Day 6 of #1000wordsofsummer 2023

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There will be a book version of 1000 WORDS! You can pre-order a signed copy of it through wonderful Brooklyn bookstore Books are Magic.

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Hi friends.

Today you will write 1000 words. Because you have a desire to be emotionally present for yourself in the way that writing needs you to be. No matter what you’re writing, if it’s fictional or based on the truth, you have to be alert and ready and open. There’s a specific honesty you have to tap into. And, in the end, that can only help you, spending time in that state. Being direct and connected. Being right there. In fact, you’re giving yourself a gift by writing these 1000 words. Today—and every day you write.

Today’s contributor is a master of being open and connected on the page: Nicole Chung. She the author of the new memoir A Living Remedy, which The New York Times Book Review called, “a transcendent memoir about family, class, and the contours of loss.” She is also the author of the national bestseller All You Can Ever Know (2018). Named a Best Book of the Year by over twenty outlets, including NPR, The Washington Post, and Time, it was also a finalist for numerous awards, including the National Book Critics Circle Award. Nicole is currently a contributing writer at The Atlantic where she has written regularly and beautifully about writing and creativity. I get a lot out of her work in so many ways.

Our faves at Loyalty Books tell us they have a nice stack of signed copies of Nicole’s books at their shop, which you can order here. This fall #1000wordsofsummer will be sponsoring a Scholastic Book Fair for one lucky school in New Orleans, and Nicole has generously asked that her donation go toward that pool.

Here’s Nicole on how to reestablish a writing practice after being apart from it and what it means to be ‘accountable’:

“I really need #1000wordsofsummer this year. My second book was published a couple of months ago, and since then much of my time and energy has gone to promoting it. I had surgery less than a month before it came out, and as I write this, the Covid infection that cut my tour short is still kicking my ass. It has not been a productive season for me, is what I’m saying. I have been meeting my freelance deadlines, but have yet to dive into or sustain some longer project. And as much as I can and often do enjoy shortform assignments, I’m the sort of writer who also needs to have a creative work that’s ongoing—something that will really challenge and stretch me and hold my attention for months or years.

In the past, I’ve felt a lack of confidence after long breaks from this kind of sustained writing. But history tells me that I will be able to reestablish a regular creative practice, no matter how stale and rusty I feel right now. I know that I’ll need to silence my inner editor if I want to generate anything new or exciting. I’ll need to give myself permission to ask lots of questions—I sometimes feel that most of writing and especially revising is figuring out which questions to ask—and follow whatever threads feel most urgent or fun. I’ll make time for reading—poetry, always; new books I’ve been dying to get to; standbys that feel like old friends.

And when I feel overwhelmed, I’ll pick small goals that feel achievable. Maybe nine out of ten writing tasks will feel impossible on a given day; what is the one thing I can do? If I get stuck, I’ll think about why I’m stuck: am I anxious about something, or perhaps not ready to write about it? If I can’t write about anything else, can I at least write about what I hope to write—why it excites me, why I want to do it and feel that it’s worth trying?

Writers I’ve taught, edited, or worked with in some other capacity have often asked for help with ‘accountability,’ or asked whether I have a tried-and-true system for getting things done. Sometimes I suggest they find a writing accountability group or partner; sometimes I talk about deadlines and prompts and free-writing and rewards (I am not above a little writing bribe, myself!). Over the past few years, though, I’ve learned to think about writing accountability in terms of my own needs, not only the needs of the work or what I feel I should be accomplishing. What I mean is that if I’m not working in the way I want, if I’m not making what I consider real progress, it’s not a moral failing, nor does it (necessarily) mean that I am a talentless hack who should give up and go do something else—sometimes, what it means is that I’m not recognizing or fulfilling some genuine need in my creative life, and that’s what is keeping me from doing the work I want to do. 

I’m always thinking about how I can trust myself more, treat myself more humanely as I work. None of us are machines. We all deserve patience and care and time and rest. We deserve these things because we are human, not because they make us more productive or better at our jobs. But they can serve the work we want to do, too.

This summer, I’m eager to get back to a regular writing practice and once again find ways to sustain it. I’ll remember to hold myself accountable to what I need and what feels possible—not because of any rule I’ve made for myself, or because I’m trying to master anything in my creative practice, but because writing never fails to remind me what is important to me. If I am patient with myself and ask myself the right questions, I know I’ll find a way back into the work I love best.”

Trust yourself today.

Jami

You are reading Craft Talk, the home of #1000wordsofsummer and also a weekly newsletter about writing from Jami Attenberg. I’m also on twitter and instagram.