Writing begets more writing (it’s just f*cking true)

Lesson #21 of 40

Hi, friends. Today, of course, is Election Day here in the U.S. I don’t know what’s going to happen or when we’ll know the outcome, but I do know that I feel anxious. And I know I’m not alone in that feeling. As I considered my list of remaining lessons to write, I debated which one might feel appropriate for today. Turns out, none of them did! This was the closest I got, because writing is something that always helps me in my most anxious times. I hope you’re able to lean on the thing that helps you, too.

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As I approach 40, I’m embarking on a year-long project to reflect on the lessons I’ve learned in four decades of life. This is lesson #21. You can read the full series here.

Where the magic happens.

When I started the 40 Lessons series, I wasn’t sure if publishing an essay a week would be doable. My Sweet Dumb Brain is a side hustle, work that comes after my full-time freelance assignments. I squeeze it in on weekend mornings and at night after my child is asleep. I often feel behind on posts, and coming up with fresh ideas is a constant, low-level source of stress. Still, I keep writing this newsletter; partly because I love it, and partly because, let’s be honest, it’s a source of income I rely on.

In the six years since I launched My Sweet Dumb Brain, I’ve often had to take time off — a week here and there, sometimes longer — whenever my creative well was tapped out or my workload became too intense. I’ve always felt a bit guilty about this. I couldn’t understand how other part-time writers did it, how they managed to write weekly newsletters alongside full-time jobs and other responsibilities. At best, it seemed like some kind of sorcery; at worst, it felt like I wasn’t talented or dedicated enough to do what they did.

Deep down, I knew both explanations were wrong. I sensed that if I changed my tactic, if I took some of the pressure off to share deeply personal things each week, I could write more consistently. I was eager to test my theory.

On May 7, I published the first of 40 essays in this series — a lesson my late husband Jamie taught me, one he wrote himself: Discomfort is normal — and rewarding! Since then, I’ve written 20 lessons, totaling some 23,000 words. I’ve written about love and loss, work and rest. And I haven’t missed a week yet. I’m still on track to publish lesson #40 just before my 40th birthday.

There’s a fine line between giving yourself grace and pushing past your comfort zone. I try to remind myself that if there’s ever a week when I can’t write a full essay (like I did on this week), that’s okay. That permission, that self-compassion, has helped me keep up the pace.

What’s also helped is just doing the damn thing. The more I’ve written, the easier it’s gotten. Words and ideas flow more freely. I feel less intimidated by the blank page. I’m able to write essays in much less time than it took me a year ago. I still get stuck from time to time and I still get in my head about the quality of my work, but overall, I’m writing with more ease, speed, confidence, and joy.

Perhaps a more well-adjusted person, someone with less of a tendency toward workaholism, would take this achievement and enjoy it. That person might relax a little, feeling comfortable in their new writing routine and confident that the 40 Lessons series is all downhill from here. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?

I am not that person. A few months back, I came up with an idea for a novel that I couldn’t shake. I shared it with a few friends, and they loved it. I felt good putting the idea out into the universe and hoped that someone else would one day write it. But I kept thinking about it. And thinking about it. As November neared, I realized I actually wanted to write it myself.

November, as many writers know, is National Novel Writing Month. NaNoWriMo is an annual event in which participants attempt to write a 50,000-word manuscript, however rough and messy, by the end of the month. I can’t say how many years I’ve known about NaNoWriMo, but it’s long been in my periphery — a challenge that other people with more talent or time embarked on.

This year, though, is different. After years of watching from the sidelines, I’m finally working on my own manuscript alongside hundreds of thousands of others, and I’m loving it. I have a fleshed-out plot, character descriptions, timeline, and chapter summaries. Less than a week in, I’ve hit my 1,666-word goal each day. (And I have 12,000 words written overall, thanks to a head start on writing!)

It’s interesting to consider what prompted this change. A strong idea certainly helped; a lighter freelance load benefitted me, too; more than anything, though, the 40 Lessons project — writing lesson after lesson, week after week, just like I promised myself I would — has given me the confidence I previously lacked.

There are three postcards hanging above my desk with Jamie’s words. One is about discomfort. The other two are about writing: “Write quickly and write a lot.” and “Writing begets more writing. It’s just fucking true.” (To be fair, the discomfort postcard applies to writing, too.)

When I decided to embark on NaNoWriMo, I kept reflecting on Jamie’s words. Most often: Writing begets more writing. It’s just fucking true. 

This adage applies to so many things. I have no doubt Jamie felt the same way about running. I can vouch that reading begets more reading, meditation begets more meditation, and cooking begets more cooking. These habits, while rewarding, can be hard to start. Once you get going, though, they get easier. At some point, you realize you’re doing with ease what once felt unattainable.

My writing arsenal.

If you’re keeping score at home, I’ve moved my desk back to its original spot, and I’ve committed to writing a ton every day. First, there are my freelance assignments — putting together case studies and toolkits for clients; then, this newsletter — publishing an essay each week; and, now, NaNoWriMo — churning out over 1,600 words a day all month long. If all goes well, by the end of November I’ll still be gainfully employed, on track for the 40 Lessons series, and have a 50,000-word manuscript completed. If things don’t go as planned, that’s okay! It was fun to try, and was good to challenge myself. There’s always next year (for NaNoWriMo, at least. I’ll do my best to keep my paying work!).

I might run out of steam. I might run out of words. I might discover that some chores or other nice-to-haves fall by the wayside. I might have to revisit lesson #9: Overcommitting benefits no one. And I might, just might, succeed.

I’ve got all sorts of tricks to keep myself focused and motivated: instrumental music, a time timer (which I bought for my daughter but now lives on my desk), a candle I only light during writing sessions, and seltzer when my energy starts to lag. My latest trick is placing a piece of Halloween candy next to my laptop, to be eaten when I hit my word count for the day.

But the real trick isn’t really a trick at all. It’s simply to write — and to keep writing. It’s so annoyingly basic that it makes you kind of mad. I suspect that’s why Jamie added that expletive at the end of his advice. Writing begets more writing. Well, fuck! It really is true.

xoxo
KHG