My older girls went to sleepaway camp in July, and for two weeks the house was calm and quiet and many things were accomplished. Just kidding on that last part: my youngest got some super high fever that seemingly lasted forever, leaving me hyperventilating and then lethargic with worry. But that’s okay. Everyone is feeling better now.
In between doctor’s appointments and hand wringing, I attended as much as I could of my own summer camp, an online writer’s conference of sorts hosted by author and speaker Terri Trespicio. There I learned more about this idea of “gateless writing” coined by Suzanne Kingsbury. Practitioners seek to silence the parts of the brain that handle internal and external criticism to afford greater creative flow. (Kind of the opposite of what you think of traditional writing workshop methods, which seem scary.)
One theme came up continuously: when everything has to be a hit–a wild or success that resonates, entertains, soothes the masses–we don’t take risks in our work. We’re careful and exacting and terrified of experimenting. During a writing session, author Daisy Florin (her debut, My Last Innocent Year, is wonderful) talked about creativity withering under high stress situations whether externally or internally induced. In another session, a screenwriter (currently a captain in the WGA strike) suggested that Hollywood’s preoccupation with making big hits (big hits drive up profits and that’s what matters to shareholders) leaves little incentive for originality or innovation and that’s why we see so many remakes and franchise movies.
Willa Paskin, Slate’s television critic, spoke about this phenomenon in the context of the Barbie Movie recently on The Daily podcast: Barbie “is a huge piece of . . . intellectual property, and it’s basically all Hollywood does now, which is to take something that people know already exists and make a movie about it.” (And, well, maybe there is something to that, because I loved the Barbie movie.)
In some sense this is so obvious: there is a reason Matisse said, “Creativity takes courage.” And yet, it felt like a light bulb moment. We are all so primed to avoid failure for one reason or another, and overcoming those feelings to take a swing at something with uncertain payouts is hard. I feel this tension more often than I’d care to admit.
A while back I went through a rough patch of ill-received feedback, and, I’ll be honest, my ego did not appreciate it. As much as I want to be that person inspired by and welcoming of any and all feedback–a good sport!–when I absorbed the comments, what I actually wanted was to quit. In fact, I said: “I quit.” And after wallowing a bit there, I wondered about the ego and how it works. Could I turn her volume down a little without becoming a complete door mat?
Psychologist Scott Kaufman, among others, has talked about the idea of quieting the loud ego, which, he says, “spends so much time defending the self as if it were a real thing, and then doing whatever it takes to assert itself, that it often inhibits the very goals it is most striving for.” I think, for me, that’s where quitting comes in–my ego defending me right out of my goals. According to Kaufman, we want “to arrive at a less defensive, and more integrative stance toward the self and others, not lose your sense of self or deny your need for the esteem from others.” It’s not a complete acceptance of criticism or denial of the importance of positive feedback but more of a detached and balanced approach. (Author Bianca Marais has some good practical advice on processing critique.)
I certainly don’t have it all figured out. A work in progress, for sure.
Back to my summer camp experience with Terri. In one session we were asked what piece of advice we’d give ourselves earlier. Immediately I knew what I’d say regarding writing: your community matters so much more than you’d imagine. When I first started writing, I viewed the endeavor as a necessarily individual experience. And what I missed out on then was the suite of benefits a solid writing community offers: role models, mentors, feedback, support, opportunities, encouragement, camaraderie.
This summer I’m making up for lost time. I’ve made a new local writing friend–Hi Melinda!–and written all sorts of wild things with dozens of writers in Abby Rasminsky’s Secret Summer School (highly recommend!). Writing isn’t just all about hours alone, not solely about picking yourself up after a critique, powering through. It’s about connection–both on and off the page.
A poem from this summer’s tinkering…
[what I’ve read]
The Late Americans by Brandon Taylor
The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen
[what caught my eye]
On any given day my feelings about renovating my house–upgrading the kitchen etc. etc.--fluctuate. I yearn for a much more functional cooking space but then I think, “this is fine.” And “why do I want this?” Enter Anne Helen Petersen’s essay on the market-reflected gaze and how our houses make us miserable. Fascinated (anxious, too?) by this discussion of the health of the book business. More on the Barbie Movie and Mattel’s move from toy manufacturer to I.P. company managing franchises.