I get great emails sometimes, emails from writers with amazing questions.
(I also get emails from jerks, too, who want me to promote their books or who hate me because I once said self-publishing had a “shit volcano” quality problem, but really, the great emails stand head and shoulders above these.)
Yesterday, I guess in response to my post about authorial doubt and envy, a reader wrote in and explained that she suffered from depression and that she appreciated that I suggested that depression was a whole separate beast from writer’s block and you can’t combat them the same way. She said (and I’m paraphrasing here) that she saw one doctor who had kinda burned her out on a lot of medication, and now she’s trying to come out of that somewhat and refocus her concentration. But, in the process? Writing is very difficult. She’s good with ideas, but has a lot of trouble concentrating enough to manage the execution.
And so she wanted to know what makes a “real writer.”
The heart of her email was contained in this question:
Can someone be a real writer if certain components can just brush it away?
Meaning, if your ability to execute as a writer is defeated by one’s brain chemistry, can you be a real writer? Or does that somehow take that away from you? Are you a fraud? False, in some way —
A poser?
Now, a few things.
First, this reader knows I’m writing this at the blog, though I did respond to her via email, too.
Second, I’m in no way a Trained Brainologist, and I should barely be trusted to give advice on tying shoelaces or boiling water for ramen noodles, much less on such tricky issues as managing depression or other maladies of the mind and body.
Third, I’ve answered the question before of what makes a “real writer,” illustrated by this handy-dandy zero-fuckery flow-chart.
A more nuanced response may be necessary, though.
My response to the reader was shorter than this post, but I thought I’d jump in here and talk about it because this feels like a discussion that everybody could get in on, given that creative people are given over to many flavors of emotional turbulence.
So, here’s the thing.
I get headaches.
These are not supernatural headaches.
They’re not migraines.
They’re normal, average, everyday headaches.
I do not get them often, but I carry a lot of tension in my shoulders and neck (and, recently, my jaw, which is totally not awesome-feeling), and as a result? Headaches.
On the days in which I have headaches, I find it dastardly difficult to write. Writing becomes an act of pulling crocodile teeth with a pair of blood-slick pliers. It’s hard. Just having a little tiny itty-bitty jerkwad of a headache makes writing significantly more difficult.
And so, it is safe to assume that anything larger than a headache — any disease at all, any pain that is physical or emotional — would seriously hamper your ability to put words on paper. Migraines. Depression. Grief. Addiction. Cancer. Carpal tunnel. Christ, a goddamn cavity could derail your writing train into the hoary canyon of zeroed productivity.
I like to think a headache stopping me from writing on a given day wouldn’t change who I am.
And it shouldn’t change who you are, either. No matter the malady.
You are who you are. You do what you do.
I think we should worry less about what constitutes a ‘real’ writer, which is a thing for other people to worry about. Let them shit their pants over it. The worry over your identity as a writer is only going to frustrate you further. It’s why I always say that approaching depression as if it’s just writer’s block is only going to turn up the volume on all the lies that depression already tries to tell you. It’s only going to make recovery — for whatever your illness — exponentially harder. Sometimes, we do have to push ourselves. We have to do things that we feel are difficult, or scary, or frustrating. But you also have to know that pushing too hard can make you break. And sometimes you have to let yourself heal before you strain, sprain, and snap.
A practical solution is to, if you still want to write but find it difficult, switch gears. Write anything. It doesn’t have to be something to sell. Write a journal. A blog. A comic book. A poem. A random agglomeration of ideas. Write 350 words. Or 100 words. Or shit, ten words. Do what you can, when you can. And don’t sweat what other people think. Don’t sweat labels. Some people want the label. But the label doesn’t matter. It’s just a word. What matters is you taking care of yourself. What matters is you trying to find the way through the darkness and to the light. What matters is you writing when you can, not when everyone else says you have to.
Mhairi Simpson says:
Thank you.
August 27, 2014 — 12:25 PM
Lauren J Sharkey says:
You are my fucking hero, Chuck. To the girl that wrote this email, I hope that you are able to write and share your story despite your depression. Remember it doesn’t make you and it can’t break you. I don’t know you, but I am rooting for you!
