I recently stumbled across some parenting advice that resonated deeply with me, and if you’ll bear with me, I’ll explain why I think it’s valuable for us to consider in regards to our writing too.
Do not ask your children to strive for extraordinary lives. Such striving may seem admirable, but it is the way of foolishness. Help them instead to find the wonder and the marvel of an ordinary life. Show them the joy of tasting tomatoes, apples and pears. Show them how to cry when pets and people die. Show them the infinite pleasure in the touch of a hand. And make the ordinary come alive for them. The extraordinary will take care of itself.
– William Martin, The Parent’s Tao Te Ching: Ancient Advice for Modern Parents
As a mother, it’s hard for me to look at my two-year-old daughter and not imagine all the amazing things she could do and become. Obviously I want the best for her, and I believe her to be full of limitless potential, capable of reaching the highest heights.
But is it fair to ask that of her? Is it best for her to feel that kind of pressure?
Or would it be better to follow where she leads, and to nurture her interests and skills as they make themselves known? To teach her that life is not a ladder that needs to be climbed to the top, but rather a playground to be explored and enjoyed?
Writers tend to be big dreamers, so it’s no surprise that when we look at our work, we see vast possibilities and hope for resounding success. And don’t get me wrong, hope and possibility are wonderful things.
But over the past few years, I have come to believe that setting them aside is better for the work.
When you are sitting at your computer with your work-in-progress before you, don’t ask it to become a New York Times bestseller. Don’t ask it to win a National Book Award. Don’t ask it to get a movie deal, or make you into a millionaire.
Don’t ask your short story or your personal essay to win a Pushcart. Don’t even ask your blog post to go viral.
Instead, revel in the sound of the keyboard clacking while you work. The glide of pen over paper. The joy of stringing words together. You had a thought, and you transmitted it from your mind to the blank page in front of you. That’s practically magic!
I’m serious.
There is a great deal to wonder and marvel at in even the most “ordinary” of writing. A line of dialogue that makes you laugh, or an everyday detail rendered in unexpected language that makes you think of it anew.
In my experience, immersing yourself in the joy of self-expression — reaching inward and exploring the territory you find there, rather than looking outward and wondering how people will receive you — leads to a more fulfilling creative process, and that in turn leads to producing richer, more engaging writing.
In other words, some of the most important (ongoing) work I’ve done is to learn how to ask less of my writing. To respect what the story is, rather than pushing it toward something I’ve decided it should be.
To be clear, this isn’t New Age hippie advice about relinquishing all control and letting the muse take over. Discipline and intentionality are valuable tools in the daily practice of any writer.
Nor is this about pantsing versus plotting. What I’m advocating is perfectly compatible with outlines and structure.
This isn’t about process; it’s about mindset.
It’s about putting away the pressure to succeed — or at least redefining what success is. It’s about nurturing your story into being the best version of itself that it can be, and believing that that goal is as worthy as any and all other goals you may secretly harbor.
(It also happens to be inherently conducive to those other goals, by the way. The extraordinary will take care of itself, after all.)
Do you find yourself putting too much pressure on your manuscript’s shoulders? If so, what techniques do you have for checking that impulse?
About Kristan Hoffman
Originally from Houston, TX, Kristan Hoffman studied creative writing at Carnegie Mellon University and later attended the Kenyon Review Writers Workshop. Now she lives with her family in Cincinnati, OH, where she writes both fiction and nonfiction with a focus on feminist, multicultural stories. Her words have appeared in the New York Times, Switchback, and the Citron Review, among others. She is currently at work on a Young Adult novel, and is represented by Tina Dubois of ICM. For more, please visit her website.
“life is not a ladder that needs to be climbed to the top, but rather a playground to be explored and enjoyed”
This quote resonated with me. Goals are great, but thanks for reminding me to find fulfillment in the work itself. Great post!
I highlighted that same line, John. Playing in all forms was an integral part of my parenting technique when we were raising our children. I firmly believe that giving them the relaxed atmosphere of little pressure helped them define their own path toward succeeding as adults, which they all have.
That’s wonderful to hear, Maryann, because that’s what I’m hoping to provide for my kid/s too. :)
I’m so glad that resonated with you! Thank you for commenting to say so.
Thank you for this, Kristan. I needed to hear it this morning as I edit my story yet again.
Happy to remind you, then! I have to remind myself of this all the time, after all…
Hello Kristan. Thanks for your post.
It takes its cue from your concern about creating stress in your child by emphasizing goals over exploration, striving over play. This point of view may well make sense for small children, although I doubt “tiger moms” would agree.
