The only thing writers are better at doing than writing is making excuses. (Admit it! You know it’s true.) And one of our favorite things to excuse ourselves for is, ironically, not writing.
Now, if you’re a writer, this is not news to you. Probably you’re reading this article about why you should Write That Thing so that you don’t have to actually open the document and write it. I see you. (And I’m here preaching to you instead of hashing out my latest novel. So we’re even.)
But I’m not here to talk about procrastination. I’m talking about stifling a story.
I don’t know how inspiration comes to other writers, but with me it’s a bit like a seed. As we go through our days, there are influences all around, and like little spores, we get new thoughts from them. Different ideas stick to different people. Something that fascinates me might pass you by and vice versa.
But every so often a thought gets stuck inside you and it begins to grow. That’s where my stories come from.
We like to talk about the ones that we gently care for and cultivate. We water them with thought and surround them with fresh air and sunshine by mulling them over when we’re supposed to be doing other things. In other words, we feed them with our time and love so that they grow.
But have you ever had a story which stuck to you and for some reason, you tried not to grow it? Maybe you didn’t want to write it, or didn’t think you should, or thought it was above you, or beneath you, or any number of other reasons. But the more you tried to distance yourself, the more you could feel it moving restlessly inside of you.
I’ve definitely had these, enough that I wrote a meta story about the experience. The most poignant of my stories that I didn’t think I should write turned out to be one of my most powerful. I was in college and had been shoving this idea down for years, fearing it was too dark.
But my roommate and best friend gave me the perfect advice: Once it was written, I could decide whether I wanted to share it or keep it to myself; I could even burn it if I wanted. But it was clearly stuck in my head and not going to give me any peace until it came out, so no matter what else happened, I needed to write it.
That, my friends, is the advice of a wise woman. So write that thing.
Write it, even if it feels risky, because it is.
Write it, even if it initially seems like it’s already been done. Usually, if it has survived your efforts to smother it, it contains something the world has never seen.
Write it, even if you have no idea how you’re going to make it work. Just start with the things you know, the ones that won’t let you go, and grow it outward. A few steps taken in faith may bring you to a story you never knew was possible.
Write it, even if it seems like it won’t stand out among its peers. Some themes, though often revisited, are the ones we never tire of.
Write it, even if you don’t know how your friends or family will react. They’re not the ones laying awake at night listening to this thing bumping around.
Write it, even if you’re not sure where it’s going or what it will mean when it’s finished. Because if even your best efforts as the author to stuff it away and forget it have failed and it has flourished in the darkness, feeding off your stray thoughts and inner longings, there is something worth saving in it. Bring it into the light, and stop treating it like a weed.
The thing is, you don’t have a choice. As a writer, many people think you are the master of your creation, when in fact, you know you are not. You are the host, and if not written, a story will, like a parasite, destroy you from the inside. Apologies to all my non-writer friends who may be disturbed by that image, but it’s true – there is no more uncomfortable feeling than having a story inside you, clawing to get out. (Forgive us if we’re grouchy when this happens.)
Whatever your reasons for stifling the story, bring them into the light, too. Write them out and ask yourself if they matter. You may even find you can work through those concerns before you start. But if any remain, set them aside and return to them once you’ve written your story, start to finish. (Yes, in my experience, you will have to finish it in order to get relief. Sorry, friends. I don’t make the rules.)
I won’t attempt to explain why some ideas strike us and refuse to let go, but I will tell you that as a creative being, there is no use resisting. You must do what you were created to do, which is to create, and you may as well start with whatever story demands to be heard. It has latched onto something deep within you and chances are it will speak to the depths of someone else once written.
My friends, write that thing. Because more often than not, these persistent stories are the ones that matter the most.
