In my last post, I wrote about writing and not writing (or feeling like I’m not writing) and how a lot of what I write lives in my phone or notebook and how that feels kinda crappy.
When I was a teacher, I subscribed to the belief that kids should write far more than teachers could grade. As a writer, a similar belief holds true: I should be writing far more than what I put out into the world.
That being said, getting stuff out into the world is also important.
In one of her newsletters in July, writer and coach Jena Schwartz did a 10-minute free write on a Friday and sent it out.
Write and release.
She ended with these words:
I sometimes think I should have a more structured approach to this newsletter, and then I do for a while and then it doesn't stick. So mostly I'm at a point of making my peace with that and simply appreciating the magic of me writing and you reading and us connecting in this way. Which is all to say: Thanks for being there.
I have so much respect and appreciation for her way of connecting with others. When I started my blog, I didn’t want to schedule topics or batch write posts or meet a quota because that feels inorganic and contrary to the whole point of what I want to do here.
I want to write. I want to share. I want to connect.
And I want to do it in a way that feels good to me.
Personally, I feel more connected to people (in person and online) if what they’re putting out into the world isn’t too manicured or perfect. Give me real, give me messy, give me authentic. Give me a glimpse into who you really are and what you really have to say. I’m interested.
Yet despite me favoring this more genuine approach, I hold a lot of anxiety about writing and releasing my own words. I feel the need for everything to be just so. I worry about my own imperfections.
I want to get over that.
I don’t consider this blog a “product" itself so much as an accounting of experience. Process pages, if you will. In my mind right now I’m thinking of John Steinbeck’s Journal of a Novel which is a collection of the letters he wrote to his friend and editor as he was writing East of Eden. Every day he’d write a letter about what was going on with him/his process/his novel/his life and then he’d get down to work.
For me, my poetry is my work. These blogs are my letters. They might as well each start: Dear Writing Friend...
They are how I process my doubts and insecurities and wants and lessons. How I honor my process by looking at it instead of turning away. How I hold out a hand to another writer and say you’re not alone. How I remind myself that I’m not alone. Or at least, that’s what I want it to be.
In order for it to function the way I want it to function, I need to get over my perfectionist tendencies of doubting everything I want to write/procrastinating actually writing it/re-reading it 954 times to check for errors (and then inevitably finding the error as soon as I hit “publish”).
This brings me back to Jena and her timed write. In an effort to jumpstart this new mindset (the words imperfect blogging project just popped into my head) I am going to do a series of Write + Release posts. Basically I’m going to try to write a post each day this week and press publish before my inner critic and perfectionist gang up against me and steal my lunch money.
In fact, this post is the first one. I’m writing this in a coffee shop and despite my urge to wait till I get home to review it all (yet again) before I submit, I’m not going to leave until this baby is posted.
Because it’s the sharing and connecting that’s the point.
And that doesn’t happen without the words. Without hitting publish. Without letting go, just a little bit.
I’ll end by stealing Jena’s words because they feel like a mantra for this work : the magic of me writing and you reading and us connecting in this way.
Which is all to say: Thanks for being there.
