Words of Redemption

“I believe that the so-called “writing block” is a product of some kind of disproportion between your standards and your performance… One should lower his standards until there is no felt threshold to go over in writing. It’s easy to write. You just shouldn’t have standards that inhibit you from writing… I can imagine a person beginning to feel he’s not able to write up to that standard he imagines the world has set for him. But to me that’s surrealistic. The only standard I can rationally have is the standard I’m meeting right now… You should be more willing to forgive yourself. It doesn’t make any difference if you are good or bad today. The assessment of the product is something that happens after you’ve done it.”
- William Stafford

For almost a week now, I have been dancing around actually continuing the current short story I’ve been working on. I’ve written the first scene, which is about 800 words, and have set up the remaining scenes via notes and ideas. I know exactly where the story goes and how it ends.

So why can’t I write it?

At first, I thought that maybe I needed to spend my morning time reading, so I spent a few days in that mode. And that was nice, but I still didn’t feel like writing the story.

Then I felt like maybe I needed to go a few days without writing, which is something I rarely do. Maybe I just needed a break. So when Sarah and I went out of town for a weekend of skiing, I left the Mac at home. Also very nice, but I still didn’t feel like writing yesterday morning.

Befuddled, I journalized¹ about it this morning and came up with two possible reasons why I am having trouble finishing this story:

1. The subject matter is weightier than my stories to date and I feel less than capable of doing the story justice as a result.
2. I’m finding myself wanting to write the story correctly the first time (wrong), rather than just writing and allowing the story to solidify when I edit it (right).

In all likelihood, both are simply indicators of the fact that I have subconsciously raised the bar too high for myself. Here I am, pole in hand, staring up at the twenty foot tall bar and wondering how I’m supposed to use this wobbly plastic stick to launch myself to the other side. Are there any three foot high hurdles around? I can get over those with no problem. Don’t even need the pole.

But it makes sense. For the last month, I have been:

1. Reading a book on editing.
2. Re-reading, editing, re-re-reading, re-editing and re-re-re-reading two of my short stories and submitting them for publication.
3. Prepping my novel for a second draft and re-write.

Is it really any wonder that I’m stuck? I’ve been living the self-editing life, and now I’m trying to escape back to idyllic fields.

Escape I shall, and leave the rigors of editing and refining behind. This post² shall serve as my catharsis.

I’m giving myself permission to write with abandon. To write whatever comes to mind and to say whatever I feel like saying.

We’ll just let “future Brandon” sort it all out.

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1. according to my spell checker, this is a real word, so I’m using it [↩]
2. in addition to a great deal of prayer [↩]

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