Discomfort, Intention, and Creativity
By Guest | April 1, 2022 |
Recently, multi-published author and long-time Writer Unboxed reader Leslie Budewitz reached out to share her experience after reading one of David Corbett’s posts here at WU. David’s words inspired an opening for her, which led to a breakthrough in her process. Could she share what she’d written? Of course, yes. After reading Leslie’s wonderful essay, how could we resist publishing it here? I think you’ll agree it is generous and empowering. Our thanks to Leslie for sharing!
More about Leslie from her bio:
Leslie Budewitz blends her passion for food, great mysteries, and the Northwest in two cozy mystery series, the Spice Shop mysteries set in Seattle’s Pike Place Market, and the Food Lovers’ Village mysteries, set in NW Montana. The latest is Carried to the Grave and Other Stories: A Food Lovers’ Village Mystery (May 2021). As Alicia Beckman, she writes moody suspense, beginning with Bitterroot Lake (April 2021) and continuing with Blind Faith (October 2022). A three-time Agatha-Award winner, she is a past president of Sisters in Crime and a current board member of Mystery Writers of America. She lives in northwest Montana with her husband, a musician and doctor of natural medicine, and their gray tuxedo cat.
Learn even more about Leslie and her work on her website, and by following her on Facebook and Instagram.
When I read David Corbett’s post on the difficulty of writing these days, “Distraction, Focus, Silence,” it came at the end of a week in which I had managed to get to the novel in progress every day, but never for very long. I’d revised a few pages, finished a chapter, started a new one. But I couldn’t focus and I was seriously unhappy about it. To see a friend confess his struggles was both disheartening and reassuring.
Then I read the comments. What struck me were the quotes that boil down to this: We let ourselves be distracted from the work because the work makes us uncomfortable.
Bingo! I’d long realized I tend to leave the page when I don’t know what happens next. All too often, a brief break becomes a long one. To overcome that, I’d devised a strategy of leaving my desk but keeping the story problem consciously in mind. And it worked. The kitchen sink would barely be half full of water when the answer would bubble up and I’d have to dash upstairs to make a few notes before finishing the dishes.
In the current season of distraction, though, that wasn’t working. You have to stay on the page long enough to run into the sticky situation for the unsticking solutions to work.
I wrote two books in 2020, and another book and a pair of short stories in 2021. I’ve had three books come out since the pandemic began and have two coming out in 2022. Why, after working steadily through the shutdown, two summers of wildfires and smoke (we live in the woods in the Northern Rockies), the political and social turmoil, am I struggling now? When we got Covid in November 2020, I took two weeks off, then picked right back up and finished the WIP. (Oh, the advantage of an outline!) Okay, the Santa Soot Conspiracy threw me— a gas fireplace repair went wrong and sent a fine layer of soot through our entire house; the restoration cleaning is done, the insurance claim is in progress, and most things are clean and back where they were. The dental emergency is resolved; my husband got through his second bout of Covid; the ice dam on the roof leaked into the newly repainted living room, and on a surprise warm day, snow and ice in the driveway melted and flooded most of the garage, but we know how to deal with it now and what to do when spring comes. Life isn’t back to normal, but it’s getting close.
But my writing wasn’t. So the WU conversation pushed me to dive into what was making me uncomfortable and what I could do about it.
- It’s a first draft, and all first drafts are uncomfortable.
- I get uncomfortable when I don’t know what happens next, in the next sentence or beyond. Whenever we pause to think about the next step in the story, we are vulnerable to distraction.
- I get uncomfortable when I worry about whether the manuscript will be any good and whether I’ll sell it. What if my July release is the last in the series? What if the fall book isn’t the breakout I want it to be? What if I’m actually not good enough?
- I get uncomfortable when I don’t feel connected to the story, often because I haven’t written for a few days or because I’m more focused on the fear than on the creative experience.
I saw right away that my discomfort stemmed mainly from fear. It took me longer to see another common thread:
- I get uncomfortable when I am looking too far ahead. When I am looking beyond the scene I’m writing, beyond the work to what it means, to me or to others.
And in these times when so much seems out of our control, the page can be especially uncomfortable because we’re never fully in control of our creative work.
Control, to use a paradigm that’s still useful even if no longer scientifically supported, is a left-brain process, while creative work is a right-brain process. The certainty of ticking things off the “to do” list can offer us comfort in a highly uncomfortable time.
