How to Overcome Writers’ Resistance

MY MOTHER POSSESSED dozens of memorable sayings, all of which got stitched into me in more or less productive ways. When I was young enough to be utterly in her thrall, she told me that the world of women was divided into two categories, “Those who believed that Rhett Butler came back, and those who don’t care.” Hilarious now, for a long time I took it as a rule of discernment. Some of her expressions were less amusing, and more damaging, among them one posed as a question when, after a career as a journalist, she stopped writing. When pushed as to why, she would say, “What woman can write when she has children?” She believed that, as evidenced by her lifelong writing procrastination. I had the opposite response. It gifted me a lifelong strategy for how to overcome writers’ resistance.

Writers forget that other writers struggle with this. That, in itself, is a lesson for us all. All writers think they are the only ones who need to overcome writers’ resistance. No, writers, you are not alone, and it was during a recent Master Class that I was reminded just how much, as well as how often, we need to discuss this openly, honestly and with some strategic thinking.

In that recent Master Class, one fine writer bravely admitted to struggling with the work, and I immediately was reminded of the nearly disastrous effects my mother’s absence from writing – and language about that absence – had on my sister and me. My sister and I are both writers. I’m a mother, and I’ve published three books while raising a child, but not before I instituted some admittedly quirky rituals before each writing session, one of which is to address my long-gone mother by standing in the threshold of my office and telling her that she’s not allowed in. Harsh? Maybe. But I wrote and published three books while raising a child. Where did I learn such a ritual? From a shrink, early in my motherhood and writing career, when I was struggling to write.

What have you got? What totemic, ritualistic thing are you willing to do to get to the work? I would bet the ranch house that you’d do almost anything. Well, you don’t have to, since all you have to do is step into something that works for you and do it every day.

How Does Writers Resistance Begin?

But first, lets address where that resistance begins.

None of you needs – or deserves to be – struggling. So, let’s get some honesty under this: Resistance is to be combatted, not respected.

I might be wrong, (and that’s what the comment section below is for), but I think there are five top reasons for writers’ resistance. Here they are.

• You think your work is worthless
• Someone else thinks your work is worthless
• You do not know what to write next
• There is a book like yours on the market
• There is no book like yours on the market

Anna Quindlen, for many of us the GOAT, author of 21 books, winner of the Pulitzer Prize and on the bestseller list in every single category, including writing a number one New York Times bestseller, said in this episode of The Qwerty podcast, that she begins every day with doubt. Don’t believe me? Listen in and read along to our conversation together.

So, with that in mind, let’s take this on.

Here are my top five reasons for writer’s resistance.

Writing is Worthless

In my little book, The Memoir Project, a Thoroughly Non-Standardized Text for Writing & Life, I take this on at length. Writing is not worthless. It is of inestimable worth. Telling our stories is how we find equality in this world. Without story we remain separate from one another and at odds. It is almost impossible to hate or fear when you hear about someone else’s struggles, rituals, triumphs and terrors. Sharing yours has the greatest of worth since it bonds us, person-to-person.

Number two on my list above is that someone else thinks this writing life is worthless. That voice you hear is inherited. It did not originate with you. It’s actually an external voice that you have internalized that tells you that a life of art is not a worthwhile pursuit.

Our lives are populated with second grade teachers, nuns, parents, in-laws and other relatives who may or may not want the best for us, but who probably want us to be gainfully employed. Let’s give them that much credit, shall we? Though I would argue that along the way to wanting us to be gainfully employed, some of our dreams get squashed by these otherwise well-meaning people. To them, your gainful employment choices should not include being an artist of any kind. It’s just too risky, they think. I get that.

Here’s the deal: They are wrong. Primal passions should never be belittled. They are the stuff of our very selves.

What to do about that internal and external voice? Judge it for what it is: unreliable. I’m not saying you should quit your day job today and take yourself and your family hostage to your writing. Nope, not at all. You must earn the right to write. And for those just starting out, that means fitting that primal passion into your existing life.

In that book of mine on how to write memoir, I include the personal detail that on my computer screen sits a little index card that states simply, “Be hospitable.” It has been with me for dozens of years through many computers, always reminding me to be hospital to my talent. Let it in. Cook it up. Feed it. Encourage it. What does it mean for you? Set aside time, even if it’s only 45 minutes each day. Get your taxes off your writing desk, as well as any other clutter.  Make it easy to get to the work.

Recently, after that Master Class in which that writer offered us such honest vulnerability, I added another index card to my screen. This one simply says, “Do not flip her the car keys.” Why does it say this, instead of something direct like, “Just write,” or “For God’s sake, Marion, get over it,” or the ever-present “Stop procrastinating?” Because all of those are accusatory and will only make me feel worse. The plain hard truth of it is that I know better than to flip the car keys to an unreliable friend. Drunk, stoned, bad decision-maker, whatever she is, I am not going to let her drive me anywhere, are you? So let’s not listen to that voice.

What to Write Next

If you’ve read my work at all you know I do not believe in the two things that many writers and writing teachers hold dear. I do not believe in writing prompts or writing exercises, and I do not believe in writer’s block.

I believe in writing and I believe in research. And I firmly believe that this work is difficult, and filled with resistance. But I will never give in to being blocked. And neither should you.

The uselessness of writing prompts has been covered previously on this site, as has how to research a memoir, but I’ll add this: Every single time a writer stops writing it’s simply because they do not know what to write next. Research is the key. Open your high school yearbook or your photo stream. Call your sister and ask her about what she remembers about a certain holiday or neighbor. Get to your local historical society and research your neighborhood.

Unlocking your writing begins – and is sustained by – educating your mind.

There Are Other Books on My Topic

Of course there are other books in your topic category. This fact should never stop you from writing.

Why? That’s what categories are for: To compile books on one topic.

We have sub-genre categories for memoir because it makes it easier for readers to find what they need – i.e., life lessons in recovery from abuse, alcoholism, drug addiction; inspiring stories from our dogs and cats; meditation memoir, and much more. But until your version, in your voice, is up there on the shelf, we are lacking your contribution to the sub-genre. Period.

There Are No Books Like Mine on The Shelves

As to there not being anything on the shelves in your sub-genre, well, be my guest and create a new one. Go on.

While only a few weeks ago I would have said that it is unlikely that your book does not fit in one of the existing categories, I was proved dead wrong on this when another writer told me about something called “mafia light romance,” to which I laughed and replied “Huh?” and then was sent to a list of 144 genres and subgenres of fiction.

Apparently, the world is spinning faster than I realized. My advice? Spin with it.

How? Pocket your car keys, writers, and drive yourself.

Want more help? Come see me in any one of my online memoir classes.

Memoirama: Live, 90 minutes. Everything you need to write what you know.

Memoirama 2. Live, two hours. Limited to seven writers. What you need to know to structure a book.

How to Write Opinion Pieces: Op-eds, Radio Essays and Digital Commentary: Live, 90 minutes. Get your voice out into the world.

And keep in mind that we are always keeping a list of those who want to get in the next Master Class, the prerequisites for which are Memoirama and Memoirama 2. Live, once a month. Limited to seven writers who are determined to get a first draft of their memoir finished in six months.