The Value of Getting Sh*t Done
June 8, 2017 § 30 Comments
First, dedication to writing is not an amount. It’s not an amount of words. It’s not a number of days. Dedication is not measured by output.
You get to call yourself a ‘real writer’ even on the days no words appear on the page. Even on the days full of rejections, the days you think no-one will ever care. Even on the days you feel like an outsider.
Thinking time counts.
Reading counts.
Supportively going to someone else’s reading counts, even if it’s someone whose work you don’t really like but you’re trying to rack up karma points for your own hoped-for readings later and you spend the whole time imagining your own book deal while noting one point on which to ask a relevant question.
But there’s still value in completion.
Process is great. We all need process. But every now and then, we embrace process to the point of avoiding finishing. We dive into six projects at once, knowing in our under-soul there’s no way we’ll get through even two of them. We embrace multiple genres or venues as a way to write what we’re “in the mood” to write, whichever essay or proposal or article or chapter calls to our heart at the moment we’ve finally cleared our mental decks and sat down.
Some days it’s important to be our beautiful wayward writer self. Explore! Play! Freewrite!
Other days, it’s time to sit our butt down (“the only secret to writing is ass in chair” as the saying goes) and bang out some words. Some good words, maybe. More likely some crappy words. But remember how much easier it is to turn shit into something passable than it is to turn nothing into shit? No? If that’s not a memory you hold, maybe next writing session is a good time to pull out something you gave up in despair and take another look at it with a cold editorial eye. Perhaps there’s one sentence in there worth saving. Perhaps there’s a whole new piece based on the third paragraph. Maybe you’ll get lucky and the whole thing’s nowhere near as bad as you thought when you walked away. If there’s truly nothing you can find in there worth working on, you have two options: send it to a friend and ask if there’s anything they think is worth working on; or toss it.
Seriously.
Hit delete. Crumple it up and put it in recycling. Burn the notebook. Make room for something else you want to write. Get the unfinishable crap off your desk and call it practice. Be grateful you learned what that piece taught you and move on. The practice of writing is also practice. It is the height of arrogance to scold ourselves for not putting something perfect on the page in a first go–what other job, what other sport, what other art gets things right the first time, every time they start something new? Wow, Mozart, that was awesome and you wrote it once, in pen! Gee, Usain Bolt, now that you’ve run as fast as you ever will around the track this morning, you’ll never need to train for the Olympics again!
Practice/rehearsal/training involves mistakes, screw-ups, wrong paths, poor choices and loss of interest. We don’t save a videotape of every time we go to the gym, we count ourselves happy if we hit that second pull-up, or stay on the seated bike checking Twitter until it’s suddenly been twenty minutes and hey I’m done! Now I can do all the fun things I’m bothering to get in shape to do!
Practice also involves sitting our ass down and deciding we’re going to finish something. Now. Today. This week. In fifteen-minute increments while waiting for carpool, or in one wild coffee-fueled weekend.
I will ride the bike for thirty minutes.
I will clean this closet.
I will purchase these six items.
I will put dinner on the table.
I will get to the end of this sentence, this paragraph, this page. This essay. This book.
Be a beautiful free-spirited artist. Be a tortured soul contemplating the horror of the page not living up to what’s in your head. And then sit your ass back down and write to the end of the page. Set a day, or a week or whatever interval works for you, aside to finish your shit. Pick up a piece and decide if you want it or not. If you want it, finish it. See what it feels like to do whatever it takes, to revise or seek help or break it apart and rebuild, or let it go and move onto something else you want to finish. Let go of the hundred weights of half-pages that once seemed like a good idea. Trust that in your head, in your heart, in your skill, there are more ideas, hundreds, thousands of them. Some of them are half-finished on the page; some of them are hiding under the weight of that thing you feel obligated to finish. Let it go.
Sometimes the space for what you want is filled with what you’ve settled for. Don’t settle for half-finished.
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Allison K Williams is Brevity’s Social Media Editor and the author of Seven Drafts: Self-Edit Like a Pro from Blank Page to Book. Want writing news, events, and upcoming webinars? Join the A-List!
Ooh nice, thanks for the reminders. Lovely post 😊
😊👍 On 08-Jun-2017 5:08 pm, “BREVITY’s Nonfiction Blog” wrote: > > Allison K Williams posted: ” First, dedication to writing is not an amount. It’s not an amount of words. It’s not a number of days. Dedication is not measured by output. You get to call yourself a ‘real writer’ even on the days no words appear on the page. Even on the days full ” >
Is there anybody in the UK who share this site? I live in Brighton, East Sussex on England’s south coast. My post code is BN1 4BH. Please advise.
Nop
No one is sharing this site. Y u asked so?
Thanks for the kick in my butt. I need to get sh*t done too! Gracias Amiga!!
Really appreciated
Thank you. I think we needed that.
I’m not alone! Thank you for this.
One of my favorite sentences in the piece,
“We dive into six projects at once, knowing in our under-soul there’s no way we’ll get through even two of them.”
Yaah! Quite relieving.
So refreshing to my writer soul!! Got so much wisdom from your beautiful mind!
I love this post😄
‘Some of them are half-finished on the page; some of them are hiding under the weight of that thing you feel obligated to finish. Let it go.’ Just what I need to do. What an inspirational post!
thank you for those well-timed, wise words. It felt like you somehow got in to my somewhat neurotic head and wrote every damn thing I have, and still, go through, as I struggle to write. What a blessing to know I am not alone!
You hooked me with the first sentence, then the second and third and fourth. Like Marge Piercy wrote, “A real writer is one who really writes.” Ass in chair is good, but sometimes feet have to be on path and eyes have to be staring at ocean.
Gorgeous metaphor!
You’d probably never guess that I live on an island and spend a lot of time in the woods. 🙂
Reblogged this on Write Through It and commented:
One reason I’m not blogging much here is that I’m getting (other) sh*t done. Also blog posts like this say it better than I can. Meanwhile, if you’ve got any editorial or writerly questions or comments, please use the Got a Question? tab above to send ’em in.
Great words. Many other people’s sentiments exactly, I’m sure?
Thank you for posting this. After not writing anything for a week when I had committed myself to writing daily, I was starting to enter a shame spiral. I needed the reminder that this is ok and I just need to sit back down, today, and write.
Yes! And you don’t have to “catch up” or “make up for it” – it’s OK to just get started again! You’re awesome 🙂
Wow! How timely! How accurate!! How truly inspiring!!! Thank you 😉
The road to succuss is not crowed, because few people persist in the dream.
Honestly, it was as if when I opened up your page, my thoughts were somehow transported through the monitor, draining my brain – like you knew exactly what the churning axons had been gnawing on in there. Thank you. Some of them seem to have unraveled a bit.
Amen 🙂
[…] via The Value of Getting Sh*t Done — BREVITY’s Nonfiction Blog […]
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[…] on Submittable, but at least six more in my files that are almost finished. Allison K. Williams’ “The Value of Getting Sh*t Done”–and common sense– tell me that one essay in my queue is not the way to change the […]
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I write my blog posts longhand with the anticipation that what I write in the notebook will actually make it to the screen. Boy, was I in for a surprise–it hardly ever does! It’s like I had to clear away all the stuff that was in my brain to pick out what would work for a blog post. Thanks for helping me feel NOT LIKE A FAILURE for writing so many crappy words!