Here are three conversations I’ve had in my life with people I care about very much, with people who were and/or wanted to be writers.
None of them were clients. So, I was not having these conversations in the position of coach, but of relatively helpless bystander.
(All details have been fictionalised. Because, as we know, that’s the safest but quickest route to the truth.)
Would-be-writer 1: I had a wonderful holiday. I walked for miles. Got caught in the rain once. Absolutely soaked. Felt like such an artist. You know, suffering. All these incredible images and stories played in my mind. Visions. It was wonderful.
Me: Did you write anything down?
WBW1: No.
Would-be-writer Two: I have this really cool thing I do, I call it the worthiness wheel. I spin the story around in my head for ages and ages so I can see everything that could possibly go wrong. That way it stops me wasting time with an idea that wasn’t going to work anyway.
Me: When did you last write something down?
WBW2: Um…
Would-be-writer 3: It would be fine if I could write faster. The problem is I have so many ideas and of course I have to write them in full sentences, tidily.
Me: Have you ever experimented with writing down just the key words? And coming back later?
Would-be-writer 3: Certainly not. I wouldn’t want to do that at all.
This morning, I was holding creative writing BA and MA student tutorials. Whether we’re talking about essays (i.e. writing about writing) or creative projects (i.e. writing), I always know when someone has an idea they like.
It starts with classic blank page syndrome: I haven’t got any ideas.
It moves to the calm that comes when any writer (at least, any writer who’s done a workshop with me) remembers their training and starts thinking on the page. Alright, here goes, I’ll pick a lane – this word, this picture, or any other kind of prompt – and they allow thoughts to form without auditioning them.
That’s when the question starts to form.
“Am I allowed to…?”
“Is it alright if I…?”
“Is it cheating if…?”
When you’ve got an idea, it often feels like you must have done something wrong. The idea you’ve got too obvious. Too easy. Surely it’s someone else’s (as Paul McCartney thought when he woke up having dreamed the melody of Yesterday, and subsequently used up the next few hours asking everyone he could think of if they recognised it, or had written it, or where it came from because surely it couldn’t be his?). It becomes an entirely new kind of self-doubt to the one where you didn’t have the idea. Two sides of the same self-doubt coin.
Still, having your idea feels nothing like the pain of searching and sweating for a ‘good’ idea', the ‘right’ idea. Whether we’re talking about experienced writers (including Sir Paul) or writers just starting out, the temptation is the same because the self-doubt is the same: it tries to convince you to prioritise doubt over curiosity. But you don’t have to choose to follow the self-doubt. You can follow the curiosity. Where does the idea take you next? What’s around the next corner?
One of the five First Draft Commandments in Your Creative Writing Toolkit (and probably my favourite one, for everything from speechwriting and interviews to making up stories for myself or to a brief) is not to seek to be interesting; seek to be interested. Like any creative muscle-building, it’s a massive stretch at first. But it becomes a gentler stretch the more often you return to your prompts. The quicker you are to pick up a pencil instead of a judge’s cap and write your ideas instead of believe (as so many of us have lots years to) that you can edit what you haven’t written.
Grab a workout at the Writers’ Gym here or find out more on the website.
Subscribe to the Writers’ Gym podcast on Apple, Spotify or any of your favourite platforms.