The most important part of writing isn't the writing

I question everything I write.

Until I don’t.

That doesn’t mean I believe my drafts evolve into perfection.

Truth is I haven’t come close to writing the perfect piece, ever.

But what I’ve managed to learn over a few decades of writing is this:

The most important part of writing

is questioning and thinking about

what you just wrote.

This is the writer’s contemplative work that demands unmerciful scrutiny:

• Is this really what you mean?

• Will it resonate with the audience?

• Did you use a helpful example or accurate analogy?

• Did you allow jargon to slip in?

• Can you say this differently but better, quicker, more human and conversational?

• Is it reflective of the brand or individual you’re writing for?

• Would you want to read this?

• Does it educate or challenge what you think?

• Does it make you want to take action?

Here’s an accepted truth:

Anyone can write and putting words on paper or a screen is easy.

But not everyone is a writer – and that’s okay and also acceptable. Not everyone is an engineer either. Which is why it’s helpful for non-writers to understand how writers do what they do.  

Writing (the process) doesn’t look like

writing (the act) at all.

Writing is rooted in everything that is simmering before the first words are hammered out, after the first draft –  and second, third or seventh – or however many are required until you land on a draft worthy of being final.

Writing includes thinking, mulling, stewing, questioning, arguing with yourself, walking away and letting first words calcify, returning to test if they are strong or brittle, tearing elements down and rebuilding.

It looks more like sculpting than writing. That’s because it is art.

Writing also involves letting someone with zero subject matter expertise read your draft to find out if they can follow it, to see if it makes sense even if they don’t know the technical details. Because simplicity outperforms the bravado of expert posturing. Which is to say…

Good writing is hard.

It is never automatic, and never a given.

Writing something good, once, is in no way a guarantee that your next thing will be any good. It requires doing the hard work from scratch, all over again with no shortcuts, in hopes that it too might become good.

The myth of great ideas.

Great ideas (epiphanies!) rarely “just happen” in a first draft or any draft. It’s like the fleeing fireworks display in the sky – it’s looks pretty, briefly, followed by hazy residue once the twinkle fades as you await what comes next. Instead, great ideas are the tortoises in these races to the finish line, always plodding a bit slower than we’d like but worth it in the end.

In fact, epiphanies aren’t unexpected, out-of-the-blue thoughts or ideas at all. They emerge when you prune and edit everything that’s been taking up space – in your brain and on the page. In this sense, the epiphany becomes sudden, recognizable clarity as bloated language and jargon get removed.

The great idea emerges after carefully working and examining the entire landscape and finding it has been hiding in plain sight all along.

Good writing is never over.

However, at some point it needs to be ready or complete. Complete means as far as you can take it, as well as you possibly can, with what you know right now. Because a few weeks or months from now you’ll look at what you wrote and find yet another way, possibly a better way to say it.

For people who don’t do a lot of writing, this takes entirely too long.

For writers, there’s always a desire for more time to allow the best ideas and language to emerge and mature. And that’s because writers know what’s at stake, writers know what the right words can unlock.

These days a lot of written content feels disposable, unhelpful, noisy [add your descriptor here].

It feels like fast food: quick, convenient, seemingly necessary, but also lacking. And just like fast food, disposable content feels even less fulfilling after its consumed.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

Even the shortest post can have a powerful impact.

The deception is in how easy it appears (but now you know the truth).

Slow down.

Think it through (ask more Qs and then think some more).

And then write some really good sh*t.   

** For the record, I wrote and edited this piece across multiple days and sittings, challenging myself and what I believe about the process. Nothing comes easy.

*** The photo image is the cover of Steven Pressfield’s book of the same title and is a must read for writers.

Before I Forget — Things I've Learned from My Mother's Dementia

Pay attention to the list (photo credit: Glenn Carstens-Peters)

I am not particularly good at making lists. I know what needs to get done and when, and only when the world feels like too much to handle do I feel compelled to write things down in checklist form. It’s a bit strange considering I write just about everything else down that comes to mind as a writer and creative.

But I’m going to strongly advocate for this list.

It’s one of the few that I have penned. I’m sure there are similar lists out there, but this one is mine. It’s well-worn and lived in.

And I’m sharing it because I think you can benefit from it – even if a loved one isn’t ill or disappearing in front of your eyes. It’s a different kind of list, one that doesn’t bring the kind of joy and satisfaction from checking the box. Each time I am reminded to turn to it, I think of the Avett Brothers Murder in the City where brothers Scott and Seth sing these final lines:  

If I get murdered in the city
Go read the letter in my desk
Don't bother with all my belongings
But pay attention to the list

Make sure my sister knows I loved her
Make sure my mother knows the same
Always remember there was nothing worth sharing
Like the love that let us share our name
Always remember there was nothing worth sharing
Like the love that let us share our name

And with that, pay attention to the list.

1.      Life moves slowly, often predictably; then it changes all at once. Recognize this as the rule rather than the exception. You’re not being singled out.

2.      Being right doesn’t matter. Showing love does. 

3.      Show up.

4.      After you’ve taken it personally, don’t take it personally.

5.      Listen. There’s a story to decode underneath the misidentified people and places. There’s a memory trying to rise to the surface.

6.      Ask for stories. Write them down. History is fading before your eyes. 

7.      Grief is not an event. It is a series of high and low tides that never cease.

8.      Costume jewelry can save a lot of heartache.

9.      Watch the film Alive Inside and see how playing music awakens the brain, reaches that far off part that remains uncorrupted. Tap the well that appears to be empty.