But I’m not so sure about applying the idea to adult writers. The choice isn’t between a pleasure-centered stroll through life’s creative-writing playground, versus a Darwinian struggle for literary dominance. It’s between heading down futile rabbit holes, versus coming to real-world knowledge of oneself, and choosing the right ladder.
Funny you mention “tiger moms,” because I almost did too. Then I decided not to, for various reasons. For what it’s worth, I do think there’s some merit to the Tiger Mom approach — and as in all things, probably a balance or compromise is best.
Anyway.
“The choice isn’t between a pleasure-centered stroll through life’s creative-writing playground, versus a Darwinian struggle for literary dominance.”
You’re right. That’s a false dichotomy. (Which was partly the point of my post.)
“It’s between heading down futile rabbit holes, versus coming to real-world knowledge of oneself, and choosing the right ladder.”
Hm, I don’t know. I think those “futile” rabbit holes are very often HOW you come to the real-world knowledge of oneself, and by trying to eliminate them (both in parenting and in writing) we make the process a lot harder and less enjoyable than it needs to be.
I also maintain that life (and writing) is not a ladder, but there may be something to choosing the right playground.
Regardless, I always appreciate hearing your opinion, on my post or any other here. You consistently offer good food for thought, which I find valuable and refreshing! Thank you.
I love this post, Kristan. There are different kinds of pressure inside of us and outside of us. Shouldering someone’s expectations is a terrible burden that makes for good character-writing but not such a good upbringing. And not necessarily a good inner coach or task master either. Lately, I’ve found myself setting aside the intense pressure to let myself actually enjoy my writing. What a concept! You did a great job of summarizing the possibilities I’m experimenting with, for productivity and for enjoyment, which is a big component of success, IMO.
Thank you! And:
“Shouldering someone’s expectations is a terrible burden.”
Yes yes yes.
Many good thinkers have noticed the firm connection between the brain and the hand. My writing goes best when I find, sometimes almost as an accident, that I am relishing the physical sensation of my fingers on the keys or my pen moving over the paper.
Really? Fascinating. I should look into that more. Because I have the same experience as you, and in particular, I find that switching to pen and paper “unlocks” something in me. Thanks for sharing!
Hey Kristan, great to see you. I think this essay is full of wisdom. I’ve been thinking along the same lines lately. And I think it’s worth mentioning a slight distinction I’ve come upon.
I’m working on a first draft of the third edition in a trilogy, and if I start to worry about what’s going on with the sale of the first, and how that’ll affect the revision work on book two and on what I’m drafting, I am instantly bogged down. And having no fun. Which is so stifling. So I’ve been letting go of the outcome. Lo and behold, the work is flowing. And it’s fun again. I even dreamt about the work last night, for the first time in a long time.
But here’s what I’ve found successful. I allow that the revision work will be different. I allow that drafting is all about exploration and freedom, as you rightfully say here. But revising and editing is about making it worthy of being read by others.
As I say, it’s a slight distinction that works for me. And it helps when I’m revising/editing to think of someone, or a few someones, specific (spouse, critique partner, editor, what-have-you). For me that keeps the pressure lower, and allows for a bit more freedom (and even fun, when you hit the milestones those specific feedback providers set).
I often think about my early days here, mostly lurking at WU, and during my first forays into engaging. You were a role-model of that engagement, Kristan. Not to mention your admirable level of commitment and passion. Thanks for that, and for today’s wisdom. Wishing you the best!
Hi, Vaughn! *big hug* I totally agree that different parts of the process require different kinds/degrees of “letting go,” different considerations. I thought about mentioning that in my post, but then, for various reasons, opted to leave it out.
Thanks so much for your kind words. I wish I had more time to “hang out” with you and the rest of the WU regulars like I used to. Alas, since becoming a mother, my bandwidth for engagement has gotten smaller and smaller. But rest assured, I’m always around, quietly keeping my eye on my friends. :)
I love this post for so many reasons, but one thing you said really caught me. Getting ideas from head to page is a kind of magic. In our culture of big and more and faster, what do we miss while we rush headlong after the next fabulous? Sunlight sifting through a curtain? A child’s eyes widening at the sight of snow? I think our work requires us to dance on a fence-top between noticing and orchestrating, doing more or less of one or the other, depending. Every day, I try to listen for cues. Reading your post was a breath of fresh air! Thank you!
Thank you, and I love that: “to dance on a fence-top”! Your comment reminds me of my #dailygratitude tweets, which I don’t actually do every day, but which I occasionally use as a way of stepping back and enjoying some of the “smallest” of life’s joys.
