Think of It as a Concert of Words

Our rhythm, our blues.

Photo by William White on Unsplash

This is going to be a bit of a rant—polite, I hope—but I need to get this out. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and, reading Notes lately, I think it needs to be NOW.

Firstly, note that this is in the Creative Writing section. I’m writing this for those of us who are creating what we hope is art, rather than creating content—that word that drains all the life out of what is meant to be a creative endeavor.

If you’re a content writer, go for it. Write content. Go off and sell it and more power to you. You don’t need to justify it. It’s what you do. But here at Writer Everlasting my emphasis is on writing that resonates, that speaks to us, that makes us smile and sigh and cry. We’re happy to get up in the morning ready to get to work, even if the work feels like a struggle and we know we’re going to be pouring sweat.

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.

So this is for you. A reminder. You don’t have to take my word for any of this. Your gut will tell you how you feel about it.

And if it feels like a spanking, remember that I do this with love. My heart is with you. I want you to be brave. I want all of us to be brave. Even and especially me.

When you come here, you’re among friends. Nothing you say here will ever be judged or ridiculed. Those who have been here for a while will tell you we’re here for each other. We never want to hurt anyone.

So let’s talk later. But now, read on:

• Don’t ever say you’re creating ‘content’. That’s what other people do. Not you. If you relegate your work to ‘content’ it’ll hobble you. You’ll no longer see it as a part of you, but rather as something someone else wants and expects. You will have given up your creative power before you even start.

• Let your art speak for itself. Don’t use gimmicks. Don’t throw stuff in there just because you saw how well it worked for someone else. Every minute of your piece has to shout the authentic you. No matter what you’re writing, you’re writing it first for you and then for the rest of us lucky enough to be there when the magic happens.

• Your piece should flow from beginning to end without a single bit of advertising getting in the way. We seem to think we’ll draw more readers and subscribers by placing those irritating notices and buttons between paragraphs. We’re begging our readers to stop reading our wonderful words and go off RIGHT NOW to subscribe or look at something else. Or, strangely, to remind them to comment after they’ve finished reading what we’ve just so rudely interrupted. Interrupted for no earthly reason, since we can add a ‘comment’ button at the end, where it definitely belongs.

• If what you’re writing is intense or sublime and wholly from your creative mind, for god’s sake, don’t even think about breaking it up with a block quote or a pull quote, those glaring, highlighted repeats of words your readers can read just as well in the body of your work. The flow is everything! You want them hanging onto your every word, leaving the outside world behind until they’ve come (reluctantly, because they’ll want more) to a most satisfying ending. That’s the goal.

• In-text distractions are anathema to creative writing. You wouldn’t interrupt a poem with buttons or block quotes. A musician wouldn’t interrupt a song with a commercial. An artist wouldn’t throw a bit of advertising into a canvas. I’m just going to say it: if you’re writing creatively, that practice is nuts. And I’ve done it myself.

Okay, so here’s the rest. This is what got me started on this: “What if my writing isn’t enough? What else should I offer to draw and keep subscribers?”

Can you guess how that hits me?

YOU’RE A WRITER. WRITING IS WHAT YOU DO.

I admit I’m partial to writers who write. Still, I have no problem with those who have side jobs like editing or coaching or inspiring. But they didn’t just make those jobs up as they went along—they’ve trained for it. By becoming writers first.

So this is not about any of you.

This is about writers who aren’t secure enough in their writing to trust their own instincts or abilities. They’re always going to think there’s more to writing than just learning to be the best writer they can be. They want to offer gimmicks and prizes and surprises—anything but to settle down to what they’re aiming to be good at—their written words.

If you’re not comfortable with your writing, your readers won’t be, either. If you’ve chosen to be a creative writer, then work at being creative. Your brain is your tool. Your words are your equipment. Life itself is your inspiration. There are lessons to be learned and there are good teachers everywhere. (You may have noticed that some of the very best hang out right here!)

Creative writing is different from business or technical or political writing. Those commercial breaks in the text may work for them but they don’t work for us. We want a dream state. We’re taking our readers outside of themselves. We’re maneuvering and finessing, playing with our words until we’ve built a world our readers want to be in.

Distractions, diversions, and gimmicks are like jackhammers on our quiet mountaintop. The last thing we need when we’re trying to create a scene is a whole lot of outside noise. In this case we have control and we’re not using it. We don’t need clamor, we need rhythm.

So this is where I am today. Have I missed anything? Is this completely off-base? You KNOW I want to hear from you, and I’ll value your every word. Thank you, dear friends, as always, for being here.

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