August 27, 2014 — 12:27 PM
histaminequeenJanna says:
Thank you. Thank you for reminding me it’s not about the writing goals, it’s about just writing. I just need to write. Anything. As a person with multiple chronic health problems that also include depression, writing has been near impossible lately
August 27, 2014 — 12:28 PM
Maia says:
I can’t remember how I discovered your blog, but I’ve been reading for a while now. I would like to say that you are a delight and a mensch.
August 27, 2014 — 12:29 PM
Karen Lynne Klink says:
I get migraines and I feel guilty that I get them even though I know it’s crazy to feel guilty about getting migraines. I have another malady that I’m to embarrassed to mention on line, even though it’s not my fault, but this thing drags all the energy from me, and the last thing I want to do is write. But, gee, ten words? Fifty words? Words I don’t have to be concerned as to whether they are any good or not? I can do that.
Thanks, Chuck.
August 27, 2014 — 12:30 PM
smithster says:
Absolutely 100% correct.
There are a number of ways I deal with physical maladies and mental malaises and my writing. Having a habit of working is a HUGE help for a start, but when you’re really sick and can’t stick to that schedule you start to feel like a failure, so – what you said about ‘just write something, anything’. I often fall back on editing as well and just focus on mechanics for a bit. Sometimes that can help kick start something, but even if it doesn’t it makes me feel as though I’ve done something. I think small achievements become exponentially more important when you’re already dealing with real life BS, and you have to give yourself credit for them. Be kind to yourself as much as possible, it helps enormously 🙂
August 27, 2014 — 12:31 PM
Jess says:
I LOVE this post. I’m often derailed by depression and argiung with my dastardly internal “you suck!” demon. If I feel like a fraud while writing the book I’m still trying to finish, I switch back to blogging. At least I’m writing something that way. Thanks for this: it’s a lovely encouragement.
August 27, 2014 — 12:32 PM
Barrett says:
Boy, is your timing ever perfect. Thanks…I needed that!
August 27, 2014 — 12:35 PM
Kelly Saderholm says:
I love this to the moon and back. And totally sharing with all my writer friends. Thank you.
August 27, 2014 — 12:37 PM
Rowan Speedwell says:
I am EXACTLY THERE right now. Thank you so much for posting this and helping me remember that not matter what else we are, we are not our illness. Thank you.
August 27, 2014 — 12:41 PM
maniacmarmoset says:
Thanks! I’ve had this conversation, more or less, over and over again in my writerly circles where self doubt and indentity crises run rampant. Who am I? Am I a writer or a poser? If I don’t put words down I must be a faking faker that needs to wake up and smell the failure. I get it. I feel it too. When I was well enough to identify that my non writing decade was a result of a loud and insidious depression monster and not my own failure. That was a revelation. Glad to see that out in the world being acknowledged.
August 27, 2014 — 12:42 PM
fadedglories says:
Judging by what others have posted before I would say a goodly number of commentors on this site are ‘Depressed’ or have been ‘Depressed’ or think they shortly will be ‘Depressed’….again.
If you’re here you are possibly drawn here to bask in the effulgent glory of the Wendig…..so that makes you unusual, maybe rare and certainly weird right off the bat.
I think sitting down to write is the action of a person who has weird stuff in their heads and if that stuff not written down it might explode out of the writer and hurt someone; this is a personal opinion and not didactic. To me writing is my safety valve…..that’s my weird.
It’s good to be different until being different hurts. If the girl who wrote to Chuck originally is hurting maybe she needs to write something to make the pain go away. It works for me.
August 27, 2014 — 12:42 PM
Nan Sampson says:
Freaking brilliant, Chuck. Thank you!
August 27, 2014 — 12:44 PM
Carol McKenzie says:
Writing is hard enough some days without the overlay of chronic pain, or depression, or a migraine. Or toothache, Or the myriad other things that get between words in the head and words on the paper.
Depression in an insidious fucker. For your email writer it steals concentration. For me it steals my ideas. And the medications I take steal my memory AND my words. I wrote a story for a client that was almost a dead ringer for one I’d just written for her. Names had been changed to protect the content, but the basics were all still there. And it wasn’t until she pointed it out that I realized what I’d done.