10.  Hide-n-seek is not only a kid’s game. Approach what’s missing with a kid-like curiosity and desire to find.

11.  Give compliments. Tell her she looks beautiful, how she reminds you of a special time.  

12.  Enjoy the silence. Sometimes presence is enough.

13.  Take walks. Slow is still active.

14.  Pull photographs before the funeral home asks. They are memory triggers for conversation, not just a five-minute carousel of a life lived.    

15.  She’s your parent, but his spouse. Same person, different interpretations. Remember and respect it as they would want you to do.

16.  Let her eat what she wants to eat. We’re no longer staving off anything.   

17.  Ask often: what really matters at this moment?

18.  Denial: don’t let it be the disease you suffer from.

19.  Making up for lost time, lost ground, lost arguments is unachievable. Making the most of the moment is achievable.

20.  Become an advocate for their health and well-being. This is as important with family members as it is with physicians.

21.  You are of little good to others if you are not taking care of yourself.

22.  This isn’t forever.

23. Find community. Grieve together. Lift each other up. Keep walking forward.

24.  This is a list for dementia, for Alzheimer’s. But don’t let that stop you from using the list. 

READING OLD NOTES: gaining insight through reflection

I keep a stack of moleskine notebooks and serviceable knock-offs on a bookshelf in my writing studio. They are filled with meeting notes, doodles, writing prompts, sketches, and lists of peculiar word pairings that I imagine using in future pieces. There’s also some wise advice I’ve picked up and scribbled into the margins during this work-and-life journey.

I admit that once these notebooks are filled, I rarely pick them up or thumb through them again.

That is until recently.

I had been feeling anxious about a writing assignment and a personal project. I was struggling to start, to finish, to find the right words. They weren’t coming. More than writer’s block, it was a questioning of my abilities to perform my core work.

So I began thumbing through old words. Past projects. Thing that at one time seemed daunting. Things that felt important to commit to paper.

I wasn’t looking for anything particular. I was simply revisiting and reflecting on past experiences and old ideas.

And it made me stop and think: why is it that we scan old photo albums (or file folders) with a sense of wonder and excitement? Why does Facebook send us anniversary milestones of friendships? Why do we painstakingly curate playlists in Spotify from the 80s or 90s when there’s so much new music across any genre for us to enjoy? Why do we show up and honor, in our own special way, those whom we’ve lost?

Because we need to be reminded.

Reminded of what’s important and what matters;

what we’re striving for and what keeps us in the game;

what gives us life and purpose, hope and joy.

Looking for the right words and answers continues to be an imperfect and ongoing search. If not now, then assuredly later. And you, I’m assuming, will have your own specific search that demands resolving – from the mundane to the monumental challenges.  

As I thumbed through some old notes, I found some words of advice and inspiration, and a few that served as a kick in the pants to keep going, to pick ourselves up, to get better, and to never stop.

In some cases it was as if I was reading these points for the first time. For others, I had a different perspective thanks to the experiences I’ve has since I first scrawled the words.

Maybe these words – forgotten and tucked away in a notebook on a shelf, from writers, creators and, more importantly, doers – are exactly what I need to reflect on when the load feels heavy. And maybe you, too. Maybe these words needed some light thrown back on them to push us forward. Perhaps new eyes on these once-written, spoken and acted-upon words can breathe new life into whatever it is we need to do but haven’t.

I hope they are helpful, encouraging, or a kick in the pants. If they are, then write them down. Put them in a notebook. Add to them. And consider revisiting them from time to time.

Traveler, there is no road;

you make your own path as you walk.

As you walk, you make your own road,

and when you look back you see the path

you will never travel again.

– Antonio Machado // poet

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

– Annie Dillard // writer

“When we are merely competent, the value of our work is diminished until it can eventually be outsourced to the lowest bidder – making us a dispensable commodity.” (Don’t be merely competent. Be unmistakable.)

– Srinivas Rao // business author, podcaster

CRITICIZING IS EASIER THAN CREATING.

(shut up and get to work.)

“The trouble with comparing yourself to others is that there are too many others. Using all others as your control group, all your worst fears and your fondest hopes are at once true. You are good; you are bad; you are abnormal; you are just like everyone else.”

– Sarah Manguso // poet

“Emotion before evidence. Otherwise data will kill a good story on contact.”

– Todd Henry // writer, creativity consultant

“Keep being curious. Keep being a student.

As soon as you stop doing that, as soon as you stop playing,

you stop creating great things.”

 – Matthew Luhn // writer, Pixar Animation Studios

At the end of my suffering, there was a door.

– Louise Glück // poet

“If you listen to everyone, you will lose yourself.

You were hired for your expertise. Deliver that.”

– Ruth Carter // costume designer for Black Panther

But what if I’m not a real writer/artist/entrepreneur/etc.? Just sit down and do it.

What if my idea isn’t any good? Just try. Do it anyway.

What if nobody sees it? It’s not about who sees it, it’s about why you did it.

What if I’m stuck? When you’re at an edge, push through it.

What if this was a gigantic waste of time? Trust that it won’t be.

 – Allison Fallon // writer, coach, adapted from perspectives on writing

DARE. MIGHTY. THINGS.

Then do the work to achieve those things.