Writing is hard.
If you ever need to get a bunch of small kind of meaningless chores done or read obscure parts of the internet that you keep meaning to lookup but always forget to do, like whether or not Carrie Brownstein and Miranda July ever *actually* dated, or how old [insert literally any celebrity here] is, simply set aside a day for writing. Your memory will instantly be flooded with every small task you’ve ever considered doing that wasn’t worth doing whenever you originally thought of it, but will, without a doubt, feel crucially more important than thinking of your next sentence.
Writing, or more specifically, the act of staring at a blank page with the intention to fill it with words, is in some sense, nothing more than a self-imposed challenge to prove one's cleverness to oneself, with the hope of ultimately, maybe, proving it to the world. Or at least a few like-minded souls on Twitter.
Everyone loves a challenge. It's the stuff fulfillment is made of, as demonstrated by the shocking number of people of all ages, genders, and backgrounds forever glued to Candy Crush on the subway. The tricky thing about writing, though, and most creative pursuits, is that you’re not only trying to win the game, you’re also making the game up as you go along. There is no neatly leveled path shepherding you towards victory, you are immediately thrown into the final level -- going from a blank page to a work of art.
And that’s nuts.
The real challenge of writing is to constantly confront your own mediocrity and not look away. To self-impose your own levels in a way that forces progress until you can finally trap the feelings and thoughts bubbling on the inside and wrangle them into a visible, articulated shape. And then mold that shape over and over and over until it's somewhat recognizable. To put raw feeling into a form that can be shared and understood beyond the self is the ultimate challenge.
They say creativity is a muscle you have to exercise. Except writing, as an exercise, is not like, say, push-ups -- super convenient, easy to do anywhere for however long you want. No, writing is more like long distance running -- pretty annoying, needing vast amounts of time and space to really get anywhere. But so damn rewarding once you do. So I've been allowing myself that space. Time to just kind of stare at things and think. Because, I'm learning, that's part of the challenge.
I published a few articles last month. I’m proud of them. They’re exact opposites in tone. One is a playful advice piece for men on Tinder about the basics of emotional labor. The second is a snapshot of life with an eating disorder -- it’s embarrassing to share, but our standards of beauty are insane and we need to talk about consequences.
Most of the news these days is still horrific, but here are a few things that inspired...
In which Amanda Hess teaches us about feminism and legend Bell Hooks tells it like it is. In case you live in a hole, a stomach-churning reminder that sexism is still everywhere and double standards surround us. As I learn to accept my identity as a total introvert, this case for shyness, exploring life-as-performance, is fascinating. An essay about writing for rejection and one about writing like a woman, but both about so much more, left me thinking about them weeks later. Pieces like these make me want to be a writer, and simultaneously remind me how far I have to go.
Listening to a podcast on love, in all forms, and what that even means.
Watching this smart new episode with head nods. And googling the shit out of Barry Jenkins and Tarell Alvin Mccraney in awe and admiration.
Hope your days are filled with inspiration, persistence, and time, to just kind of stare at things.
x
Emily