I’m embarrassed to admit it. But I have to drag myself kicking and screaming to finish any piece of writing.
The initial idea generation is the fun bit. Pinning down the final idea and ‘finalising’ it so it can’t change is painful. Cutting out good bits because they don’t fit is painful.
End result: I’m currently sitting among a pile of half-finished drafts and almost no final versions. And my instinct is simply to keep adding to that pile.
So why am I confessing this?
If I don’t get off my arse and ship things then I can kiss goodbye to any hope of being creative. Because it isn’t creative until it’s finished.
Here’s some of the tough calls that I’m avoiding:
- I’ve got to decide which ideas are worth pursuing an which you drop
- I’ve got to find the heart of the idea
- I’ve got to add in all the details that are missing
- I’ve got to cut out all the crap that’s getting in the way
- I’ve got to polish the final components
- I’ve got to fit everything together in the right order and the right structure
- I’ve got to find the right framing. Possibly even the right title. And the right audience.
I’m sure there’s plenty more besides. But this is painful.
Frankly, while writing this very piece I had a dentist appointment that I expected to involve drilling into my teeth. That prospect actually felt preferable to knuckling down to some of the tasks in the list above.
Finishing stuff feels like cutting off the option of turning back. Like I’m losing a lake of infinite potential. And I struggle to reconcile myself with that.
And it’s so SLOW.
The words come out so quickly first time around. But then a few small edits… Rearranging the order of a couple of ideas…
That seems to take forever. (And often results in me changing my mind and putting things back exactly where they were before)
To the point where I wonder if there’s any point.
But if I don’t do it then I might as well not bother.
Because I didn’t sign up to be “creative” generally — whatever that might mean. Instead, I signed up to produce finished pieces of writing. There’s no way around the fact that this needs the editing phase.
It needs me to make those hard decisions and throw things out on the cutting room floor.
So, somehow, I’ve got to find a way to create. Finish. And then move on.
Now, it’s ironic that I’m writing this section about making hard decisions when I’m in the “idea generating” phase of this creative bit of writing. I’m precisely AT the point where I get to splurge out as many ideas as I like and I don’t have to do the hard work of discarding, organising etc.
I’m safe. For the moment…
But I know that’s got to come. I’m steeling myself for it.
And, of course, if you’re reading this then it means I have taken the bull by the horns. (And somehow clung on grimly for the duration of the ride. Rather than being contemptuously flung into a crumpled heap)
And — so far, at least — I’m managing to do it consistently. Even though I haven’t found a way to change how I feel. The siren song of “more new ideas” is always easier and more fun that slaving away at the painstaking work of finishing something.
How have I done that?
The trick is that I’m deliberately engaging my “best self” to do the heavy lifting.
I’m self-aware enough to know that I might manage to buckle down to the hard decisions when I’m acting as my “best self”. But I’m sure as hell going to fail in those (more frequent) times when it’s one or other of my more mundane character sides who shows up. Let alone in those bad moments…
So I need to find a way to put my best self in control of this good ship ‘Creative Output’. Always and forever.
The key to doing this is to understand what it does and doesn’t mean.
It doesn’t mean that my best self always needs to be the one at the wheel. Hell, he doesn’t even have to be on deck or awake.
But he does have to be the one giving out the orders. Or, in this case, the one who gave out the orders long ago…
So I started with my clear vision of consistently shipping finished work. Then, I used one of the times when I was at my best self to create a SYSTEM that forces me to support that vision.
That way, whichever version of me is at the wheel, they’ve got a non-negotiable set of operating instructions to work from. A system laid out once by my best self — to be used ‘forever’.
It doesn’t need to be complicated. In fact, it can’t be complicated if it’s going to have a chance of working.
I’ve simply got a default setup with time scheduled out each day for both parts of the process — writing and editing. And then I adjust the balance as it becomes clear that I need more of one or the other.
So when I find myself with that whole pile of half-baked ideas, the required action is clear:
No more new writing. No new ideas. Just finish what you’ve started.
And — even on my bad days — it turns out I’m capable of following crystal-clear, direct orders. So far, that’s been enough to stop my lower selves from wriggling out of the work they’re desperate to avoid.