But writing, even on the itchy days, offers me a much deeper satisfaction than a completed page in the planner. Was there a way to reconcile the creative drive with the discomfort so I could do the work?
David mentioned finding mediation helpful and I am envious; despite numerous attempts over the years, I’ve never been able to make that habit mine. But I have other tools, and in case they overlap with your own experience, I’m going to share them here.
I can:
Forgive myself. I acknowledge that I’ve been a highly productive writer for years now, and a temporary slowdown does not fundamentally change that. Psychologists say that dealing with the occasional creative block, rough patch, or whatever you want to call it, IS part of the creative process.
Recognize typical discomforts. Discomfort is natural—and it isn’t all bad. Sometimes it’s what drives us to dive deeper into a scene or sentence. While editing my fall book these past few weeks, I noticed passages that didn’t feel right, even though they’d survived several drafts. I also tried to notice when I wanted to get up and walk away. That meant something was wrong on the page. What was it? Had I gotten glib—a trap of mine—and written something lazy? Had I missed a chance to dig deeper into what was really motivating the character in that moment?
Remember what’s worked in the past. The rush from finding the right phrase or line of dialogue is almost as good as caffeine for honing the focus for me. And even if I don’t know just how a scene or exchange plays out, the deeper I dive into the emotions, the fresher and stronger the page—and the more invested I am. And both things help me stay on the page. It’s a bit circular; I need to stay focused long enough to make the deep dive that keeps me focused.
The classic practical tools still work, too: Think about the next chapter or scene before bed or before I sit down to write. Turn off email. Use a timer. Work in a different room. Take a plotting walk. If I’m away from the ms. for a day or more, look for three things I see, hear, or experience that I can give my characters. Set my intentions, which is different from establishing goals. My goal is to write ten new pages; my intention is to be focused and creative.
Know what works for you. Write it down. Use it.
Catch my brain in the act of distraction. I’ve noticed how I’ve let distractibility creep into other areas of my life. While I was writing this, I stepped into the kitchen for a glass of water and saw a jar of sesame seeds sitting on the counter. Thought I should look up whether they need to be refrigerated. Decided that could wait. So I’m practicing not giving in to distractions, no matter how small. Some will reassert themselves naturally— I’ll see those seeds the next time I go into the kitchen. If the intrusive thought is an idea, make a note and forget it, until later. Do one thing at a time.
Name the psychological stumbling blocks. Those of us writing for a living face a Catch-22: We need to sell the work, but the need to sell can impede the work. In my example, it’s a bit of catastrophizing: “I don’t know what happens next” becomes “I’ll never know” and “I’m not any good” and “it will never sell.” Sense a bit of imposter syndrome there? (Loved this discussion of imposter syndrome, The Psychology of Self-Doubt, on NPR’s The Hidden Brain. https://hiddenbrain.org/podcast/the-psychology-of-self-doubt/ Turns out that even an expert on the phenomenon experiences it—and he gives some good tips for responding.) It’s another instance where naming the problem makes it more manageable. “Oh, that’s what I’m doing, conflating momentary and completely natural discomfort with ultimate failure.” Even saying that sounds kind of silly, which cuts into its power. Not entirely, and not every time. But it’s a start.
A lot of this boils down to showing up. Choosing to engage. Creating the conditions for even five minutes of flow. Remembering that success, even if it’s writing two pages, breeds confidence.
I reread my list every day for a few weeks. It’s been bumpy—first drafts often are. Some mornings, I just did not want to get started, so I switched my schedule and did business and promo in the morning, returning to the page in the afternoon. But it got easier, and remembering my intention to create focus has helped enormously.
Of course, distraction is part of life—the chaos in the world is just not letting up. And not all distractions are created equal. Stopping work on a first draft to edit an upcoming release is part of the cycle of being a working writer—and way different from deciding that you need to clean out all your saved emails this very afternoon. The creative mind needs a break now and then to process all the stimulation it takes in—and now, with all its extra pressures, might just be then.
Which brings me back to where I started: Acknowledge what makes you uncomfortable and forgive yourself. Finding a solution to squirrel-spotting is a long-term, evolving thing. It’s probably endemic to creativity, because distraction and discomfort will always be with us and can lead to critical insights. It’s part of the process.