But it doesn’t take away that I’m a writer, any more than it takes away I’m a mother, for example. I suffered from postpartum depression. I was still mother, but depression wrapped me in a creepy dense woolly blanket that muffled the world. I still did mothering things, but from a distance.
Depression blunts my creativity, but that creativity is still there. It’s in my DNA. Depression can’t take that away, but it makes it hella hard to find it sometimes. I write, but from a distance.
But I am still a real writer. I will always be a real writer. (Chuck told me that once, so it’s true…but I also believe it for myself.)
On a practical level, I did find that giving myself permission to be depressed, to lighten up on myself a little, helped. I didn’t give in, but some days I stopped fighting quite so hard. I also have several chronic pain diseases. Some days fighting the pain is more painful than just letting it happen. Beating myself up because I was depressed or in pain, and not writing, just made me a bully. A depressed bully with pain. Even a less productive state to be in.
I also kept every WIP document I had open on my computer. If I was going to idly surf the web, my stuff was was still in front of me. No out of sight, out of mind. And I’d find myself drifting over, reading a sentence or paragraph, and tweaking. Then writing notes, and an outline for chapters and scenes I’d get to when I could handle it. That seemed to work most of the time too.
August 27, 2014 — 12:45 PM
Carol McKenzie says:
And I meant to say thank you, Chuck. And somewhere in all that rambling I also wanted to say I’m not a fraud or a poser….I’m a writer with depression.
August 27, 2014 — 1:48 PM
D. W. Beyer says:
Thank you. Illness above the neck is no different than illness below the neck. I think we’ll all feel a little better when more people understand and accept that.
August 27, 2014 — 12:45 PM
fadedglories says:
ps I’m currently on the 350 words a day treatment regime.
August 27, 2014 — 12:47 PM
sknicholls says:
As a person afflicted with bipolar and anxiety disorder who writes to write first and also writes to sell, I applaud your advice. Foremost, we are human.
August 27, 2014 — 12:52 PM
Jeff Keir says:
“…it is safe to assume that anything larger than a headache — any disease at all, any pain that is physical or emotional — would seriously hamper your ability to put words on paper.”
This.
And this:
“What matters is you taking care of yourself. What matters is you trying to find the way through the darkness and to the light. What matters is you writing when you can, not when everyone else says you have to.”
I get ocular migraines. No pain, I just can’t see. The frustration that comes with it is what derails me, and it usually takes a while to get through it. I count myself as lucky it isn’t worse than it is. I guess that’s a rather small example, but the Wendigo quotes ring true in my case.
August 27, 2014 — 12:53 PM
Heather Kamins says:
Recommended reading: author Sarah McCarry’s interview project, Working — “an ongoing and open-ended interview series focused on writers who identify as living/struggling with depression and mental illness.”
http://www.therejectionist.com/2014/01/working-interview-project.html
August 27, 2014 — 12:57 PM
canuckmom2013 says:
Hey Chuck. I’m writing about my life. This memoir business is plain madness, but I have to do it. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding my breath while I do it. It is hard, but if I stop, I may not be able to start again. I appreciated your words, especially,
“We have to do things that we feel are difficult, or scary, or frustrating. But you also have to know that pushing too hard can make you break.”
Thank-you.
August 27, 2014 — 12:59 PM
Justine says:
I also suffer from depression and have done well with medication and counseling (highly recommended if you can do it). Depression is a slippery slope where you can gain a lot of ground, then in one misstep or bad snowstorm, slide your ass all the way to the bottom, feeling like you just can’t climb that mountain again.
This is probably going to sound trite, and maybe it only works for me, but as someone relatively new to this writing game, I have found the least “poser-ish” I’ve ever felt is when I tell people I’m a novelist. I don’t even use the word “aspiring” anymore. I state it as a a plain fact, without embarrassment, and I believe it. Does it matter that I still haven’t Finished The Damn Book? No. Does it matter that I’m not (yet — ever hopeful!) published? Nope. To me, saying I’m a novelist (and believing in that) brings about another state of mind, I guess.
