How do you get your work published? That was the first question that came up when I taught a class recently about finding one’s voice, making a difference with our words, and writing for a popular audience. Given the focus of the class, it was a legitimate inquiry, because to reach an audience, to make an impact, you need a platform and a way in.
However, it got me thinking about the intention with which we approach the practice of self-expression, and what happens if we allow ourselves to become preoccupied with an objective that can, if we’re not careful, tie our sense of worth with external validation. In other words, the linear equation of writing with publication – misguided as that is, it’s understandable, given the culture of productivity.
In the words of the Zen master Shunryu Suzuki Roshi:
"Our culture is based on the idea of gaining or accumulating something...We are in danger of being buried under all of our accumulated knowledge. We can hardly survive the pollution of our knowledge."
This is not to deny or dismiss the value and importance of sharing our work. Rather, it’s to prompt some thought around how we do so from a place of authenticity, integrity and individuality. I should add that I did and do answer the question around how to pitch and publish, with the caveat that it’s a process that will teach you more about rejection, resilience and persistence than anything else. All of which is to say, it’s helpful to your sense of self-direction, self-worth and your commitment to the practice of expression if publication is not your primary goal. Also, there are other ways to share and connect, but that’s for another article.
The art of communication
The focus on publication also relates to and can in fact lead to the dreaded writer’s block – the sense of feeling stuck and unable to get our words out, which in itself, is a simple if not easy process; you just have to get something down on paper. The challenge with doing so, in my personal experience and from what I’ve seen in some others, is one of overcoming the critical inner narrative that makes us stumble due to subconscious doubts about whether what we say matters, and/or a lack of clarity around what we even wish to say.
So again, this takes us back to the fundamental point; that we have to figure that out before we can move forward. This is the essence of reflective writing (also known as free writing or automatic writing) as a relational practice - it can help us to understand ourselves and witness the nature of our mind at work, which can galvanise or clarify how we communicate with others, and how we show up in the world.
Something that I emphasised to this particular class, and do generally when guiding writing practice, is the importance of getting to know our own mind, spending time with the mess and the confusion, embracing the imperfection, and parking any expectations we have over how things “should” be, and how we “should” sound, or what makes for “good” writing. When we let go of these inhibiting ideas, we are more likely to encounter the brilliance of our own thoughts and ideas.
Because ultimately, what makes for good writing (in terms of personal storytelling, essays and creative expression, rather than academic or scholarly writing) is something real and raw, honest and true, not something that is contrived to fit a template or forced into the limiting parameters of structure. All of those things are valid, though that comes at the stage of crafting, refining, editing and polishing. But you have to have something to work with before you can get to that point.
What we say matters
Whichever way you look at it, the world is full of people clamouring for attention – if we want to add something meaningful, interesting and insightful, that moves and provokes readers in a way that is fresh and illuminating, it’s worth taking a step back and spending time with our thoughts. Inspiration and emulation definitely have their place, but at some point, we have to stop reading and start writing – thinking – for ourselves.
Another question that came up, from a student who reflected on how the day’s writing practice made them aware of how scattered their mind was, was how to work with all of the tangential ideas and ramblings that emerge.
This is where reflective writing is different to academic or “professional” writing (though it can complement and aid the latter)– because we free ourselves from the goal of having to get anywhere. And oftentimes, that means that we go somewhere different and interesting as a result.
The act of transferring thoughts to paper, seeing the scattered nature of our thoughts one moment, and the glimmers that emerge through the ramblings on other occasions, is profoundly simple in that sense. It is a practice that serves its own purpose.
There may well be a thread of sense that emerges that can give us something to work with the next time we come to the page or screen. It’s likely we’ll arrive at some kind of realisation about the way our mind works, what preoccupies or frustrates us and why, and in the process, we’ll come to understand what is worth our time and what we need to let go. Through that process of excavation and filtration, we are more likely to land with confidence and conviction on our message, our story.
To circle all the way back, I’ll end with some words from my own teacher Natalie Goldberg who hits the spot when she says:
“All writers, at some level, want to be known. That’s why they speak. In knowing who you are and writing from it, you will help the world by giving it understanding.”
That’s a difference worth making with the right, carefully chosen and thoroughly pondered words.