“I don’t want to be the person who always talks about writing and never does.”
Be honest. How often do you talk about something, probably fun or exciting, something you genuinely want to do, genuinely mean to do, which then doesn’t happen? If you’re a writer especially, probably a lot.
See, writers talk a lot. About their plans. About their plots. About their characters. And all this is fine, except when talking becomes a replacement for doing — hence the fear in the leading quote, up there. Because how many people out there claim to write, and don’t?
The thing is that I think writers feel obligated to talk about their writing, as much as they enjoy it also. Not just in terms of having ‘writer groups’ and suchlike — but as a burden of responsibility driven by the need to prove that writing is a legitimate act. The idea in our society that writing is a waste of time (and the dichotomy wherein it is both venerated and demeaned) is a whole other post: but I’m convinced that one of the results of it is that writers feel compelled to discuss.
There are other things, no doubt. Marketing. ‘Branding’. Engaging with fans. All of these are obligations.
Writers talk. Writers talk a lot. Writers are often happy to talk about their work. And for many, having the onus of putting it out there to people who will hold them accountable can help writers write.
But …
That’s not how it works for me. I’ve gotten more open about sharing unfinished things with my closest friends in the last few years, but even still, my default is: don’t talk about a thing until it’s ready. This isn’t always a good thing, especially for things other than writing: I’m not a hugely communicative person except for a select handful of people, even when I perhaps should be. I have trouble talking about things I have in progress outside of my immediate friend group, because I’m afraid of judgement or having to explain. But sometimes, when I don’t talk, it’s not because I’m afraid of something unfinished being judged.
For me, the act of creation and learning is hugely personal and self-intimate. My process of curiosity and realisation are things I want to keep quiet until I know where I stand, where I might go, and that I have enough momentum behind me to be confident in saying ‘this is where I am’. When it comes to writing, I don’t like the feeling of needing to be guilted into doing something by saying it out loud to someone else. If I can’t write for me, then something has gone wrong.
So, most often, I don’t talk about new projects I’m contemplating. When I have trouble writing regularly, I talk about writing less, not more.
Talking about writing can become performative. It can be a procrastination. Sometimes it’s a lot easier to talk about the things you want to write, instead of writing them. In those moments, I think it’s worth remaining quiet; but not out of shame or hopelessness or a sense of having nothing ‘worthwhile’ to say. Simply in order to sit with your creativity, your ideas, and be at peace with where it’s at, no matter how small it is.
Talking about what you’re creating puts onus on your creativity to produce. When you’re feeling stressed, there’s no greater gentleness than to withhold from planning or plotting, and hold your ideas small and sacred in your heart until they’re ready to bloom. When it does, you can know for certainty that the creation came because of and for you.
So, next time you feel compelled to speak about your writing, but find it difficult to produce — say nothing, and let it be nurtured in the silence.
Aurichalcum Publishing 