And on the days where I have a hard time concentrating or coming up with words for the book, I do other things. I research (I’m writing a historical novel), I edit, I read blogs (like this one), I study craft…stuff that, while not always directly impacting my word count, will hopefully impact the quality of words I do write. More often than not, it leads to flashes of inspiration and ideas for the book.
As the others have said, be kind to yourself and believe in yourself. And good luck! We’re all rooting for you!
August 27, 2014 — 1:00 PM
Theresa Meyers says:
Chuck, I appreciate you talking to her, but sometimes writing nothing is best.
We, as writers, have this tremendous pressure to produce to prove ourselves. I’ve been that writer – the one in a clinical depression that took medical assistance to get out of it. It happened after a series of life events, including the death of my mother from breast cancer when she was barely out of her 40s, two babies in diapers at the same time, a move to another state with no family or friends, except my grandmother that I now had to care for, loss of a job, hideous student loans, two mortgages we’d gotten into to get the job we then lost when the tech bubble burst…I could go on. In short it was a shit storm in life and it took me down to a very dark place.
I was still a writer. I am still a writer. Depression has fuck all to do with it. Just like my gender didn’t change, nor the fact that I’m a mom or a sister, just because I was in a depression. Being a writer is who you are.
But during those really dark years there wasn’t a will to live. There weren’t ideas. There weren’t words. There weren’t even feelings. Just opening your eyes and making it from one hour to the next was a triumph. So if you are there, if you can’t put your fingers on the keyboard because the well of your creativity has run dry. That’s okay. It’ll fill again. Trust in that. You just need to heal. Give yourself that time to write nothing. To focus on the healing. Do things that will refill that well. The words and the ideas will come again.
Who you are as a writer hasn’t changed. You haven’t lost your mojo. You will write again.
And if you are in a place where you can write, don’t worry about it being the next book. Write anything. Do it for the joy of it. Do it because it gets the things you need to out of your head so you can function. Don’t do it for anyone else. Just you.
Why? Because I know the words and the story ideas come back once you climb out of that darkness. I’ve got 17 published books for three different publishers written after that depression to prove it. You can do this. You are every ounce the writer you have always been, and this is just a moment in time that will pass.
August 27, 2014 — 1:09 PM
Kay Camden says:
None of my weird health issues get in the way of my writing.
But I still feel like a poser. And a fraud. All the time. I think that might be one of the ways to determine if you’re a “real writer.” Constant doubt, feelings of inadequacy…
writer
[rahy-ter]
noun
1. a poser engaged in writing books, articles, stories, etc., especially as an occupation or profession; an author or journalist who is also a poser.
August 27, 2014 — 1:10 PM
sarahcain78 says:
Thank you for a great post, Chuck. I hope the girl who wrote feels better. Writing is hard. Writing in pain is torture.
August 27, 2014 — 1:17 PM
Eleanore Trupkiewicz says:
I so appreciate your perspective and honesty on this issue. I have clinical depression, an anxiety disorder, PTSD, fibromyalgia syndrome, chronic fatigue syndrome, and chronic myofascial pain syndrome, among other things. When I can sit down and get ten words on the page, it’s a good day.
It’s actually amazing what I’ve learned from having chronic, incurable health conditions. Perfectionism and control go right out the window — I can only do what I can do with where I am right at this precise moment. It’s taken time to accept that, and I’m not always happy about that reality, but it frees me to be as creative as I can when I have the energy to do so, and not worry so much about a misplaced comma or whether what I’m writing will make sense to anyone who’s not drunk or drugged.
Best advice: Be gentle with yourself. Your needs are just as valid as anyone else’s, no matter what conditions you face. Writing in itself is a therapeutic process, starting with total chaos and gradually creating order and sense through revision and rewrites. Take the time you need; make the space you need; and don’t be hard on yourself.
Thanks, Chuck!
August 27, 2014 — 1:18 PM
Hawk Eppler Zindell (@EZ_Hawk) says:
Love this post a bunch…
For me it can be so helpful to try to frame mental health issues similarly to injuries… I did martial arts & dance for a long time, and if I had an injury that was tweak-y or was just a little weak I’d just modify the activity but for a full-on blow-out injury? You let that shit heal up, or it just makes everything worse.
