Don’t Make Your Work/Art/Writing Precious
Letting Yourself Start
Letting Go of Holding On
-Originally written July 15, 2020. Re-sharing as a reminder to self, and a recommitment to my own work.
Worse than trying to make something perfect is turning it into something precious.
“I don’t know what to write about.”
“I can’t create today. I’m not inspired.”
“Who else is having writer’s block?”
It’s funny how often I used to say “I don’t know what to write about” and then I’d turn around and write 1,500 words, and all I had to do was sit down and get started. Even if everything doesn’t stay, even if it gets red-penned, it’s satisfying to have put words to paper.
I’d argue we actually do know what to say, or write, or start making. We just rarely give ourselves permission to just start or pick back up where we left off, without it being precious and perfect.
Start anywhere. Start now.
All you need to do is light the fuse, take the lid off the can, turn the faucet on…whatever imagery works best for you. This is true for me almost every time I sit down to create. The problem is, most especially with creatives, maybe most specifically with writers, we want to start off with the perfect line, forgetting we can edit. Forgetting that perfection is the enemy of done — of never even starting.
One thing I have shrugged off this year is the idea of the struggling writer, that I must carry on the tragedy and tradition of the starving artist, of how hard it is to write a book, how painful it is to make art.
You know what’s hard? Surviving abuse. Working as an advocate. Learning to heal. Writing, while not always easy, is not that hard. But we’ve romanticized the idea that it is, that we must cry out to others the pain we are experiencing, and yes, of course I want to validate that we all get to feel what we feel, but I also think we have constructed a world that makes being creative so very fragile and precious, putting it on a pedestal to admire, forgetting to put in the actual work, hoping the muse will wave that magic wand and make all our dreams come true.
(Leave it to us creatives to be just that dramatic.)
“If creativity is normal, then it can be committed right in the heart of our family and friends — which is where creativity needs to be committed.” -Julia Cameron, Finding Water
We have made out that we must cater to the emotions of creativity, that we can only ride the waves of inspiration if the winds whisper just right, and if the moon hangs just so…then our perfectly conceived ideas will manifest. And yes, I know it’s different than accounting, that it’s more emotional (but I don’t do that left-brain thinking stuff, so maybe it is emotional and I don’t know, and that’s OK, too!), but we have to stop approaching it like it’s brain surgery. If we get it wrong today, we can fix it tomorrow.
The “hard” part is the rejections and acceptances — the failure or success, depending on your personal neuroses. And we can hop right over that if we stay in the game long enough. After a while, rejections don’t bother you other than a mild disappointment before you send your work back out, and success is…wait…I don’t think I actually can answer this part.
I’ve had small wins, and that’s not me just downplaying my wins — just truth. I’ve had small ones, but I have not truly successfully succeeded (that makes sense, right?), not in the way of not worrying, not in the way of book publishing, not in the way of just supporting myself and my husband with my art. We’ll put a pin in that and come back to it. But I know a huge part of the reason is because of how long I’ve subscribed to the belief of this being such a struggle, of holding too tightly to that which I made precious.
And maybe you have, too.
What I’m learning and understanding is, when you make your art precious, you become afraid to share it, to release it, to blog it or post it on social media, to sell it, to market it, to just let it see the light. And when it’s that precious, you just might hold it so tightly, you give life to the starving artist — you’re making art, writing, creating, but keeping it to yourself where it serves no one — not you or the world.
Your work is important, and it is of such importance that you need to let it go, release the fear that screams at you to hold it tighter, to protect it, to keep it precious.
