Maybe online writing is like squirreling away acorns
"Practice telling and retelling your story. Over time, it will clarify."
"Practice telling and retelling your story. Over time, it will clarify."
What had seemed like a willpower issue—(why am I not writing?) or an intelligence issue (am I not smart enough?) or a time issue (when can I write, I have a baby)—was really an issue of workflow and tools.
"Perfectionism is a phenomenon, not a disorder."
When I was in first grade, my best friend David and I had our entire future figured out. When we grew up, we were going to design a rocket that would go all the way to the sun.
Let's think about the inherent characteristics of the blog format, which I would also see as including most online newsletters with a website archive. These generally have: * Work that is finished, or mostly finished * Presented in a linear, time-based format (typically reverse chronological order) * A sense of
We deserve to put work out there that is still in progress. This is still in progress. We deserve systems for sharing and archiving our work that are weirder and wilder than a chronological list of every newsletter we've ever sent. We deserve rest. We deserve to re-
Sometimes we feel stuck, but we're not actually stuck. How do we know we're making progress? How can we choose a way of looking at this that's right for us? Table: Ways of Knowing You're Making Progress With Your Writing Way of
One of the core beliefs of this experiment is we deserve actual tools to get unstuck, not advice on what worked for whatever famous author or some cis white business bro telling us how to have better habits. But I am sort of fascinated with the overall fascination around famous
This is just a little thought I've been playing with. I'm not sure if I'm ready to commit to this theory, but hey, that's what a theory is, right? I looked it up just to be sure. A theory is "a
When I published my essay collection Even the Cemeteries Have Space Here, I made the layout choices very intentionally to create a sense of spaciousness for the reader. Shea in the Catskills contributed artwork that further deepened the reader's spacious and reflective experience. I was asked about an