Not that it’s a 1-to-1 comparison (writing exacerbates my biggest mental health issues & I know that’s not at all true for everyone) but I do think giving yourself leeway is sometimes something you have to do BECAUSE you’re “a writer” — Writing is definitely a marathon so it doesn’t make sense to tear yourself to pieces in the middle of a bad moment when you’re in it for the long haul,
August 27, 2014 — 1:27 PM
ssmackenzie says:
Thank you for this, Chuck.
I hope it helps to know that other writers suffer from depression. I do. I even get it when I write something I’m pleased with. After the little bit of joy fades, I’m left with a bit of a depression “hangover”. I sometimes get so depressed I can’t write. Then, I get so depressed from not writing that I have to write.
A published writer gave me this piece of encouragement: “Everyone wrestles with insecurity. There’s a reason so many writers kill themselves and its not because its the Best! Job! In! The! World! Every! Day! So you’re not alone. What makes you sensitive makes you a good writer. Double edged sword. But swords are fun!”
Two things that helped me: I made the word count (or sometimes page count) be my goal. I can’t judge a number. I’ve even hacked away at the key board while thinking, “this is shit, this is shit, this is shit . . . at least I’ve hit 500 words.” Then, maybe I stew, feel sorry for myself, go for a walk, watch tv . . .
It’s a wrestling match I lose every time. That leads me to the second thing that’s helped me: I’ve come to believe that my creativity, talent, skill, whatever doesn’t come from me. I’m a vessel, a conduit, a channel. It might seem like spiritual hooey, but I think Elizabeth Gilbert articulates it well:
http://www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius?language=en
Depression is real. But what it tells us about our writing is not. It’s an illusion, a lie we can chose not to believe.
Thanks, again.
August 27, 2014 — 1:33 PM
Elizabeth Poole says:
This is one of my favorite pieces on writing, ever. I listen to this at least once every few weeks, and more when I’m feeling stressed.
August 27, 2014 — 9:46 PM
Leslie says:
Awesome post! As usual, Chuck, you are, “da bomb,” as my teen would say. Just how do you know everything? I’m sitting here reading your post, sipping my 20th cup of coffee for the morning agreeing with everything you say. So I’m not a freak! I’m not alone! Wait….might still be freak, but not alone is probably a more accurate take. No, not saying you’re a freak either or anyone else for that matter. Why do I feel like some changeling now? Like a “vesen” creature from the show, ‘Grimm’ I’m playing two lives, two roles and morph back and forth? I write everyday because you said to in a post like 6 months ago EXCEPT….here it goes…I can barely lift my head on the days I have migraines. Yep! True migraine sufferer here as a lovely “side effect” from surviving Meningitis. Could have been worse I suppose…like death! Anyway, I really resonated with the person who wrote to you and with your response. I try to write 1000 words a day with no particular goal in mind. On the days when my head is imitating ACDC, it’s almost a relief…an excuse to give up the charade..the writer charade for 24 hours. Okay, okay, admittedly am writing a fantasy YA and a complete opposite fictional book that would be considered chick lit for single mom’s I suppose, but regardless I STILL FEEL LIKE A FRAUD. I never enter contests or tell anyone about my books (Congrats y’all, you’re the first!). For me, writing is this relentless natural purging I have to do or the words orchestrate such a cacophony in my head I can’t focus on other things….necessary things like oh, I don’t know, my work, running the pixies to soccer, mowing the amazon in my backyard. It’s the strangest thing. I think you are spot on with everything you say…so true and wise and inspirational…ha, ha…so I agree with everything and then I retreat back to my hermit status as a writer. Everyone is quick to give advice that always starts out, “You should…” I hear those to words as pardon the French, shitting on oneself. No good thing comes from “you should.” And so to spare myself the agony, I write all on my lonesome, battle the migraines with some delicious pain meds and kind of take it as I am an artist (I photograph for a living as well.) and as such it seems history has shown that the recipe for being an artist is to be off the normal axis either by being plain nuts in some way or so brilliant you’re eccentric and peculiar or suffering from some sort of ailment. Ding! Ding! I get door number 3, and whether I “should” write or not…I do try…it’s addictive and orgasmic and infuriating (Okay, I get the crazy door too.) and a sensational outlet. Even depression can bust out some amazing awe inspiring, deep soul sifting stuff…perhaps even more so so um…yeah…write on lady and while I am no aware winning or accomplished writer to have any worthy 2 cents to speak of, write on, Chuck, for keeping it real and still always, always, always, always incredibly powerful!
