I only have one piece of writing advice

And I stole it from Stephen King

Someone recently asked me how I get over "writers' block": they had "hit a wall" on a project and were at a loss as to where to go next. Worse still, they were supposed to start a new article that week, and couldn't even figure out how to start.

If this conversation already sounds too presumptuous and/or self-important for you to keep reading, or if you're a writer who finds this topic unnecessary on account of the fact that you have never been frustrated enough to not write (well, bully for you, cunt), or if you're not a writer and you just find all of this boring or irrelevant, don't worry. I'm only doing one of these, because I'm only capable of one of these. I am no font of guidance on nearly anything "craft" related.

I have one thing. The most essential piece of advice I give to anyone who is trying to write as a single human being—student, veteran, fiction, essayist, screenwriter, whatever—is also my most frequently dispensed: you just have to write, no matter what.

I almost never follow this advice when I really need to. Half the time I don't even remember it.

I've been dragging ass on this Substack forever for the same three reasons I always give, the same three reasons all writers who drag ass always give: "I don't know how to start/continue/finish!" I've been a cliche more times than I can count, suppressing guilt over neglected projects with procrastination-productivity: I'm working out, gardening, and seeing friends. My house is spotless, and the dogs get an hour of walking plus designated playtime every day. I'm getting a lot of reading in, plus a lot of writing... on every writing project except this one. I was waiting on "the perfect post" for the maiden voyage (of a Substack, for fuck's sake). Once again, I had some weird subconscious idea that "inspiration" would suddenly find me, if I could only just channel the proper wavelength. But regardless of how difficult or easy writing is for you at any particular moment, you're not channeling anything when you're writing. You're making something.

It is only by the grace of St. Stephen of Bangor and his holy text, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, that I found my way back to the truth. I actually read the book years ago, but hadn't thought about it in forever, until providence/my cat knocked it off my shelf, and I remembered the most important thing I took away from it: there is no trick to writing, and there are no secrets. Sure, there are tips--eliminate distractions, find an editor or fresh set of eyes, spend time with writers, talking about writing, read something in the genre you're working in, read something out of the genre you're working in. Your mileage may vary, and not every tip is universally applicable. But more to the point, none of them can be counted on to get you going from a dead stop. They can make the ride a little bit smoother when you get moving again, but the only actually reliable jumpstart is "go write."

And if you're objecting to the advice right now because you write in a different genre than Stephen King, or you don't like his books, or you think he's a bad writer, shut up. That's not the point. The point is—and there's no way to say it without sounding like you're spouting abstract self-help tautologies—the man produces writing because he writes.

Now, when I say "you have to write," I am referring to the literal, physical act of typing, scribbling, or even dictating to a person or device, so long as it is in the material world. A test: if someone was watching you, and another person asked them what you were doing, and the first person didn't say "writing," or at least "recording their own voice," then you're not writing. You might be thinking about writing, and thinking about writing is good, but it's not writing. The nice thing about thinking about writing is that people can help you do it, so if you have anyone in your life—especially other writers— who can stand to listen to you whine about writing, try talking it out with them. It can really help, even when they have nothing to offer in terms of feedback. Sometimes you just need an ear. But again, no one can get you writing but you.

Conversely, nothing-—aside from maybe illiteracy, lack of time or materials to write on, or brain damage—can actually stop you from writing. You're not paralyzed, you just aren't moving. But you are capable. You're sentient enough to believe you're stuck, so your brain is working fine. If you're mentally capable enough to be neurotic, you're mentally capable of writing. And if your fingers aren't broken and/or you can verbalize, you're physically able to write.

Writers know this. We don't actually, literally believe that we can't write. We're just scared that we can't write anything good. Well, maybe you can't right now. So? Who gives a shit? Write it anyway. No one's looking over your shoulder. Write something shitty. It doesn't have to go on your tombstone. Edits are a thing. So are rewrites. They make a delete button. But you can't edit or rewrite something that hasn't been written yet.

"I don't know what I'm going to say yet." Start writing until you figure out what you're going to say. Type "what do I think about [X]?" on the screen. Then try to answer it on the screen. No one can see you talking to yourself. But quit trying to write it in your head before you write it on the page.

