Common Sense (it’s a trap!)
PLUS: How writing is like drywall
I can't tell you how many enormously talented people I talk to who find their confidence faltering when they sit down to write.
Because I’ve been outrageously fortunate to work with people at the top of their fields, people who have changed (and are still changing) the world, and have worked through the doldrums with them, I feel like I can say this to you: it’s okay if you feel inadequate when it’s time to write. Many people do, at some point.
But you can put that behind you. We’re standing at the top of a new year. Let’s make it one of getting started.
My friend’s challenge
Just before the holidays I talked with an old friend. I’ve known him since we were about thirteen, and he’s the kind of person who throws all of himself into things. As we caught up, he described a problem he’s having. He wants to write a book, and he’s been thinking about it for a while now, but he second guesses himself and loses his drive.
This is a guy who, in high school, made it to the state championship in pentathlon with a slipped disc in his back, while also working to become a national champion dancer, playing the lead in the school play, and getting into an ivy league college. Drive was never an issue for him.
For the last decade or more he’s been established in his current field. He co-founded a successful nonprofit and even produced a legit documentary. It’s got Woody Harrelson in it, for crying out loud. But he felt like writing a book was daunting.
Since we talked, some concepts keep bumping together in my head and I hope they may be of use to him, and to you if you’re dealing with something similar.
The things I’m thinking about are the Dunning-Kruger effect, imposter syndrome, common sense, and something that I think I heard from Socrates (having never studied philosophy, I double checked the latter with a quick googling, though I may have picked it up from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, so give me some leeway).
The trap of common sense
It goes like this: if Dunning-Kruger says that people with the least ability tend to be the most confident, and if Socrates observed that "the only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing," then it follows that people with expertise in nuanced subjects would be more willing to believe that they don’t know as much as they should. Because if you really know a field, you know that there’s always more to learn. You’re not there yet.
Add to that the trap of common sense, and you’ve got a perfect recipe for writer’s block. The trap of common sense is one that I’ve seen play out innumerable times. It comes up when you learn something by doing it over and over again—the way many things that don’t have tangible outcomes from relatively short-term work are mastered. Eventually you’ve been doing it for years.
Your expertise may play out in your ability to make good decisions, solve problems, ignore irrelevant details, or any number of subtle things. It doesn’t feel like you have a special skill or knowledge; you’re just applying common sense to the problems that arise.
When the effects of your knowledge are intangible or hard to articulate, what you may not realize is that your common sense isn’t so common.
So imagine this. You settle in at your desk ready to write your book. In order to do so, you have to be willing to put yourself out there as an expert. As an authority. The blinking cursor might as well be a soapbox on a bustling street corner. You start to think, who am I to get up there and draw all that attention to myself?
Imposter syndrome is the feeling of inadequacy and self-doubt that can arise when you perceive yourself as a fraud or imposter, despite evidence of your competence. When you suffer through those writing sessions and finish feeling wrung out, despite getting only a little work done (and most of it pretty terrible) this is probably what’s going on. Seriously. My computer tells me that imposter syndrome may affect as many as 70% of people at some point in their lives. And we know it’s not affecting the less capable among us.
I work exclusively with people who are experts and can legitimately claim some authority in their area, but still they doubt themselves.
When I decided to start this newsletter, it made me nervous. Talking with authors one-on-one is one of the things I love to do. Coaching people through writing a book, after doing it for so many years, has become comfortable—fun, even. But writing in public as if I expect everyone to listen to me? There are better editors than me out there, so who am I to get up there and draw all that attention to myself?
But I’ll tell you—as soon as I hit “publish” on the first newsletter, the fear vanished (even if some of the doubt remains). I know it’s not perfect, but I also know my stuff, and the newsletter will get better as I go.
Things to get your writing on track
If you find yourself struggling with feelings like these, here are a couple of steps you can take to actually make progress (it’s not go make another cup of coffee, do one more load of laundry, or organize the pantry…sorry).
Get a writing coach–someone who’s been through this plenty of times before can help you cut out a ton of suffering by helping you with your writing, your process, and your approach
Join a writing group–having other people writing in parallel, encouraging you, acting as a support system, whether you share writing with each other or not, can provide both accountability and a sense of momentum imparted by the group. Just beware of groups with a negative tone–if you find yourself in one, make your excuses and get out.
If you’ve already got a publisher, talk to your editor. They may not be able to devote as much hands-on time as a writing coach, but I guarantee you they’ve been through it before and they care about your book.
Writing is like drywall
Some last words, in case what you’re hung up on is the writing itself, or something like perfectionism.
If you really want to go it alone, that’s fine as long as you go. One of my colleagues likes to say that anything worth writing is worth writing badly. Anne Lamott tells her writing students about the value of a “shitty first draft,” and I’ll add this—if you haven’t written a book before, why would you expect to be good at it?
My cousin built his own house. He’d be careful to tell you that he had another guy with a backhoe dig the hole for the basement/foundation, but he did everything else himself.
When he showed me around the finished place, I happened to be in the middle of some DIY remodeling and I couldn’t stop looking at his walls. They were so… flat. It was beautiful. And I couldn’t make a perfect drywall seam to save my life. “I wish I had these skills,” I said. “Then I could really tackle the house!”
He looked at me for a minute.
“I started in the basement,” he told me. “It looks like crap down there. By the time I got up here I was pretty good.”
Thank you for this reminder, Robin. Being over half-way through writing my fourth book, these niggling demons still come out to pester me.