August 27, 2014 — 1:42 PM
Laylah says:
Thank you so much for this post, Chuck, and thanks also to the insightful commenters offering additional help, perspective, and support. I’m fighting with similar issues to your email writer as I stare down the too-scrawny beginning of my second novel, and this was such an important reminder.
August 27, 2014 — 1:43 PM
Becki Crossley says:
Having read this, I’m amazing I haven’t seen it written about sooner. I love your zero-fuckery approach to writerly issues and even more so in this post. More people should be talking about this. Thank you for starting the discussion.
August 27, 2014 — 1:45 PM
Sophia says:
I was just angsting over this subject, so I appreciate this post. Perfect timing, Guess it’s silly, but it means a lot to see you say this, ’cause I think you’re a really cool dude.
August 27, 2014 — 1:48 PM
Lisa L says:
If thinking that having depression or any kind of psychological issue makes someone not a “real” writer, well, then I would employ the logic that there is a huge correlation between creative minds and psychological issues. In fact, many “real” writers (and artists for that matter) do suffer from all matters of psychological disorders. This is documented information. It’s a blessing and a curse to have a highly creative mind, a kiss on one cheek and a slap on the other. So it’s not the depression that keeps someone from being a “real” writer, it’s the act of not writing or at least trying at all, that does it, in my humble opinion. Our minds can be our greatest tool and unfortunately our biggest enemy all at once.
August 27, 2014 — 1:55 PM
HC says:
Fuck yeah. This is exactly what I needed to hear right now, Chuck. Thank you.
I’m a trans person who’s just gone on hormonal treatment, and it’s been royally fucking with my brain in a lot of ways. In particular, it’s made writing feel like playing an egg-and-spoon race on a bed of fire ants. It doesn’t fix that, but it really helps to have a reminder that no writer should their own Rapunzel, spinning and spinning and spinning.
August 27, 2014 — 2:03 PM
iriel says:
Thank you so much for this post! And to the lady that brought up the topic, too! It’s an important issue that haunts me as well.
August 27, 2014 — 2:11 PM
joannadacosta2014 says:
This entry actually made me cry, because I understood this question “Can someone be a real writer if certain components can just brush it away?” so much. I don’t know the writer who posed the question, but I know she is a writer and it sounds like she has ADHD.
I have never completed writing something that wasn’t assigned by a teacher. I have severe ADHD that wasn’t diagnosed until last year, well into my 40’s. I was prescribed ritalin. The ritalin helped, but I still had untreated ADHD my entire life, which compounded the problem. I thought the ritalin would cure me. I produced more written work than I ever have previously, but I still didn’t complete anything. I felt like a failure.
Writing was the one thing that I’ve always thought I could do well, if I just had enough focus. I didn’t finish writing my book – I couldn’t finish writing it. Then I just fell off the face of the earth, I stopped writing, I haven’t updated my website since March, the ideas dissipated, and I just stopped everything, including taking the ritalin. Everything got worse, I lost track of all of my time again, I stopped cooking, I gained weight, the cluttering piles of paper returned, while running late one day I ran over a kitten. My life spiralled into black. I turned inwards, and isolated myself.
I just started taking the ritalin again, and doing things in smalls steps. I also read up on ADHD, and what having trouble with your executive brain function really means. Yea, it’s a pretty serious affliction. I also kind of came to terms with the idea that I may not ever be able to write something in the traditional manner. When I couldn’t finish the big novel – I stopped writing everything. It was like dying. So, don’t do that – don’t punish yourself, just keep writing.
What defines us as writers? It’s not that we write plays, poetry, or novels – or that we are published. The only thing that defines us as writers is that we write.
There is a website called ADDitudemag.com that has tons of strategies for dealing with things like cleaning, organizing, managing time and finishing projects – as well as diet and excercise to help manage the symptoms of the illness.
