Everything Is Writing
The craft of writing is governed by a handful of actual rules and a metric buttload of unwritten rules. I don’t know the origin story, but one of the most common unwritten rules is “to be a writer, you always have to be writing.” As in, pencil-to-paper, fingers-to-keyboard, capital “W” writing. But that’s like saying to be a musician you have to always be playing an instrument or to be a politician you have to always be lying through your punchable teeth while filling your pockets with dirty money. Ok, that last one is actually spot-on but you get the point.
The truth is that writing involves a maddening amount of thinking, planning, and non-writing both before and after you vomit some words out onto the proverbial page. Even the most pedestrian writing demands a certain level of understanding, knowledge, experience, or information related to whatever the hell you’re writing—whether it’s a medical dissertation that relies on specific, measurable data or a fantasy novel where everything is plucked from your sick, twisted gray matter.
When I started my career as a copywriter, I was writing every day. Not necessarily because I wanted to or because I thought I should, but because I had to. I was trying to make as much money as possible to pay rent and buy overpriced drinks at pretentious bars, so I took any job that anyone dangled in front of me. That worked for a while. And then it didn’t. Eventually, I was taking on so many projects that I didn’t have time to fully understand what the fuck I was writing. And my work suffered because of it. I wrote generic descriptions and rambling stories that often regurgitated words and phrases I’d used on previous projects. My writing became self-derivative when it needed to be definitive.
Eventually, I realized that there’s more to writing than simply writing. When I took a step back to give myself and my mind a little time and space—and do things other than mindlessly hammering away at a keyboard—I found that my writing not only improved, but I began to enjoy the act of writing again.
Of course, I just assumed this was a personal issue. That this was how my mind worked and that this was the best process for me. But over time I started to see and hear more comments from other writers about the topic. So, I did what any good writer does—I started asking questions. Discovering that I wasn’t the only writer struggling to find balance was reassuring but I couldn’t leave it at that. I had to know if there was some kind of science, voodoo, or blood magic to support the idea that humans aren’t all hard-wired to just write 23 hours a day until their fingertips fall off. Unsurprisingly, there is. A lot of it, actually. But what stood out the most was something I found from Sigmund Freud that seemed to help explain why actively NOT writing somehow improved my writing.
Now. Freud admittedly had some pretty fucked up views on several things that we won’t get into here. But he also put forth a theory or two about human psychology that still holds up today. Specifically, his Three-Level Mind model which suggests that the human psyche is split into three distinct levels of awareness: Conscious, Subconscious, and Unconscious.
The Conscious Mind
The Conscious Mind is the level that includes all the thoughts and actions you’re immediately and actively aware of. Things like sensory details, intentional movements, and the horrific thoughts you’re thinking about the person taking forever at the self-checkout in front of you all exist on the Conscious level.
The Subconscious Mind
The Subconscious Mind is the level that includes our automatic actions, reactions, and responses. The things you do without having to think about the sequential process to do them exist on the Subconscious level. Things like riding a bike, driving a car, and looking in the fridge for the fifth time in the past hour are all done on the Subconscious level.
The Unconscious Mind
The Unconscious Mind is the level that includes everything from your primitive desires to your memories, experiences, and traumas. While you’re generally not actively aware of the things that exist on this level (unless you choose to think about them or something triggers your memory), they can still have a significant impact on your daily thoughts, emotions, and behaviors.
Cool story. What’s the point?
You’re Never Not Writing
The point of bringing up Freaky Freud is that psychologists have long known one harsh truth—your brain is a fickle bastard. One day, it’s capable of performing the mathematical equations necessary to send humans into space. The next day, it’s waking you up at 3 a.m. to remind you of that time you gave a 10-minute school presentation with your zipper down because, apparently, you should give up the hope of ever forgetting that.
You know that whole “we only use 10 percent of our brain” theory? Yeah, it was some dude’s idea back in the early 1900s and has been thoroughly debunked. John Henley, a neurologist at the Mayo Clinic, points to recent studies that show humans actually use 100 percent of our brain over a 24-hour span. We just use different parts at different times for different things. Combine this with Freud’s Three-Level Mind model and you can start to understand why you might wake up in the middle of the night with a brilliant idea, or think of the perfect line of dialogue while driving to work, or figure out how to structure your essay while sitting on the toilet. It’s because your brain is capable of working on what you want to work on, even when you’re not actively working on it.
The same logic applies to countless other activities that allow your brain to absorb information, work through ideas, and do some mental gymnastics without us even realizing it.
Thinking about writing is writing. Reading is writing. Talking is writing. Researching is writing. Outlining is writing. Editing is writing. Hating what you wrote is writing. Starting the fuck over is writing. Anything that expands your worldview, your understanding, or your empathy is writing. Chucking your laptop out the window and watching it explode into a mushroom cloud of broken hopes and dreams is expensive and ill-advised. But it might still be writing. Kind of.
The point is—all of these things contribute to your writing on one of the three levels of your psyche. Reading might trigger an idea that you can consciously apply to your writing. Talking with a friend, family member, or complete stranger might help you work through an idea or section that’s giving you trouble. Researching will provide the understanding you need to actually write about a given topic with clarity and confidence. Sleeping will give you the necessary time and space away from your work so you can return energized instead of apathetic.
I’m not trying to tell anyone how or when to write. What works for you is what works for you. But know that you don’t have to measure yourself against what works for someone else. Taking a break from the physical act of writing doesn’t make you any less of a writer. Do whatever you need to do to be a better writer the next time you put your cheeks in the chair and scream your little scream into the digital abyss.