I started this blog to encourage myself to write. So far: not a lot of progress on that front.
Note: Links in this post may be affiliate links, which means I’ll receive a commission, at no extra charge to you, if you make a purchase through such a link. Learn more here.
I mean, I’ve been pretty consistent writing for the blog, and that is an improvement over not writing at all. But that’s a pretty low bar. I haven’t yet made the leap from writing about the desire to write to actually writing fiction.
Part of the problem—the part that isn’t simply making excuses, though I do plenty of that—is that I insist on pursuing big projects. For years, I’ve been starting and restarting a novel, for example, though I’ve consistently discovered that I don’t yet have the chops for it. It’s like spending years playing rhythm guitar and suddenly expecting to play Eddie Van Halen’s solo in “Beat it.” Not going to happen.
I’ve read somewhere—I’m not sure where, but it’s the type of thing they might say on the Writing Excuses podcast—that short fiction is a great training ground for novelists. There’s opportunity to experiment with different elements—plot structure, setting, character, conflict—without having to commit to major changes for the rest of your book.
And, especially relevant for me, there’s the opportunity to experience what it means to finish something.
Nevertheless, I’ve resisted writing short stories, perhaps because I felt that I’d be wimping out, or that focusing on short stories would somehow take away from the time I need to write my novel (cue Dr. Phil: “How’s that workin’ for ya?”).
I’ve decided it’s worth a try.
So I got ahold of Douglas Smith’s book, Playing the Short Game, which is targeted at the beginning short story writer who is poised to begin her career as a writer of fiction. I heard Smith interviewed some time ago on Joanna Penn’s podcast, The Creative Penn, and he impressed me with his down-to-business attitude. He’s a prolific, award-winning short story writer, so he has the credentials. And the book has an introduction by Kristine Kathryn Rusch, whose business acumen I admire for its range, depth, and iconoclasm.
Early in his book, he warns against two types of beginning writers: the arrogant beginner and the fearful beginner. For both, their goals and the price they’re willing to pay to reach those goals are out of sync, though in different ways.
The arrogant beginner feels he already knows all he needs to know (he’s wrong), and he doesn’t understand why people won’t publish his work. He wants to be J.K. Rowling, but isn’t willing to do the work needed to develop his craft to a professional level.
The fearful beginner, on the other hand, has worked hard to develop her craft, but is afraid to finish—or if she finishes, to send out—her fiction. She has done the work, but is dreaming too small.
It would be fairly simple to label myself as the fearful beginner because I more obviously fit those characteristics. I constantly restart projects; I rewrite far more than I write; I don’t send anything out, mainly because I never finish anything. But even if I did finish something, I ‘m not sure I would send it out—or, if I did, I might send it to one place and give up.
But it’s useful to see extremes like this (arrogant v. fearful) as ends of a spectrum, not as two discrete items. In this case, I can see that I have a sense of myself as a writer—said most starkly, a belief that I’m a “good writer”—that hasn’t served me very well to this point. I seem to believe that I should be able to write a novel with no problem; after all, I’m a good writer.
Carol Dweck’s insights about mindsets has helped me understand my place on this spectrum.
Her idea is that a person with a fixed mindset believes that intelligence, talent, skill, etc. are basically set, unchangeable. I’m a good writer, for example, not because I’ve been writing since I was a kid, reading excellent writers, emulating them, practicing, and so on. No, I’m a good writer because I have an innate talent with language that has made learning to write well relatively effortless. Sure, I’ve developed some skills, but only because it’s already a part of who I am. I’m a writer; it’s my identity. It’s what I am.
Dweck wouldn’t put it in these terms, but that attitude falls a bit on the “arrogant” side of Smith’s spectrum. And that resonates with me. Since I have seen myself more or less as a natural writer, I’ve not felt the need to focus on my craft. I shouldn’t have to. I’m a writer. I should be able to write a novel, no problem.
But an arrogance that arises from a fixed mindset leads directly to fear. Indeed, the hallmark of a fixed mindset is fear—the fear of failure, which is interpreted as an attack on one’s identity. In my case, I stick with what’s comfortable—e.g., with writing posts on this blog—because it comes relatively naturally for me. It reinforces my image of myself as a good writer.
The main focus in Dweck’s research is on education, so it’s not surprising that I’ve spent most of my energy around shifting my mindset in the area of teaching and learning. This is the first time that I’ve noticed the way it’s affected me in my writing. It’s given me a lot to consider, for sure.
Foremost among those things to consider: an acceptance that I haven’t yet developed the skills I need to write a novel. And the key word there is yet: the growth mindset, which believes that intelligence, talent, skill, etc. are malleable, that they can be grown, emphasizes the importance of that tiny word.
So I’m going to take that advice I mentioned earlier (even if I don’t remember exactly where I encountered it): I’m going to focus on short fiction for awhile. I’m not sure yet how I’m going to approach this; I actually know quite a lot about writing fiction, even if I’ve not been successful applying that knowledge. And from that position of knowledge, it’s hard to know what I don’t know.
But I do know how to learn. I’ll figure it out.
P.S. If you’re interested in Dweck’s concepts of mindsets, you can get a general overview in her TED talk, though that is, by its nature, fairly limited in its presentation.
If that talk interests you, I’d recommend getting her book, Mindset: The new psychology of success—but I’d also recommend you limit your reading to Chapters 1-3, which outline her research and conclusions in fairly good detail, and maybe Chapter 8, which talks about changing mindsets.
The other chapters are just bad pop psychology, applying her principles to vague and often tired stories about famous people being successful (or not).
An important distinction that might be worth making, briefly: many people seem to think that the fixed mindset is primarily about people who don’t believe in themselves—who might say things like, “I can’t do it,” or, “I’m not good at math.” That is certainly part of it. But I find it more fascinating when the fixed mindset applies to people who know that they are quite good at something (learning, writing, whatever). In those cases, the fixed mindset makes them defensive—afraid to stretch beyond what comes easily. That is a much more subtle problem—and a much more interesting one.
Dweck’s ideas have helped me sort out many things that have confused me about myself. Indeed, I wish I’d learned about all this when I was back in grad school; I might have finished my doctorate. But better late than never….
P.P.S. There’s a book out there called The Growth Mindset, by Moore and Glasgow. I found it dreadful (Kindle tells me I only got through 3% of it), but that may be because I believed it would build on Dweck’s work. It doesn’t; aside from the title, I see no connection to Dweck whatsoever.