August 27, 2014 — 2:14 PM
smithster says:
Excellent comment, thanks for sharing.
August 27, 2014 — 2:26 PM
Abigail says:
Thank you for this post.
August 27, 2014 — 2:20 PM
garrettbrobinson says:
This is such a great post, and such an excellent solution for “comparisonitis” as well. Write what you can, when you can. If you have an eight-to-seven job, and five kids, and an upside-down house, and you can only squeeze in twenty minutes of writing a day before you collapse to bed with all the weight of your exhaustion and troubles on your mind, that doesn’t make you NOT a writer.
It doesn’t mean you’re not as good as anyone else. It just means you’re creating DESPITE. Which, if you think about it, is actually a lot more impressive than creating BECAUSE.
So yeah, don’t worry about the label. And don’t compare yourself. You aren’t doomed to failure because you write a hundred words a day and someone else writes 10,000. You’re destined for success, because you still manage to get out what you can, when you can.
August 27, 2014 — 2:30 PM
Katie Doyle says:
Depression is an asshole. It makes every tiny bit of writer’s block seem like a chasm of emptiness (because the rest of the world is too), and, yes, makes those with it feel like a bigger asshole for even thinking they’re a writer.
Thank you for writing this post, Chuck.
August 27, 2014 — 2:58 PM
Rachel Eliason (@racheleliason) says:
Writers who have been at this game longer have an unspoken advantage, I think. I find I have a growing list of writing related tasks that take less brain power than actual writing. When I have a day where my brain won’t kick out words I tend to; read old manuscripts and do some editing, research future topics, jot down notes about my next work, create timelines for future stories, etc.
I think as long as you commit to doing something today that keeps your head in the writing game, tomorrow, or whenever you feel better, you will get the writing done.
August 27, 2014 — 3:00 PM
meghanarcuri says:
your posts are awesome.
pragmatic, succinct, and hilarious.
thanks!
August 27, 2014 — 3:01 PM
Melissa Clare says:
This was a great post. I’ve struggled this year with depression as the result of grief. So not clinical depression, but still deep and dark and black. It stops you, wraps you up, and holds you in one place. It’s hard to do anything. I thought about writing a bit, but I couldn’t. There was no way to make up and get lost in some sort of fantasy environment, and very quickly I didn’t even try. But I did start writing journal entries and it helped. It didn’t make things better, but it was freeing to open a blank word document and just get totally honest and let it out for a while. With grief, eventually you do start to feel better (though you may never be the same), and that was when I started writing fiction again. And I found that writing fiction based on what I’d experienced helped too. Chuck is right. Sometimes you need to be gentle with yourself.
August 27, 2014 — 3:15 PM
fadedglories says:
Depression triggered by Grief is devastating. If you want we could talk about it sometime.
August 27, 2014 — 5:30 PM
Robert Sadler says:
I know first hand the difficulty of writing in a spell of depression. When it hits, I don’t have the willpower to be awake, let alone focus creative juices (which is difficult enough during the bright times).
Stephen Fry (a great writer, among other things, who suffers from depression) appropriately compares depression to the weather. When it’s rainy, there’s nothing you can do but wait for it to be sunny again. And it WILL be sunny again, eventually. So when depression keeps me from writing, I just try to remember that it will pass, and I’ll be right back in the groove.
And you only need to look to history to answer the question of whether or not you can be considered a “real writer” when your ability to write can be so easily screwed with. Ernest Hemingway, Sylvia Plath, Mark Twain, Stephen King, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Virginia Woolf, and Emily Dickenson are just a few examples “real writers” who suffered from various forms of depression. But we only see the work they created when it wasn’t dragging them down.
August 27, 2014 — 3:38 PM
Cari Hislop says:
A beautiful post! The last year and a half my doctors have been trying to sort out my malfunctioning thyroid (not there yet). As an artist/writer it’s been really frustrating. I’ve had long periods where I’ve been unable to write anything including short e-mails to friends and family. I have had short periods where I’ve been able to write and it felt so good. Then my brain slides back into the abyss. I’m becoming a big believer in doing what one can even if that’s only lying in bed and working mentally through story ideas, characters, scenes etc (I keep forgetting I can make verbal story notes on my phone). The other day I finally figured out the name of a character (after six months). I cracked open the file and made some changes, added his name and it felt good. It was something. Hurrah! As you say, being ill, being unable to put word to paper (or word to screen) doesn’t mean we’re not writers. It just means we’re too ill to write (until we feel better and return to the realm of productivity).