It’s the job of the artist to make others uncomfortable. Sometimes we make ourselves uncomfortable. Maybe that’s the price of doing the work.
What makes you uncomfortable when you’re writing? Have you found a practice or a tool I haven’t mentioned that helps you focus? Is there a trick or tool that’s worked for you in the past that you’ve let fall by the wayside? Are you willing to be uncomfortable now and then, if it helps you dive deeper into the work?
Many thanks to today’s guest.
You can read more WU guest posts by visiting this link.
That is such wise advice, to confront the discomfort and identify it. I definitely need to do more of that.
Distraction is becoming my biggest obstacle. I realize the past two years, with the sense of waiting out the pandemic, came a sense that distraction was fine. Distraction makes the time go quicker. When you are in a state of waiting, distraction is an asset.
But now, the waiting is over. And yet, distraction seems to be getting stronger for me. To deal with this, I looked back at what has worked before. I have always managed to get more creative projects accomplished, the more full my schedule. Maybe it’s the same reason deadlines and timers can work as inspiration. It makes sense. If I know there are only certain days in the week, certain hours of those days that I can write, then I know when to write.
So, my advice is to make scheduled commitments to others and you will find yourself making scheduled commitments to yourself and your creative priorities.
Ada, such an important observation: “When you are in a state of waiting, distraction is an asset.” And that has been such a dominant feature of our world the last two years. Distraction itself can become comfortable, while also an obstacle. And yes to scheduling our writing commitments, even though I’m breaking that schedule this morning! I wrote my three practice novels on Fridays, because that was the only time I had. When we make that commitment, our inner voices trust us to show up, and they join us. Good luck ideintifying your discomfort and making new commitments.
Hey Leslie — Great to see your byline here on the blog. I think this is so wise. At the very least, we should all find a way to step back from our process. We can all fall into ruts in our well-traveled roads, and sometimes they lead us to more and more bumps. The thing you wisely advise is to not just keep jolting along (been there, done that!).Thanks for the great tips!
Great suggestions, Leslie! I’m partial to forgiving myself, but doing so is often followed by guilt, which is not a good combo. Instead, I’ll follow your lead and try new tricks. :)
Ah, yes. The trick is forgive oneself and stay forgiven! I hope my ideas help.
Thanks, Vaughn. It’s always good to step back occasionally and assess our process, something you seem to have done with great care and insight.
Great stuff, Leslie! I can say “ditto” to much of it.
One weird thing I do when I’m waiting for the words to come is to personify the story I’m writing, and say to it, “If you want to exist, you’re going to have to teach me how to write you. Talk to me.” And somehow this helps me get over my insecurities. After all, I’m just the conduit, right? Some days the story is very chatty, and somedays it is mute. Mostly it is somewhere in between, and I try to be patient with the process.
Yeah, I said it was weird…
Weird, maybe, but I love it! Our subconscious, our creative voice, needs to know it can trust us to show up — and what better way than to invite it into conversation!
Your comment about patience reminds me of the motto I saw on a coaster the other day: “I had my patience tested. It was negative.” :)
Such a wonderful post, Leslie. I used to pride myself on my powers of concentration, and these days I find I have the mental staying power of a squirrel. Your advice is sound and I plan to give it a try.
Thanks, Liz. Stay the course! (Oh, look, a robin!)
Hi, Leslie:
Well, first, I’m utterly chuffed that I had anything whatsoever to do with this marvelous post. Your tactics for overcoming distraction and discomfort are gems. But what truly blew me over was the recounting of your various home disasters that you had to deal with — a flooded garage is one thing, but soot EVERYWHERE? I feel like an utter piker letting a mere cross-country move get in the way of my writing. (WARNING: Imposter Syndrome at work.)
But during the cross-country trip I had a dream that I fully intend to fictionalize. And this morning I woke with a scene in my head that I sat down and wrote before making coffee. Your lines about the joy of getting a scene right being an excellent corrective to the general anxiety created by outside events really struck home. It’s why being creative remains so important even as “things fall apart.” Creativity requires openness, generosity — and, yes, forgiveness — which are the polar opposite of the sanctimonious hatred and self-congratulatory anger that far too often pass for empowerment in these times. Thank you for reminding us of that — and for everything else you said. You made my morning, my day, my week.
