Write Thinking: Psychology for the Productive Writer

Foreword

The first thing you need to know about writing is that no one can teach you how to write. It’s one of those things that one has to learn on their own. That being said, I have had a number of people who have helped me on my path toward being a more productive writer, and am pleased to say that I’ve been able to help others as well.

My credentials: I’m a professor of communication specializing in journalism. I have published more than 200 articles and stories over the years, and have 17—this makes 18—books to my name—so far. I’ve taught writing in various capacities for the past 16 years, and before that—as a book and magazine editor—taught several writers workshops.

My views and opinions are my own. Someone may disagree with my approach or my attitude toward writing, and that’s OK. All I can share is what I’ve learned and what’s worked for me. If you’ve found other things that work for you, God bless you. The bottom line is simple: words on paper (or computer screen). Nothing else really matters. You’ll also note that I avoid using the word successful, since I consider that a loaded, misunderstood word when it comes to writing, and instead use the word productive. Because once again, being productive is what counts.

This book is a compilation of blog entries on writing that I’ve published on my website (http://glenchen.com) over the past five years, and is based on my own experience. During that time I’ve learned a great deal on writing by doing, but also by teaching others to do. I decided it was time I shared it with a larger audience, and in a more organized manner.

The book approaches writing with this philosophy: the first task of the writer is to learn the rules of grammar, spelling, and punctuation. You learn how to write a clear, coherent sentence, then a paragraph, then a page, then a book. Once you have learned the rules, everything beyond that is pure psychology. That includes (1) convincing yourself to get out of bed in the morning to write; (2) dealing with your own fears and self-doubts; (3) learning the value of criticism; (4) overcoming writer’s block, (5) tapping into your creativity, (6) taking your writing into areas of honesty and vulnerability, and many other mental stumbling blocks. If you can learn to write a coherent sentence, you can learn to deal with the psychology of writing.

As I tell my writing students, Writing is easy. All you need to know is where to start, where to stop, and what to put in between.

That’s simplistic, to say the least, but maybe we tend to make writing harder than it is. By understanding and mastering the mind games, it’s my hope that writing will become more fun—and more productive—for you. Back to ToC

Mind Games

Mind Games

I came to Texas as a new professor in 1998 with the intention of teaching students how to write. Since that day, I have found joy in the occasional (read: rare) student who has a burden to write, get published, and most importantly, grow as a writer.

I tell my students that writers never stop being students. Actually, I tell my students a lot of things, some of them repeated in my blog on occasion. And as I teach and write myself, I continue to learn.

One of the comments I made in class the other day reveals a truth that has come to me in the last few years. And that’s this: once you have mastered the tools of writing, it all becomes mind games.

I guess it gets back to why you write and what your expectations are. The bottom line, I believe, is that writers want to be read. Whether we become rich, or famous, is beside the point. But the whole point of writing is to be read by other people.

And that’s where the mind games come into play. What do I mean?

Dealing with rejection. When I wrote my first book back in 1983, I completed the manuscript, printed it, wrote a cover letter, put it in an envelope, addressed it, put stamps on it, sealed it, and promptly left it on my desk for the next two weeks. Why? I knew that if I never mailed it in, I would never be rejected. Rejection is like public speaking. Statistics show that more people are afraid of public speaking than they are of dying; our fear of rejection is that bad. If you’re going to be a long-term writer, you have to learn how to deal with—and survive—rejection.

Procrastination. I tell myself that I’d be a much better—must more successful—writer if I would just spend more time in front of the keyboard tapping out stories. But I find all kinds of reasons not to work. And so I don’t get anywhere near the volume of work done that I would otherwise. I get a lot of writing done—compared to most people who don’t write—but compared to the pros, I am woefully behind. So that’s a mind game I haven’t found a solution for yet.

Focus. It’s not enough to have time to get in front of the keyboard. You have to have vision. You have to see the scene in order to recreate it in your story—and in the mind of your reader. But when your life is filled with countless other responsibilities and worries and stresses, it’s hard to find that oasis of calm necessary to focus on the story. For me, it comes if I get up early. But with a full household, even that time is no longer sacred. So I struggle.

Am I wasting my time? If they are honest, every writer has asked himself/herself that very question time and time again. The old saying goes, if you can do anything but write, do it. But if you can’t do anything else, if you find that writing is part of who you are, then no, you’re not wasting your time.

A friend of mine—Randy Maxwell—once told me that, all excuses aside, if you are going to write, you would find a way. And he was right. Writers—real writers—find a way that works for them. I may not be working on my novel every day of my life. I may not be faithful in getting up at 5 every morning. But I do put words on paper. And that’s what counts.