Kristan, thank you, this post was just what I needed to hear today. I’ve been coming to a like place, trying to find the joy in the everyday business of revising a chapter. The same chapter I’ve revised five times already. But when I can let myself sink into the zone, the way I did a a child in playground, just looking for what’s entertaining–then it’s fun again. Finding a better word, a better way to heighten the conflict–isn’t that all it takes for writer geeks like us to have fun?
Yes, fun! That is the key, IMO!
And fwiw, my critique partner Ingrid Palmer rewrote the first chapters of her debut novel, honest-to-goodness, probably 40 times before she finally felt it was “right.” But it worked! She quickly snagged an agent, and then a book deal.
Sometimes the slog is worth it, so yeah, we gotta find ways to enjoy the hard work.
Can I triple love this post? Quadruple love it? I often find a nugget, sometimes several, to mull over, to work with, from many WU posts—but, this one? It’s among the best I’ve seen on this site. Thank you for writing this. For reminding us to be in the moment with our work. Yes, we all need to push our writing if we want it to resonate and last among the noise. But, it needn’t happen right out of the gates. One of my CNF essays, that I wrote almost three years ago and pitched to a number of literary journals over two years, just found a home. It didn’t happen overnight. And, it’s only 800 words. It took three years for my flash essay to make its way into the world. Words, if they’re going to touch someone and last, won’t fly off our fingertips. It takes effort, oftentimes years of effort. While in the thick of it, we should enjoy the process that will take us there. Love your post. Thanks for sharing. Ann
Awwww. *blushes* Thanks so much for your enthusiasm about my post. I’m so happy that the spirit of it resonated with you. And yes, the writing life is a long haul, so let’s dance while we’re at it. ;)
Kristan, This post resonates with me in a deep and personal way. Taped to my computer are the words “The Practice is the Art” — this goes to writing, of course, but more so to Life as a whole. As a small child my father’s advice to me was “Be happy” It seemed a very tall order. When my mother died I was 10 and my father explained that though very bad things happen, there is something good that will come from it. He’d fought in WWII and I suppose he thought of things on a grander scale than my 10 year old brain could comprehend. When I was older and read Lord of the Rings, and studied Philosophy, Buddhism and the Tao, I began to grasp the concept. I enjoy the process of writing. I enjoy making the sentences, taking a break and reading great literature, researching places, and the psychology of my characters. I never want the writing to end. I even enjoy editing. I dislike the part of publishing, and I don’t enjoy the launch, the events, the marketing at all. I have no expectations for notoriety and I don’t enter any contests. I have spent all of my life in a series of creative endeavors. I always go back to why I write. What is my intention, my motivation.? It isn’t money, fame or validation of any sort. It is to know myself better and the inner peace it brings. Thank you so much Kristan for your pearls…
Goodness, thank you very much for your comment. I feel like I just read a brief, bright flash of a story. The Practice Is the Art, indeed. Be happy, yes. Inner peace, please.
At my age, and in my physical and mental condition, it takes all I have to write.
Without extremely high expectations (and the work that goes with trying to make the work worthy of them), there’s literally no point for me to spend my limited time and energy on writing fiction.
But I’m not finding that the pressure causes any problems; if anything, it makes incandescent the joy when I can.
I think that’s what having a vision of a book of the mind and heart does to a writer.
Glad to hear from someone who feels differently!
Kristan, as someone who lived with the weight of crushing parental expectations, I applaud your mindset for your daughter. As someone who then self-inflicted crushing expectations upon my writing life, I agree with the intent of this article.
It’s difficult to get over the goal-oriented mindset, but the more I focus on growth, learning, and process, the more content I grow. Also, the more productive. Nice how that works out, yes?
Great to see you here again. xo
Jan, if I hadn’t already written this post, then I almost certainly could have written your comment in response to it. (“It me,” as they say.) Thank you, and yes, it’s always lovely to “see” you too. <3
Thank you, Kristan, for so many reasons I love this and agree with you. This is a keeper, a reminder. Beth
Thank you, Beth!
This post is a terrific reminder to find that balance between focusing on “how is this book going to sell” and “are readers going to enjoy the story.” For the latter, we need to be enjoying the writing process.
Thank you! And yes, I pretty much always advocate balance. :)
“nurturing your story into being the best version of itself that it can be, and believing that that goal is as worthy as any and all other goals you may secretly harbor.”
Yes!
So glad that line resonated with you!