I’ll be honest, this isn’t the post I sat down to write this week. That post was inspirational, affirming, uplifting, and fun.
When I sat down to write it though, the words didn’t come. After several unfruitful attempts, I left my desk and poured more coffee (that almost always helps). Then I did laundry, played with the cats, talked to my kids, and still the words wouldn’t come.
Frustrated, I scrolled my phone, at which point the problem became clear. The words I’d tried to write never came because they had nothing to do with the thoughts and feelings I actually needed to sort through.
Loved ones on the paths of destructive storms, friends in crisis, nations at war. These were the issues my mind wanted to wrestle with. As I pulled out my journal and wrote it all down, I noticed that when my writing was authentic, those messy words and sentence fragments contained the resonance and depth I found lacking in the post I’d intended to write.
That got me thinking—imagine if the writers, painters, and musicians who move us created only on their best days. What wouldn’t have been produced if during periods of depression, aches and pain, loneliness, and grief they’d told themselves their craft was irrelevant, selfish, unimportant, or unworthy.
Imagine what we could have missed out on? Think Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar or Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway. Would we know the genius works of authors like Toni Morrison, Charles Dickens, or Elie Wiesel?
Of course, these books likely weren’t written while these individuals were immobilized by the hardships they endured. To create the sort of polished prose that touches readers, a certain degree of objectivity and separation is important. But these works were certainly inspired by difficult times—personal and societal ones.
I am curious to know what these writers did jot down on their most difficult days. I’m imagining messy sentence fragments and urgent questions, inspired by observations of inequity, injustice, tyranny, and pain.
I believe these individuals recognized that our toughest times, when we’re most vulnerable, sometimes offer glimmers of insight otherwise inaccessible on more ordinary days. What we do with these moments is a personal decision. But if you are curious about accessing what you can from a difficult day and using it to give your writing new dimension and depth, by all means, try!
Of course, it should go without saying that during difficult times we need to be gentle with ourselves. We might write 100 words instead for 2000. But look carefully at those 100 words—they might be far more relatable and loaded with truths than any other words in your book.
Likewise, the words you write might feel disconnected, melodramatic, or impossible to follow. That’s alright. Return to these raw, seemingly meaningless sentences another day and see what can be extracted. (No time spent writing is ever wasted. Every word written is part of a giant creative process I won’t pretend to entirely understand. I only know that every word we write informs our next page, chapter, or book.)
Even if our intention is to write through difficult days, we might find the words don’t come. The list below represents techniques I regularly turn to when I my writing feels stuck.
How about you? What do you do? Do you find it helpful to write through difficult days? Do you want to give it a try?
Share your stories in the comments.
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Does this apply to editing? 😳
It certainly could. I suppose it depends on the writer’s relationship with editing, which can be a highly transformative process. For those who find editing creative and grounding (like tidying a house or a drawer) it could be just the thing for a dark day. However, the precision and thick skin that editing requires can also make this the wrong activity for such times. Personally, I prefer to use a difficult day to unearth a new idea or see an old idea through a different lens. But that’s just me! We write and edit our way forward to discover these answers, I suppose.
Great tips, Rebecca!
Thanks, Windy!