Writing with Depression

I know that this is a topic a great many writers have tackled, including ones who are far more successful than I. We writers tend to be a touchy breed, after all. For me, it can be very hard to persist in working on a short story or a manuscript when I'm not sure how objectively good it is, and whether it will even find a home in a magazine or at a publisher's.

I often start out with a great deal of excitement in my new work, but keeping that energy up can be terribly difficult. The basic structure I can turn up in relatively little time -- the framework, the bones of my story, fleshed out with interesting and hopefully realistic characters. But it's the interstices -- the sinews, the muscles, and the connective tissue -- that can be complex. Because no matter how excited I am about it, the story is going to soon stop being the shiny new exciting work, and segue into the thing I have to get done.

Couple that with the low-energy and self-doubt of depression, and it can feel like Sissyphus pushing his boulder up the mountain. "Want to" becomes "must" -- or at least "must if you ever want to get anything published" -- and joy can become a duty. I'm not surprised that a lot of people who want to be writers put it down and never really pick it back up. It's a lot of work and self-motivation for a very uncertain result.

Of course, for some, it's an escape from depression. Putting energy into a writing project can be a way to escape a flat life, or a window into something better. But that's not me. I start to hate what I'm working on, not because I'm writing the wrong story, or because my writing is terrible, but because those whispers of self-doubt creep in, teling me that I'm not competant, not capable, won't get anywhere. If I listened to them, I'd never finish anything.

So how do I counteract those voices, find the energy to push? I break down the tasks. The most basic of these is the actual process of writing. Yes, for some, the process may be unalloyed joy, but for me, frankly, some of it is joyful, some of it is painful, and some of it is just plain boring. I can't be writing exciting highlight scenes all the time. I have to connect the dots in order to make my story flow, and not feel like a montage that ought to have some movie music appended.

Step one: Put words on page. Different people do this differently. For me, I put down 500 words minimum daily. I have no set maximum, but this means that, despite it feeling like I'm crawling along, I do in fact get a fair amount of writing done if I keep at it. The words don't have to be good. I'm not at that step yet.

Step two: Getting feedback. I am lucky to be a part of an excellent writer's group, but this can be a really tricky thing sometimes. Still, this is for me an essential part of the project. Among other things, it re-energizes me, especially if others appreciate what I'm writing. It gives me direction, helps me correct my issues, and at least in the WW I'm in, it's a good source of ideas for fixing problems. This can be difficult if others don't like what I write, but it also helps me see my work through the eyes of others, some of whom read the sorts of things I write, and some of whom don't.

Step three: Revise. Rinse. Repeat. This has always been one of the hardest steps for me. I've already written it! How does anyone expect me to change it? How do I re-do parts without trashing the whole? How do I fit things in seamlessly? Here my self-critical voices can shrill very loudly; I have a tendency to want to abandon the entire project at this point. But of course, it's essential. And I find that, like so many other parts of writing, it also gets easier with experience. I'm starting to see how I can tweak one or two words with a major effect, or alternatively, rewrite an entire section and fit it back into the story like a Tetris block.

Breaking down the tasks, and refusing to swallow the entirety of the process at once, helps still the voices and lower my anxiety. Trying not to have expectations about publication is another, though publication isn't really the focus of this blog entry. My mantra when I put down the bare words is "I can always revise" -- and really the same if someone hates what I did, or if my revisions don't work properly: "I can re-revise." Then it never becomes so big and scary that the voices can drown out my creative vision. It also keeps me from draining my energy level so low that I can't continue.

Ironically, when I do this process, after all the self-doubt, the self-criticism, the exhaustion, the questioning, I often end up very happy with the end result. I'm still not to the point where I can say that I'm inherently comfortable with my skill (as opposed to having a logical and intellectual assessment of it), but working through all of that can be energizing and empowering. I know it doesn't work for everyone. But it works for me.