As I mentioned at the beginning, it’s all about mind games. I have a running dialog with myself that is about three decades long. And as long as the dialog continues, I know that I haven’t given up.

Don’t give up. Back to ToC

Rolling Uphill

I've said many times before that, in the end, writing is nothing but mind games.

You psych yourself into writing a story, even though you don't think you're good enough.

You push yourself to write, even though you think you don't have time, or motivation, or creative energy.

You convince yourself that your OK story can be great if only you spend sufficient time editing and rewriting it.

You persuade yourself to put same manuscript in an envelope and mail it to a would-be publisher, or email it with cover letter, even though you know the odds are against you.

It's an uphill battle from the very beginning. I used to teach the occasional writer's workshop, and consistently my students ended up being seniors, usually women, who had a story, usually their autobiography, that they felt needed to be told. That's all well and good, but too often none of those promising stories ever made it onto paper, or the flickering screen. One time, frustrated with this trend, I told my students that there would be homework and they would be expected to actually write. What happened? Out of a class of twenty, one student actually did the required homework.

Why would someone take a writer's workshop and then refuse to write? That's easy. It's easier to talk about being a writer, to fantasize about the writing lifestyle and identity, than to actually write. Writing is hard, hard work. It's thankless work, for the most part. The only writers who stick with it are those who can't live without writing. It's in their blood. I am convinced in my own situation that if I never publish another story again, I will still keep writing. I can't help it. It's who I am.

But there's also that addiction that writers have: they want people to read their stuff. I know in my case that I tend to want to read my half-baked stories to my wife while the keyboard is still warm. And most of you have seen my short stories and book chapters posted here. That's a bad habit I am trying—unsuccessfully—to break myself of. The serious writer doesn't show his or her work to anyone else until it is completely finished. Or that's what I've been told.

Well, as usual, I've gone way, way off on a tangent. The reason I decided to write this blog is because what my friend Edward Cheever said in his recent blog. He's suffering from the same malady I experience each school year. He's writing for a local newspaper and finds that putting his energy into writing news stories sucks it out of him for working on his novel. I totally commiserate with him. A day job can take it out of you. For a long time, I firmly believed that I couldn't write at all during the school year, since all my creative energy was going into the classroom.

But then along came National Novel Writing Month. I did it two years in a row, each year writing a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. And this was in November, right smack dab in the middle of the school year. What made it possible was giving myself permission to write crappy stuff. If you don't self-edit, writing becomes a lot easier. It's liberating.

That's probably why I had such a hard time finishing the last five chapters of Elijah last month. I had been holding onto them since last August, afraid to work on them while I had school competing for my brain cells. And when school finished, suddenly I was out of excuses. And I was faced with writing five chapters—about 75 pages—that would adequately complete a five-year project. The emphasis, of course, being on the word adequately.

Suffice it to say, I finished the project—at least the rough draft. I still haven't had to courage and read what I have written. Often our view of the story is set so high above our own abilities that it intimidates us to no end. And so we freeze up. In the case of Elijah, I knew that if I didn't bull ahead and just write the blamed thing, it would never happen. And so I did, and now I have moved on.

I am ready to write again, I think. For a day or two, I suspected I wouldn't have the courage to write anything of length again. And that's not in the cards for me anytime soon. Instead, my plan is to take the half-dozen book ideas I have and try to write short stories from them. No pressure now. Writing a short story is not like finishing the last five chapters of a three-book set. I can do this.

And so my answer to you, Edward, is cut yourself some slack. If you want to write creative stuff, do it, but write something that is not so imposing. Maybe some poetry or short stories. Then if you want to continue the novel, do so, with the understanding that crappy writing is better than no writing at all.

As usual, most of what I am saying is directed at myself. As I tell my students, if you're serious about writing, you never stop being a student.

Or dealing with mind games. Back to ToC

Tunnel Vision

As I just mentioned, I'm in transition. And as I move from being a full-time professor to a full-time writer, I am aware of things going on in my head. As I have said a couple of times before, it's all mind games.

I have two final exams to give tomorrow, and another on Wednesday. I spent the morning grading the exams from last Friday, catching up on other grading that I have slacked off on, doing some research for a magazine article, and generally just trying to clear off my desk. And as I clear my desk and narrow my priority list, I feel a familiar sensation.

Tunnel vision.

The first time I spent vacation time writing on a novel, Shelly (my wife) laughed at me. Not because I was trying to write a novel, but because of what it did to me. I write my best when I am in the zone, when all I see is the story, when I am immersed in the characters and the world in which they live. And I have to clear the decks (both literal