On Taking My Own Advice

Why wouldn't I? Who knows me better?

I had this pillow made up at Etsy. It could have said anything. This is what I wanted it to say.

I needed a pep talk today. I’ve been so busy with this infernal move I’ve barely had time to think about writing anything outside of ragging on about me and what’s happening and what I’m going to do about it. Or not.

I’m boring myself. I’m not asking for advice here, friends. This pep talk I’m needing has to come from me, and luckily I have years of advice-giving to pull from.

I even wrote about pep talks once, and then I repeated it here on Substack when it was clear to me I needed it as much as anybody.

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I’ve been known to get into the nitty-gritty, as if I’m talking only to newbies, but, again, this was advice I can always use:

Writing looks easy because, on the face of it, it is easy. Would-be writers have been doing it since kindergarten or before. They’re not afraid of it like they might be with a lump of clay or a paint brush or an instrument.

They need to be afraid of it. Then they can tackle writing as an art and a craft deserving of attention and humility. We’re not writers because we say we are, we’re writers because we’ve proven we’re writers.

This passage comes from a piece about writing cons (as in con artistry, not necessarily the ‘cons’ in ‘pros and cons’) Something else I could write about from experience:

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I’ve been rummaging around in the old pieces I’d written to encourage and inspire other writers because right now I need the advice of someone I trust. At times, that has to be me. When I write things like this I have no doubt I’m telling the truth. Sometimes it comes as a revelation as I’m writing, but nothing leaning toward advice gets published without a gut-check to make sure it says what I mean.

This was one of those moments. Completely out of the blue, as if someone else had come up with it. But, no. It was me:

All good writing is work, even that writing that comes from within us and begs to be let out. On our good days it flows from us in directions we can only follow because whatever force is driving it seems to know best. It creates a rhythm and a flow and we’re carried along, ready for it because this is what we’ve trained for.

We know when we finally see where we’re going we’ll still have to stop and do repairs. Tweak it some. Make it worthy of the destination. Wherever it takes us, we know we’re ultimately in charge and we’re doing it as artists.

Yes, artists. Whether you’re writing memoir or travelogues or confessions or revelations or simply just daily observations, as long as you see it as creative writing, you’re bringing your art to it.

Okay, I needed that.

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In this piece about writing to music I likened our different tastes to the writers we know:

We separate authors because their differences mean something.

Margaret Atwood isn’t in the same space as Jane Austen.

Maya Angelou isn’t anywhere near David Sedaris.

Carl Sagan is far away from Stephen King’s neighborhood.

If we all liked the same thing, chances are those fine writers would have had to stick to their day jobs.

But we don’t all like the same thing. We’re blessedly diverse, each to our own selves in a world where like minds are encouraged and often rewarded.

Sometimes both of those things—diversity and like minds—work to our advantage. We need diversity to strengthen our outlooks and broaden our horizons. We need similarities to reinforce our beliefs and support our actions. And we need writers and artists and musicians who see the world we live in through their own art and their own imagination. They are our education and our inspiration.

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Let me take a moment here to just remind those writers who feel the need to ask their readers what they should write about—please stop doing that. Really. You’re the writer. They’re waiting to see what you have to say. They’re not there to make decisions for you. If you want to be a presence in your readers’ lives, it’s up to you to lure them in. They sought you out because they liked what you had to say. When you ask them what they want you to write, they must wonder if you haven’t noticed why they’re there. Don’t confuse them. Write what you write. (See pillow above.)

When I was new to Substack I was guilty of asking my readers what I should write about. What would they be interested in? I don’t remember if any of them came up with anything useful, but when I see writers asking that question today, I feel their anxiety. I wish when I was doing it I had been there as the person who wrote that last paragraph in the quote from the piece about our differences. I could have saved myself some real headaches.

So I guess I’m just saying—writers, take your own advice. Have faith in yourself. Glory in what you know now. If you need a pep talk, nobody can give it better than you. Read what you’ve written before, choosing only the good stuff. There’s your inspiration!

One last piece, in case I haven’t convinced you: