My writing process and why I’ll probably always have typoes
I know that bothers a lot of people and I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t care. I actually care a lot. But there’s a weird way that I write and it’s the only way I can enjoy the process. If I don’t enjoy it, it 1) my writing won’t be sustainable and 2) more importantly it won’t be any good. I’ve tried the other way, oraganizing, outlining, and proofreading over and over until I don’t know what I’m reading anymore. It doesn’t work for me. My brain stops and I end up with vomit. I lose the legs or the heart of what I’m writing about, and end up pulling an Irish Goodbye, skipping out the back. That’s why I literally have hundreds of “drafts”, unfinished blogs.
In order for me to stay at the party, I have to splatter paint. I just start typing my thoughts. Usually on a phone like I am now. With horrible posture and shortness of breath. Many may think this means I don’t take writing seriously. But I think “seriously” should refer to the hours you put in, not how you do it. I know my words are all over the place. I know I bird walk as I do when I’m talking. Some of my shit doesn’t even make sense. I mean it does to me but maybe not by the time it gets on the page. And one may argue, then why are you posting it for others to read? Well, because I always write for me first. I know that sounds selfish but it’s the only way my writing is any good. Not just my writing. I believe anyone’s writing. Then I write for you.
So I throw my words on the page with two hands because they are the most honest that way. Then like scattered puzzle pieces, I quickly try to sort them out. Or what you guys call edit. But I am a shitty editor, as bad as I am at puzzles so it starts to lose it’s edge. I start to not like it.
New thought. Here’s the thing about me. I am a conceiver. I’m good at giving birth. But not at raising. Not just with writing, with everything. I have more ideas than I will ever be able to execute. If was a painter, I would have hundreds of unfinished paintings. And many that weren’t any good. But a few really good ones where I painted with my heart and my eyes were closed. And to me, that’s worth it. That’s art. That’s honest. A sea of tries with a few gems.
New thought. Here’s how my brain works. I have an idea. Then like a lighted fuse, I only have a limited time before passion runs out and I have nothing to say anymore. And I refuse to write anything false. My non negotiable rule with writing is that it has to be honest to me or I won’t write it. My thoughts and opinions may change but I only write what’s honest to me when I write it. So if my passion runs out, I stop. It’s almost like a disorder. Many call it lazy. And I can see that. But it doesn’t mean I stop writing. It just means I stop writing that piece. I write like six hours a day, every day. But different pieces. Book. Blog. Articles for other publications.
Anyway, that’s my process and it’s the only way I can write daily, like I have been for the last decade. If you consider screenwriting, then for the last twenty years. So with my process, you’re going to see a lot of typos.
Because the other thing I do is post before it’s ready. It’s something I do with everything. The cart before the horse. Build the bus while I’m driving it. I like to live my life that way actually. It makes me feel alive. Yes, I also have no patience. But what it does is forces me to really pay attention and go back with my busted comb (left brain) before too many people read it. It’s like a game I play with myself so I eventually have less typos and better blogs. It may not make sense to you but it does to me.
New thought. My fiends used to tell his mom not to pick him up from school so he could challenge himself to find a ride or he had to walk ten miles. I guess it’s kinda like that.
I guess my point in all this is everyone has their own creative process. You gotta do what works for you. With my books, I obviously have an editor. Thank the good lord. But I write the same way. Splatter paint and spin plates. Then they mark it up so much I no longer see color.
I believe there is a madness to writing. I believe there should be a madness to any creative process. And you have to allow for that or there is no poetry and what’s left is a school paper.
I care less about all the red pen marks and more if I have moved someone or challenged one’s thinking. I would write all in all emojis if I knew it did the job better.
Thank you for reading me. Excuse me while I post and re-read this quickly before people start wondering if English is really my first language. Here’s the funny thing. This will probably be the only blog with zero typos. Doubt it.
If you’re interested, I write about life, love, and my fucking feelings.
If you like what I have to say but can’t stand the typos and fragmented sentences, then you should really lean into it. For you. Or you can listen to me HERE.