The Lines I Didn’t Publish No.5
Behind-the-scenes on my latest essay, "I Thought Adults Knew Everything", stopping writing mid-sentence, and the A/B title feature.
I’m not someone who ever knows what they’re writing about.
When I put headphones in to start drafting, I may have a loose idea, or something that has been haunting me, but that’s about it. There are no bullet points or outlines, just an openness to see where things go. I used to think this was problematic and unproductive.
Now, I see it as the magic.
Elizabeth Gilbert talked on a podcast about writing and the aliveness of ideas. This is the premise behind Big Magic, which I read (and then reread) a couple of years ago with great interest.
Anyways, on an episode of The Telepathy Tapes, an insane, must-listen podcast on the telepathic abilities of non-verbal autistic individuals, Elizabeth Gilbert is a guest. Her episode is on the consciousness of creativity and is basically an abbreviated, conversational version of Big Magic.
She talks about how ideas are alive and that they choose us (cool, right?).
But for me, the clincher is this: Gilbert likes to leave ideas a bit restless.
Instead of drawing out a writing session, she purposefully stops writing midway through a sentence. The theory, as I recall (and forgive me for my notoriously poor paraphrasing skills), is that by stopping our writing abruptly, the aliveness stays percolating.
Like teens in a mall parking lot, the energy behind the words stays loitering, waiting to be released.
When we put a nice little bow around a writing session, we can lose steam. I’ve felt this before, where ending on a high note creates more intimidation for the next day’s work.
I like the idea of ideas being alive. It feels like it alleviates some of the responsibility and labour around writing. Maybe I’m willing to buy into any excuse to “do less,” but the permission (nay, encouragement) to step away and go eat bonbons before continuing a piece jives with me.
And so, I’ve been trying to do this more with my writing. I arrive not knowing where a piece will take me, let myself get carried out to sea for a bit, then before I get too tired or my foot cramps up, I return to shore for some watermelon and libations.
My mantra as of late is to write more and struggle less while doing it.
With that, I don’t mean to brag, but my latest piece, I Thought Adults Knew Everything, revealed itself with little torture. It flowed pretty seamlessly, and instead of rewrites, I mostly trimmed out the unnecessary.
As someone who is drawn to the “all that and a bag of potato chips” or “everything and the kitchen sink” style of writing, I’m trying to exercise restraint. I’m learning to let go of lines that I like to honour the piece as a whole.
Often, an entire buffet isn’t as satisfying as one nicely plated meal.
I’m trying to serve one cohesive, well-portioned plate rather than offer chicken soo-guy, prime rib, and lemon meringue pie all at once.
