Sometimes, instead of focussing so much on the things that need to change, we could just be okay with what is.
It’s strange for me to write that but as I do, I realise that it’s something I’ve unknowingly practised for the past year or so. I think it probably has a lot to do with the fact that I’m a bit older and I care a little less about what people think. This subtle carelessness has made me more confident in my own choices and my work.
For instance, a few weeks ago I found multiple mistakes in a newsletter I’d just sent. Years ago, I would have been mortified (dramatic, yes). And now I think: it was a busy day, you had a bit of a headache, perhaps those mistakes will help one reader/writer feel a little bit more comfortable sharing their own work. I also now know that spelling and grammatical mistakes persist through multiple rounds of book edits - and many sets of eyes - and cling on for dear life till the book is published and out in the world. These things happen, best not to get too bothered by them.
Writing isn’t about perfection (no art is). It’s a bit like heartfelt conversation; the pauses and clarification and stumbles make it authentic. And in a world where automation promises to make words quick, direct and of mass appeal, we need the words of many writers - with all their foibles and subjectivity and expression - more than ever.
In a strange turn of events, I’m speaking on a panel hosted by the Australian Society of Authors in November. The events coordinator discovered me through this Guardian feature and my initial response was: not qualified enough. And then I reminded myself that I’ve been writing online, in one capacity or another, for eighteen years. That’s almost half my life. I’m quick to dismiss the many years of ‘mummy blogging’ but then I stop myself. Because that little blog, which was a creative life jacket in the tumultuous early years of mothering, provided me with two things: the discipline to write each week and a community of readers and writers cheering me on in real time.
Writing is lonely work. Mothering is lonely work. And when time ebbed and doubt flowed, blogging was there to remind me that I did have the words and they were more than okay to put on the page and share with whoever stumbled upon them. Tens of thousands of words quietly accumulating over many years, to form a really solid foundation for my career today.
But you know what I didn’t have till recently? Confidence. I didn’t believe that my writing was good enough. You know what changed that? Spending time with other writers. Because even the most accomplished of authors admit that most of the time, they don’t really know what they’re doing. We’re all just figuring it out as we go along and it’s different for every newsletter, essay, book. Doubt is a really normal and expected part of the process. But also, a healthy level of confidence is there to gently push you along and it’s that confidence that allows you to say: I know this is a bit shit, but I’m going to keep going with it anyway.
No matter how much writing you’ve shared or books you’ve published, when you’re at the very start of a new project, you’re right back in the doubt that you’ve carried for all the years beforehand. Recognising that doubt is a good thing, not letting it stop you is even better.
When doubt descends and renders you useless, it’s easy to throw your hands in the air and walk away, vowing never to return to whatever it is you’re working on. And honestly, that’s probably a good thing to do. But it also helps to list your woes to someone who cares. Other creatives are good at listening to this sort of thing, because they know and live it, too.
It’s my partner’s birthday today and I cooked buttermilk pancakes like I do for every birthday around here; a good reason to bring the candles out for breakfast and sing off-key loud enough for the neighbours to hear. He won’t read this newsletter but he’s always somewhere in the background - of everything I write here and whatever book I’m working on. When I’m at a loss for how to move forwards, he reminds me that I’ve been here before and I’ll make my way out once again. He’s also probably getting quite tired of the near-frequent bursts of creative/emotional upheaval but when the hours and days pass and I’m still at my desk, he’s making sure everyone and everything else is tended to. Beautiful, tangible care and a deep respect for my writing. What a gift.
He’s also quick to tell me when I should step away and go outside. The words will come when they’re ready. The things worth doing: make tea, pull weeds, walk the dog, hang the washing, sit in a cafe, visit the library. Handwriting helps, reading does, too. Anything but writing is worth doing when doubt is growing quicker than your word count.
Are you wondering what fosters confidence? Right now I think it’s curiosity. The willingness to keep asking questions and go looking for the answers. And often, those answers are found in the words you’re writing; however long they take to get on the page.
other things
I’m currently reading James by Percival Everett and A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki
I’m very much looking forward to getting my hands on the new Elizabeth Strout (another aesthetically pleasing little hardcover to add to the collection)
spring cleaning in the middle of things is coming along nicely
This is my Taylor Swift (tickets booked and I can’t wait). But I’m wondering, will she sign books? And what books do I get signed? This, of course. I can’t imagine she’d be too pleased if I turned up with my whole collection.
I adored listening to the delightful
chat with on Not Too Busy to Write podcast.If you’re in the southern hemisphere this is your reminder to juice the lemons while they’re abundant on trees and make lemon juice ice-cubes to make zesty summer drinks
I found a second-hand copy of Piglettes from this delightful little business.
And in case you missed it:
Till next time, take care x
Hi Jodi! I used to so look forward to your blogs as I have similar aged children and was juggling writing and kids and your blogs were the highlight of my weeks some seasons so I am most thankful you shared them. Sami x
I think this may have been your best newsletter yet! I'm not a writer, but I'm in a creative field, and everything you said had me thinking 'I thought it was just me'. I feel so comforted that I'm not alone.