Good morning, David! (It is still morning here in Montana, though my comments are taking their time to post.) The thanks truly are mine. When I start to recite to myself the litany of crazy-ness in our lives the last few months, I have to stop myself — no good comes of that! Nor, and I’m going to chide you a bit, does any good come from comparing the challenges in our lives to those of others. A cross-country move is A Really Big Deal. Although it can make us feel a little better to say “well, at least I didn’t have soot in my underwear drawer like she did”!
And I’m thrilled about your dream and a scene so compelling it couldn’t wait for coffee. I love your summing up of the role of creativity in true empowerment — thank you for that. Good luck settling into the new place, and taking that dream and that scene the next step.
Leslie, congratulations on Bitterroot Lake. Just ordered it! I confess it’s part of my avoidance of doing my own writing. And… I’m completely unrepentant :) I’m not going to get much writing done until after Easter anyway (Lent is a busy time for choristers–we just had two High Masses back to back and are preparing for two more along with all the beautiful Holy Week liturgies) so I might as well indulge in your book. Esp. since I love Montana too (set a short story in Missoula).
You give such excellent advice on overcoming the uneasiness that is part of writing at times. Thank you. Most of the time it’s because I don’t know what happens next or I’m worried what people might think (will they think this is me? ugh?) so I try to write past these feelings because experience has taught me that I’ve been here before, to trust the process, stay faithful.
Thanks, Vijaya! Smart to know your own rhythms and that this is a time better spent filling the well than trying to write. And you know what makes you uncomfortable on the page AND that if you can give the process a chance, you’ll come through it. Keep the faith!
Leslie, I’ve just come through a period of doing everything but the WIP. I told myself the distraction was a series of back-to-back medical appointments, but you helped me see clearly that I was also afraid of my manuscript. I had finally figured out the end, but I couldn’t see how to get there from here. Now I remember the saying about writers that you can only see as far as the headlights–it was one of your northwestern giants but I can’t call the name. At any rate, your words were helpful, and I’m grateful.
Judy, SO happy to be helpful. There certainly are times when outside obligations and other worries legitimately slow us down or derail us, but you smartly saw that while those appts were real distractions, there was also an internal one. With your track record, I know you can get to The End.
I’ve seen the quote you mention — “Writing a novel is liking driving at night — you can only see as far as the headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way” — attributed to EL Doctorow, though I don’t know if it originated with him.
I love the way you went deep into learning about how you work, how you faced distractions, and how you grew. I recognized myself in much of what you wrote here, so I’m going to reread and save, and I hope learn from it.
Thank you, Susan. Given how distracted I’ve been this morning, I think I need to re-read my own advice too!
“Oh, that’s what I’m doing, conflating momentary and completely natural discomfort with ultimate failure.” Gong! That is the squirrel that’s run through my hair (and left droppings) the last couple of days. Imposter syndrome can feel like imposter strangulation some days.
Thank you for the clarity of writing discomfort possibly signaling good tidings, rather than bad. Of course, then you have to go and do the work, but it’s better when you’ve evicted the squirrel (and the soot). Thanks, Leslie!
I think “squirrel droppings” will be my new all-purpose phrase to describe moments of frustration. Thanks, Tom!
This is so relatable, Leslie, and practical and helpful. Welcome, and thanks for your insights.
Thanks, Tiffany. After getting so much from so many contributors to this community, including you, I’m delighted to give back a little bit.
Thank you for this excellent and timely post, Leslie. I’m deep in the mire of self-doubt right now despite my good track record as an established writer, and I will definitely put some of these strategies in place. I’ve found it useful to re-read some of my own previously published work – a reminder that I do have what it takes (or so I tell myself at times of doubt.)
That’s an excellent tip. And thank you, Juliet, for all the help you’ve given me, indirectly, through your posts here. I’ve gained so much from reading the working writers like you and others here who just keep building on what they’ve already created, even in times of self-doubt.
I’m a bit late to the post here…but glad I kept the email to get back to! I can relate to much of what you shared, especially writing into the unknown (outline/rough draft was a bit skimpy in this part 😂) and how difficult it can be. That’s what I’m wading through right now, but each day at the WIP brings clarity and now the end (or the driveway of my home in my car’s headlights) is in sight. Thank you!