What is a writing mind? I guess it’s just two words. A phrase, if you will. And words and phrases only ever have the meanings that we impart on them. Those two words, that phrase, have a special but nebulous meaning, at least for me. It’s like trying to define a color without using examples. No one would give the same definition. Mine might change day by day depending on how I feel.

Sometimes my writing mind is like something I have to coax out of hiding, luring it with good writing, bad writing, or even a good smell. They are someone that I have to draw out before they can start producing anything really good.

Reading that, you might come to the conclusion that my writing mind isn’t necessarily me. It could be a part of me, or it could be a whole other entity sleeping under the surface. Honestly, in my mind palace, it usually feels like the latter.

My writing mind is a bit of a jerk to be honest. Often they are ready to go when I’m at the beach or in a car—I get terribly motion sick if I try to do anything like writing in a car, and yes I do not presume the gender of my writing mind, I would once again characterize any part of their character or identity as nebulous. Very rarely is the writing mind ready to go when I have set aside time for them.

The best nudge I can give my writing mind is just giving it a problem to solve and keeping at that problem. Anyone who’s ever written any piece of fiction or perhaps anything at all has encountered these problems. This part is too slow, this part lacks feeling, and this character has no business being here right now. Here’s the trick though, I never try to get my writing mind to solve those problems. I try to solve them myself. My writing mind shares one terrible flaw with myself. I can’t stand to see a thing done wrong. If I fumble with something long enough, my writing mind appears and takes to the keys. Like a parent grabbing the wheel as their child veers over the center on an unmarked back country road.

Sometimes it takes them a while. Sometimes I will be driving along and just hear the voice in the back of my head telling me it’s bad but offering no constructive criticism. I just know if I keep at it long enough they will show up. It doesn’t work every day, but it does most days, and on my own, I think I’m good enough to get by without their help for at least a little while.

My writing mind was never a fully formed thing. Still isn’t. Probably never will be. There were times when my writing mind spewed out drivel, but it always had something to it. Something that got me excited. There were times when my writing mind was the ultimate copycat. Passing off other author’s styles as my own. It took a while, but eventually, they just stopped doing that. They started to get comfortable, or at least, more comfortable. For all of my writing mind’s perceived greatness, they are still a neurotic half-formed mess at times.

But when my writing mind really gets going I can tell because it sucks the breath right out of me. My adrenaline flows like I’m in the midst of a fight even though I am safe at my desk, incense burning, drink at the ready, and a cat or two curled up at my feet.

I recognize that this is not a dilemma or condition unique to me. I don’t dare say every, but I do dare to say that most writers and creators deal with these sort of mental structures. The human mind is a real treat isn’t it?

Quote of the Moment:

“The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.”

― John Milton, Paradise Lost

Current Reads:

Sixth of the Dusk by Brandon Sanderson
The Lost Metal by Brandon Sanderson