Hi friends,
It’s been a heartbreaking week. Last week I wrote about quieting internal distractions, and how we can reclaim mental space when our doubts feel overwhelming, creating enough of a bubble around our feelings of imposter syndrome so we can write with the swagger of a mid-nineties rock band.
I’m midway through reading a book on writing blocks (I’ll write a review/synopsis when I’m done), and it’s truly helpful in terms of identifying solutions to internal blocks. What strikes me, though, is that we don’t talk enough about external blocks. This is a question that’s plagued me since at least 2016—how do you write when the world is on fire? And, more importantly, why do we write when the world is on fire? Just as imposter syndrome is selfish, and steals our attention, energy, and labor, so is the state of constant emergency that we live in. So how do we write through it?
I want to preface this by saying that this post is mostly for those of us in the privileged position of bystander. There are times when you can’t, and shouldn’t, expect to make yourself write—more about that at the end.
In (partial) defense of doomscrolling
I am a doomscroller. If information exists on the internet, I want access to it. I am the person who monitors precinct-level ballot tallies on election night. I vividly remember checking Twitter every two hours the nights after the Russian invasion of Ukraine, because I didn’t want to wake up to a Washington Post alert on my phone telling me Zelenskyy was captured or killed. I eavesdrop in the Reddit subgroups filled with meteorologists so I can tell if a hurricane is really going to hit New York City. And the past week has been the same for me, as I struggle to absorb the immense human tragedies unfolding in Israel and in Palestine. I can’t tell you to just log off or look away because that doesn’t work for me.
James Baldwin always has the right words, and this week I’ve been returning to this: “The children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this may be incapable of morality.” I’ve been struck, again, by the conviction that people aren’t their governments, and that when governments or quasi-governments do terrible things we owe each other a deep belief in our shared humanity.
My doomscrolling comes from this impulse, from the sense that we have the amazing capacity to experience the suffering of people around the world, and those of us in a position of privilege to protect our children can pay the price of bearing witness. So we pay attention, we grieve, and then we write.
The world needs your work
Over the past few years, I’ve worked with hundreds of authors. I’ve read tens of thousands of pages of articles, books, job documents, and grant applications in more than a dozen disciplines. And I know, with absolute certainty, that the work you’re doing is important and needs to be in the world. We don’t need a thousand armchair experts on the Middle East or SpaceX or how Speakers of the House are (not) chosen. We need chemists and professors of midwifery and early modernists and ecologists and poets and sculptors and people who study nationalism.
I recently listened to an interview with the poet Clint Smith, and the host was asking him questions about his involvement with BLM protests after the murder of George Floyd. And he kept politely, but firmly, redirecting the conversation, telling her that he supported the protests but that he is not an activist or organizer—he’s a poet and a teacher. Carving out that space, insisting on the importance of work as thinkers, writers, teachers, scholars, creators, is vital in moments like this. The world is better because people like you care about the work you create.
We write in community
I’ve always believed that the United States is a more collectivist society than we give ourselves credit for. Try to buy a plane ticket over Thanksgiving, or look back at pictures of people having block parties on their lawns during COVID, and it’s hard not to get the sense that we need each other.
As I’ve said before, this is true about writing too. During COVID, writers and academics used social media to form writing groups—many of which still exist today—so that we could exist in community. I know of a vibrant group of Ukrainian scholars who write together to give support to members still in Ukraine and in the diaspora, and of a powerful group of scholars who came together after the earthquakes in Turkey and Syria. Having a community who knows about the challenges you are facing and that is still holding a space for you to write is a powerful thing.
When the world is on fire, it can feel impossible to manage those feelings on your own—sometimes writing together can help. Trauma (and vicarious trauma) is exhausting, and it can also be selfish, robbing your ability to focus on other things. Empathetic groups of people who are also getting things done can help.
Humans are meant to write
The great poet Louise Glück, who died this week, wrote this: “Writing is a kind of revenge against circumstance too: bad luck, loss, pain. If you make something out of it, then you’ve no longer been bested by these events.” And I think she’s right because, as Jonathan Gottschall (and Kenneth Burke) tell us, humans are storytelling animals. Everything we write is trying to tell a story about something that’s neat or heartbreaking or true about the world.
You can always come back
Humans are meant to be writers, but we’re human before we write. Life happens, trauma is real, and sometimes you need a break to care for yourself, your family, your community. If you need a short break, take a nap (really!). But, sometimes those breaks need to be longer. As I always tell people at the beginning of our writing groups, life is long, and we’re always happy to see you on the other side. You have infinite Get Out of Jail Free “Abolition of Guilt” passes to show up when you’re ready and start writing again. And this is true for those of you who are in or who have loved ones in Israel, Palestine, Afghanistan, Ukraine. Now might not be the moment for you to write, but you have a community waiting for you when you’re ready to return.
Kelly
A few last reminders—
First, registration for Spring Writers’ Circles is officially open, and they’re filling up quickly! Register by November 15 to get discounts on the price of registration. Our fall writers’ circles are even more fantastic than I imagined they would be. People are turning around R and Rs and grant proposals and book chapters and they are just such productive, generative, fun spaces to be in. You can find more information about the spring sessions here, and you can use the application form here to apply. You can read more about why I decided to create the writers’ circles, and my vision of writing together, here. Please join us, and invite your friends and colleagues!
Also, we’re TWO weeks out from November, which means it’s time for AcWriMo! Register here, and read more about how to prepare for AcWriMo here (complete with an AcWriMo BINGO card). Again, this is free and everyone is welcome, so invite your friends!
Finally, Mirya and I still have one space in our January writing retreat open - let us know if you want it! We’re announcing more details about Mexico City soon, so stay tuned for that and let us know if you want to be the first to get notified. The details are all here and the application is here, and I’m happy to answer any questions. Hopefully this newsletter helps you brainstorm ways your university will pay for this.
And….
December: A little editing pause. I’m going to be taking December 17-January 10 off from editing to decompress, spend family time, and focus on the writing retreat. If you have something in the pipeline and we haven’t talked about it yet, let’s touch base to figure out how to schedule it around that time. If we’ve already talked, you’re on my schedule!
…Spring editing! This is a great time to make plans for us to work together in the spring—let me know if you’d like to get on my editing calendar for mid-February and beyond. Bring me great stuff to read! Let’s get it published!
Referrals: Because writing is better with friends—especially AcWriMo writing—I’d love for you to refer people to write with us. Substack has a fun new recruiting plan where you can get stuff (writing prompts! A Zoom call with me!) just for referring people to the newsletter - if that’s your jam, you can use this button:
Your writing really touched my heart.
Kelly, this was wonderful and incredibly needed this week. Thank you.