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One of the challenges for writers is maintaining our connection to the physical world. At least, I think it is—or it should be. As writers, we often live almost exclusively in our heads. Of course, you could argue that’s true for everyone to some degree, but for creatives, it’s particularly pronounced. Even when I’m driving, I’m writing. Eating? I’m probably chewing over dialogue or imagining how a character might respond to something I’ve just observed. Even sleeping doesn't offer much respite. My dreams, which have always been vivid and incredibly detailed, are either addressing pressing questions for a piece I'm writing, or taking something I'm writing and running in a whole new direction, pulling me down a rabbit hole that I am powerless to ignore. Which brings me back to the physical world. The last few years I’ve noticed a pattern: after long stretches of writing, I crave something tangible. I’ll turn to physical art—designing, sketching, or building. My mind doesn't want to deal with abstraction and needs to be engaged by something I can touch. For example, after finishing a project that had been brewing for over a year, I felt the overwhelming urge to get my hands dirty—literally. That’s when I started building outdoor walls, channeling my creative energy into something tactile and immediate.  After finishing Poacher, I began a sculpture, which ended with this bit of madness below: You can tell from this insane bit of work that Poacher was intense and dealt with humans seemingly endless capacity for inflicting pain on other innocent species.  Curious what outlets other writers have between projects. Reach out to me below and let me know what you're doing, what you write about and how you keep from going insane.
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Yes, we all face moments of doubt at some point in our lives. For writers, it can feel like a constant deluge of punches, pummeling you into submission. Until recently, I was never a fan of my own work and would never let anyone read what I had written. That changed when I received an invitation to a writers' workshop in NYC, which would force me to actually, god forbid, have someone read my work. And not just someone. Approximately ten other writers, certainly more talented than I. I nearly backed out—convinced that a jury of my peers would decide that I should perhaps consider selling insurance. I decided to face the music and put myself out there creatively.
The conference was transformative. I wasn’t prepared for the level of talent on display—writers from across genres who could flat-out write. But what truly floored me was their response to the piece I submitted. I wasn't prepared for how much people enjoyed or were captivated by Poacher and it pushed me to for once believe in myself and keep going. On a side note, the Poacher piece I submitted to the workshop, my wife read it and she said "You are such a good writer!" I had to reread, then of course, I started to have doubts. I even read lines that I thought...I couldn't have written this. I must have remembered this, pulled up from some deep lizard like recess of my brain and called it my own. I even went so far as to start dropping lines in plagiarism checkers to see if they were someone else's work. I figure, well, I've been reading for forty years surely someone's writing must have lodged in my head. How pathological is that? And no, the checkers couldn't find any plagiarism so I had to take responsibility for my work. Shortly after returning home, something remarkable happened. My wife was going for a checkup and I was sitting in a waiting room. I had a yellow legal pad with me and started to jot down some ideas. Pretty soon I had written forty-five pages that would become In Their Words: Project MindShare just three weeks later. It was an adrenaline rush unlike anything I’d experienced, watching a project emerge from the fog, rearing its little head and screaming for attention. If you’re a writer, or any kind of creative, you probably know this feeling all too well—the belief that your work isn’t good enough. But if you’re writing, if you have something to say that matters to you, then you are a writer. Keep going. Don’t stop. |
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