Write without trying
The Imaginative Storm technique is built on the premise that trying to write well is a major obstacle to writing well. Maybe you’ve already experienced this in your own writing practice. It’s frustrating. It saps your confidence and your motivation and your energy. You start to think, “If I can’t write well, no matter how hard I try, I guess I can’t write.”
The problem is not that you can’t write. You can. After teaching writing workshops to hundreds of people, we can say that for certain. Almost everybody, given the right techniques and encouragement, can touch a reader with their words.
The problem is the trying, because the effort stiffens the words. Here’s why.
First, you’re not in the flow of the moment. You have your eyes on the outcome, not the process, so your hopes and fears are jostling around in the forefront of your mind. You hope it will get published. You’re afraid you can’t pull it off. Added to that, you’re worrying about what other people will think rather than focusing on the emotions of what you’re writing about—and that makes you self-conscious.
Second, you’re judging what you write as you write, so you’re in your critical mind, not your creative mind. (There is a time for judging what you write, and it isn’t now.) When you’re concerned about the words hitting the page, your writing can’t pick up momentum. You’re constantly fighting the gremlin in the back of your mind that whispers, “That’s not good enough. You can’t do this.” Your creative mind thinks, why should I put myself through this! So it packs up for the day. Your inspiration and energy drain away.
That gremlin is your inner critic—which we’ll examine in more detail later. It’s trying to help you, but it thinks you want to write well every time you put words on a page. You have to teach it that that’s not how this creativity thing works.
Third, when you’re trying to write well, you’re often trying to produce writing that’s like other writing you think is good. In other words, you’re trying to write like somebody else, maybe even like multiple somebody elses. No wonder it doesn’t sound like you!
You’ve probably heard other writers say, “I have to find my voice.” Maybe you’ve said it yourself. There’s a lot of “trying” embedded in that idea. We’d say you don’t have to find it. It’s right there. All you have to do is stop trying to write well, and it will come out.
Did you rant fiercely, angrily, sarcastically, calmly, or with biting logic? Did you enthuse with passion, with tenderness, with joy, with serene certainty? That was your voice. If you thought you hadn’t found it yet, you have. You didn’t have to try.
We asked you to rant early in the Training because when you get up a head of steam, the words pour out without effort. Now you know what it feels like to write without trying. Take that sense of flow with you into your writing future. Other prompts might not open the floodgates so wide, but whenever you feel that flow starting, go with it. Don’t hold back from it because you had some other intention for what you were going to write.
That’s not to say the floodgates are supposed to open every time you set the timer. They don’t. Still, you up the chances of even a short little burst if you allow yourself to feel your way moment by moment, rather than trying to accomplish a task.
But what if you just go blank? You set the timer, and nothing comes.
It happens.
Number one: don’t let yourself fall back into that “I can’t write!” panic. There’s nothing wrong with what’s happening (or not happening). There’s nothing wrong with you.
If you feel that panic coming on, with thoughts like “What should I write? What would a good writer write? I want to do this right,” and so on, write that! Write, “I don't know what to write! This is idiotic! What the hell am I doing here?” It’s strange how the thoughts act like a switch that shuts you off from bodily sensation, but writing them down takes the sting out of them because—guess what?—you are actually writing something. You do know what to write. It wasn’t what you planned to write, but so what? Very likely the piece will suddenly morph into something intense and emotionally connected. We’re not quite sure why that happens, but we’ve seen it happen countless times.
As you work with Imaginative Storm prompts, you’ll build up a trust that even if you don’t burst out of the starting gate when you set the timer, something will come if you stay relaxed and stay open. Sink into the emotions that the prompt calls up in you. Let your eyes roam again over your lists of words or notice the details of the room until your imagination is tickled by something. Close your eyes and let your memory take you back to another time and place. Stay curious. Ask yourself, “What else is there?” Noodle around with whatever words do come. Don’t try and force them onto the page. And if you still have nothing when the timer pings, that’s just what happened that time. You’re training yourself not to force it. And maybe you have some information about resistance in yourself that you might be curious to explore.
When you’re curious, you forget about writing well. You just want to see what comes out. Curiosity and the inner critic cannot coexist.
The moments in your writing that take you by surprise are the moments of spark and energy. You can’t surprise yourself by trying to surprise yourself, just like you can’t give yourself a surprise party. But you can make a surprise party possible (tell people it’s your birthday, stick to your routine, don’t make other plans). And you can make surprise in your writing possible by giving yourself prompts that send your rational mind into unfamiliar territory.
As you become comfortable writing to Imaginative Storm prompts, you’ll turn toward patience rather than effort. Often you won’t start writing immediately—but you’ll have confidence that if you sit with the prompt, something will come. If you commit yourself to this technique, it always will.
—from Write What You Don’t Know by Allegra Huston and James Navé
The image above is from the series “Full Moon Paintings” by Paul Pascarella
