A writer friend told me her 11-year-old son didn't want to slow her the poem he wrote for homework because "it isn't any good". She answered, "Honey, how could you possibly know?"
She wasn't criticizing his judgment of writing in general, of course, but pointing out that writers are seldom in a position to evaluate the quality of our own work. Sure, we might do some decent technical revision, especially if we've put a particular piece aside and returned to it afresh. But to assess the quality or worthiness of a creative piece, especially when we've just written or are still in the process of writing it? Not so much.
The idea that I am not necessarily in any position to judge my own writing is not a brand new concept for me, but it reasserted itself recently as I tried to understand two of my most problematic writing (and non-writing) behaviors: dropping my writing practice/routine, and leaving pieces of writing unfinished. (Not that all writing needs to or should become something other than practice, but that's another topic for a different post).
When I asked myself recently how I can tell when a work is worth finishing or is in fact finished, I thought, "I'll know because I love it when I read it." But when I shared that idea with another writing friend, he laughed out loud.
"If that were my criteria, I wouldn't finish or submit anything for a very long time. Maybe forever."
He has a good point. In general, and especially if one has a habit of being self-critical, which is true of me and, I would guess, of most creative types.
So I have made an agreement to share work with another writer regularly. I don't have to share everything, but I do have to keep my mind open that an objective reader might find value in something I've started to write but then abandoned as crap.
In other words, I am leaving the judging of at least a portion of my work to someone more qualified. Not skill-wise, but perspective-wise.
Hmm. Perhaps this applies to judging one's own parenting, too?
Food for thought.
Friday, January 22, 2016
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Parenting, writing, and becoming who we are
"Also, being a parent, while wonderful in many ways, has not been conducive to writing for me. Other than that, I imagine I'm closer to death than ever before, and I better get my book done." - Debbie Anderson
Recently, I spent a Saturday afternoon that I'd hoped to spend writing learning a new card game from my 8-year-old. She needed that kind of focused attention from me that day (and many days), so I did what was called for, and admittedly had some fun. Writing, however, did not happen.
I also celebrated a birthday recently, an inevitable reminder that I don't have an eternity in which to meet my goals.
I have a commitment to my daughter, not just to feed, clothe, and shelter her, but to connect with her regularly. I sometimes think she wants more of that than the average kid. That said, I think she sometimes experiences me as more distracted and less available than the average mom. She has said to me during my preoccupied times, "Sometimes even though I'm with you, I miss you." Catching me in an episode of emotional and intellectual absence.
I know what it means to me to commit to my daughter, and also to the clients I work with. But what does it mean to commit to one's writing?
Last winter and spring, I wrote often. I created and shared blog posts, worked on a novel daily, journaled, created drafts of short fiction and poetry.
But in the latter part of the year, I fell off the writing wagon. A powerful inertia took the place of my writing practice. I felt like I was suffering from not just writer's block, but writer's paralysis.
But it's a new year, and I'm putting my toes in the writing water again by asking myself some basic questions about what makes writing meaningful for me. Trying to carve out writing time with renewed commitment. And seeing if I still remember how to write a blog post.
What about you? What meaningful activity or practice are you trying to recover or sustain this year? What gets in your way, and which of those impediments can be solved?
May 2016 be a year for becoming more fully who we are.
Recently, I spent a Saturday afternoon that I'd hoped to spend writing learning a new card game from my 8-year-old. She needed that kind of focused attention from me that day (and many days), so I did what was called for, and admittedly had some fun. Writing, however, did not happen.
I also celebrated a birthday recently, an inevitable reminder that I don't have an eternity in which to meet my goals.
I have a commitment to my daughter, not just to feed, clothe, and shelter her, but to connect with her regularly. I sometimes think she wants more of that than the average kid. That said, I think she sometimes experiences me as more distracted and less available than the average mom. She has said to me during my preoccupied times, "Sometimes even though I'm with you, I miss you." Catching me in an episode of emotional and intellectual absence.
I know what it means to me to commit to my daughter, and also to the clients I work with. But what does it mean to commit to one's writing?
Last winter and spring, I wrote often. I created and shared blog posts, worked on a novel daily, journaled, created drafts of short fiction and poetry.
But in the latter part of the year, I fell off the writing wagon. A powerful inertia took the place of my writing practice. I felt like I was suffering from not just writer's block, but writer's paralysis.
But it's a new year, and I'm putting my toes in the writing water again by asking myself some basic questions about what makes writing meaningful for me. Trying to carve out writing time with renewed commitment. And seeing if I still remember how to write a blog post.
What about you? What meaningful activity or practice are you trying to recover or sustain this year? What gets in your way, and which of those impediments can be solved?
May 2016 be a year for becoming more fully who we are.
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