"I'm stuck on the beginning." Ok then start in the middle. Or the end. It doesn't matter. Take the path of least resistance if it gets you moving. Stop and take a breath once in a while. Read it over, especially at the beginning of a new writing session. A little review and refresh, but only what's quick and easy. Then, back to the wilderness. Don't perseverate. Don't try to edit while you write. Limit scrutiny of your work in progress. Write it first, edit when finished. Maybe your edits will end up being a total rewrite, (just ask St. Stephen), but you have to keep moving. Not for speed, but to finish.

Counterintuitively, "just write" also applies to "finishing" something, but in reverse. "I have a draft but I hate it and I just keep writing and rewriting!!" Then stop writing. Put it away (King does it with novels for a month, I believe), and then get it back out and work it out until you come up with something you can live with. Give yourself a deadline. A piece of writing is never finished, you just have to decide when to stop. I know. It's hard. I sympathize.

The least sympathetic writers' complaint is "I can't think of anything to write about." Jesus Christ are you kidding me? Look around. Oh, look, it's unfolded clean laundry on a chair:

1) That little eco-friendly European two-in-one washer-dryer unit takes forever with the bedding, and it's still not totally dry. It's ridiculous. Did the EU pass some kind of wet laundry initiative so a bunch of European liberals can pat themselves on their clammy backs for "going green?" Are they all just fine with damp laundry, now that half the men under 40 in Italy and France wear those awful, pseudo-distressed, poly-blend "jeans" that probably dry like swim trunks? God they dress like shit. When did that happen? When did fast fashion and synthetics supplant quality garments and classic style in the places we once considered the height of sartorial dignity?

2) I remember seeing the band on that t-shirt in high school, the day before I wrecked my first car. Does anyone I know drive a stick? Do they still teach kids to drive a stick? I know they're phasing out cursive, which I used to support, until I read something a college Professor said about none of his incoming freshmen being able to read primary documents from American history because they couldn't read cursive. They ought to teach it, just for the benefit of historical literacy.

3) There's my ex's hoodie and I am never giving it back: I remember some coffee table book he had on the guy who designed the set from PeeWee's Playhouse, which I still love for children's interiors, but would outlaw if I were Kommissar (all that Memphis School and Radical Italian Design post-modern stuff was founded by literal Nazis). Of course, Paul Reubens was a mid-century modern girl. God, I love PeeWee. Can't believe they stitched him up like that. How did they even get a warrant? "Pardon me sir, you are gay as hell, so we are allowed to go through your storage units."

Just look around and free associate. Chase tangents until something grabs you, then nail it down to the page.

You have to punch in, because the only difference between a writer and anyone else is that a writer writes, and the only real writers' block is the idea that writing is something that happens to you, not something you do.

Intellectually, I know all this, but once again, I went into a new project, got way too fixated on "THE MOST AMAZING SUBSTACK DEBUT I COULD POSSIBLY MAKE," and then forgot everything I've always told everyone else. It wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last, but it's particularly ridiculous in this case, because I got this neurotic over a fucking blog. People don't use that word much anymore, and it feels antiquated. "Blog" became "Substack," the way "search" became "Google." Substack may have serious competitors soon, but for the time being, it looks like they cornered the market, and once again, a top brand has claimed the dominant metonym.

But make no mistake: writing on Substack is blogging, which, when done well, is more developed than social media posting, but less edited than "traditional publishing." The most comparable thing in print would probably be a weekly op-ed from some old crank that's been there so long he's been given free rein to write anything he wants, so long as it's between 1,600 and 2,000 words.

I used to actually blog for a living. I liked it and I was good at it. But since then it's been over a decade of writing polemic, journalism, memoir, personal essays, etc. for "actual publications," so I got used to writing a certain way, and writing with a safety net. These days, my editors usually send back my drafts with no more than a little spit and polish. But it's still comforting to know that if something I wrote needed extensive edits or rewrites, the (more or less) standardized editorial process of magazines means my draft will have multiple people reading it to make sure I don't shit the bed before a public readership. If you try to be that thorough with blogging, you'll never finish anything. Sure, you edit a blog post before you hit "publish," but if you intend to publish regularly, you have to adapt to a style that doesn't require meticulous editing, and does not suffer from lack of a formal editor. I wrote like this almost every day for years, but it was a long time ago, and I'm seriously out of practice.

But who cares?

It's just a blog.

So here is my Substack. If it's not for you, try checking back in a few weeks. Maybe you'll like what I can do after I get back into fighting/blogging shape. Eventually, I'd like to start transferring my notes from some recent road trips into a fun travel log series. And maybe at some point I'd like to post some more serious and journalistic essays.

But for now, I'm just staring at the laundry.