August 27, 2014 — 3:54 PM
Rai Y says:
Yes. Compassionate, smart and accurate. You have hit the trifecta.
August 27, 2014 — 4:07 PM
Toni Kenyon says:
Bravo!
August 27, 2014 — 4:41 PM
marylholden says:
If I were God I would assign you an afterlife in heaven based on this blog post alone. Sorry about your headaches and grateful about your writing.
In the Now It’s All About Me Dept.: I wrote several chapters of a novel while undergoing a painful and nasty, three-visit root canal with a dentist who broke several of those drill bits during my ‘oral report.’ At one point I got to look at the site in my own mouth and it looked like a sink I once saw in the women’s restroom of a gas station in Yuma in 1978. To let you in on further details, on that restroom’s door was written WOMEN but it was crossed out. Then under it was written CHICAS and that was crossed out. Under that–without a cross out–was written BITCHES.
Write. Bingo. You’re a writer.
Root canal? Bingo. You’re a writer.
Headache? Bingo. But, ouch. You’re a writer.
Depressed? The antidote is ink and paper, or, if you can take stronger meds, a keyboard.
August 27, 2014 — 5:09 PM
Jessica Nelson says:
I love both you and your questioner for this. I suffer with bipolar depression a *lot*, and it has shut down a lot of my creative writing juices over the last couple years. I’ve struggled with this question a lot in that time, and came up with the same answer. Validation of the thought is comforting.
I would like to add, it helps to keep a journal, paint, draw, or anything else at all that will feed your creative beast-monster while you work through whatever you’re working through. It may not necessarily help you write anything *right now *, but it will help keep you from getting lost in the fog of fear and doubt. It won’t erase it, but it will help.
Love and luck to all those struggling with added challenges. ❤
August 27, 2014 — 5:26 PM
Wendy Christopher says:
Thanks for being the writer and friend to writers that you are, Chuck. Sorry about the headaches – I can imagine how much they suck, but at least they don’t detract from your all-round awesomeness. 🙂
And to the young lady who wrote the email: if you write, you’re a writer – simples. But in addition, that doesn’t mean the moment you take a break from writing you lose the right to call yourself a writer, in the same way a boy scout doesn’t lose the right to call himself a boy scout the moment he stops wearing his uniform. You’re allowed sick leave and holiday time without being ‘fired’ from your vocation. 🙂 Depression and mental disorders of all kinds can be a plus-size bugger – for life in general, never mind the writing process (and I’m speaking as one who knows.) It’s a time to be kind to yourself and let yourself heal – and if that means putting a project on ice for a while then that’s what you gotta do. If an athlete tears a muscle, no-one expects him to keep up his usual training regime in case he ‘forgets’ how to be an athlete; they tell him to rest and recover. Same with depression and being a writer – being an ANYTHING, really.
If you can’t face writing any of your current projects, or what you might think of as ‘proper’ writing, perhaps you could just write your thoughts and feelings in a journal instead. That way you’re still flexing the writing muscles, and venting on paper can even make you feel better and help you pin down anything that might be contributing to the depression. And no-one ever has to see it but you, so there’s no pressure to make it ‘good’ writing either.
Sending a big virtual hug to all the depressed writers out there… *hug*
August 27, 2014 — 5:45 PM
Gloria says:
I have found that whatever it is that keeps me from writing, be it depression, headache or even hunger can be purged by writing. I take medications that leave me feeling loopy everyday but even when I cannot face the world, writing allows me to focus on something other than my internal shit. It is nothing for me to be more productive when I am depressed because I am writing about what is depressing. It is like magic that flows out of my brain and through fingertips. I don’t judge it because I do not judge my emotions. Emotions aren’t good or bad they just are.
BTW, I would like to use your handy-dandy zero-fuckery flow-chart on my blog site/ Would that be alright?
August 27, 2014 — 5:52 PM