I also have a tendency to write through the slumps, when the passion isn’t there. Funnily enough, it comes creeping in without my noticing. I think part of the reason is that as we grow as writers we also become critical. I allow myself to have at least an hour or two to…for lack of a better word, play. Toy with ideas. This has helped me enormously to stretch myself even in the midst of deadlines and numerous writing-related tasks that can sap my energy.
Have you ever read any of Julia Cameron? Her Artist’s Way is famous. But the book of hers that I’m loving right now is the most is the Sound of Paper. I found it at the thrift store. Her writing is luminous and expansive and she stokes the fires within me. Perhaps you might enjoy her as a companion on your writing journey. All the best, Julia. We’ve chosen a path that’s not the easiest, but surely the most rewarding.
Thank you, Vijaya! I love your idea of playing with words — I’ve kind of being doing some of that myself and I agree it’s very helpful. And funny you’d ask about Julia Cameron. I have revisited Artist’s Way, but I’e not read Sound of Paper — I will most definitely check it out. Thank you for your support and encouragement!
Julia, I was one of those who usually never responds to the posts I read, but I did respond to yours because it so resonated with me. What I have found is somewhat similar to what you are saying here, simply – to just keep writing. Even though my passion may not be what it once was. Sometimes, I also journal my feelings about what I am writing. It seems to help to write honestly about how I feel about it and to search for the reasons why it feels that way. For now, when I sit down to work on my WIP, the main character is still “speaking” to me, so I guess I will take that as a cue to listen to her story and get it down on paper, even if it doesn’t seem like the finest thing ever written. Thank you for your posts that are so transparent.
Thank you for your encouragement, Linda — it means so. much to have other writers tell me their stories. I also have started to journal (morning pages) which I haven’t done for a long time. It does seem to help. That’s awesome that your main character is speaking to you. I love that you get it down even if it doesn’t seem like the finest thing ever written. I think that kindness and compassion with ourselves and each other is at the root of at least some of this — I’m so glad you picked my post to respond to and I’m so happy to be on this writing path together. Thank you again.
I am in that space at the moment, Julia. The love and excitement of writing has gone and I don’t know how to get it back.
I can’t even go to my other creative activity of scrap-booking, although I have developed a love of being in my garden and working there. Perhaps that will get me back to where I was. I don’t know.
Glad you are seeing glimmers of hope. I hope I do too one day.
I’m so sorry you’re in the same boat, Linda — with writing and scrap-booking, too. I’m happy that you love gardening and it’s bringing you joy. That’s one of the things I’ve learned through my research; sometimes another creative outlet will lead to increased passion with writing. I hope that works for you. I’m rooting for those glimmers of hope for both of us. Take care.
Vaughn, you have captured so well the sentiments that rose in me as I read Julie’s post. Our relationships with our work and writing are not dissimilar to our personal relationships, and they, too evolve over time. I am in the winter of my life, maybe LOL, but certainly late autumn, and my passion for all things has softened and mellowed. And I think that is perfectly okay.
I especially like your comparison to Christmas, so apt at this time of the year. Happy writing to us all.