Fixion Lessons from October
Committing to the bit, unlearning, and finding the flow
Halloween was my one-year anniversary of completely starting over.
At the end of October last year, I left my old job and started freelancing — a partial return to the editorial, mentoring and copywriting work I’d done previously, and a mash up of experiences I’d gained in running a creative writing organisation and devising workshops and courses for many years in between.
Ahem… click here for more info on my editing and writerly services if you’re in need of some fresh eyes, honest feedback, and an enthusiastic cheerleader
It’s been a very fast year. A very full year. A very scary year. I certainly didn’t have ‘starting from scratch’ on my bingo card for 2024, but circumstances have a tendency to be circumstantial sometimes, and shit happens, and so we roll with it (preferably not in the shit). It was definitely the right decision, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t white-knuckled my way through some of the last twelve months.
But I made it. A whole year. And, as the end of October approached, I felt an urge to take stock and look back on what worked, what didn’t, and what my experiments in creativity, making new connections, following the flow, finding the fun and fixing the fiction has taught me.
I audited my damn self. And these are the lessons.
Lesson #1: You gotta commit to the bit(s)
When you’re absolutely fucking lost in the wilderness, you still have to pick a direction. Choose a path and stick to it for a while, at least. Commit to the bit.
This is probably a metaphor for writing as well as life.
This time last year, I decided I was going to throw myself into saying YES to things that fuelled my creative excitement, and NO to shit that made me feel like I was a bug being squished under someone’s shoe. (And I wrote about it here, a little ways into the journey.)
I decided I was going to follow the fun as much as possible; try stuff I wasn’t even sure I was capable of. Because the great thing about starting from scratch is that failure is a pretty short fall back to square one.
Say yes. Commit to the bit. Either it works or it doesn’t.
So far, it’s been a pretty good approach, although I may have to tweak how many things I say yes to, because apparently time is a limited commodity and I can’t actually fit in all the cool shit I wanna do.
And it’s actually been the uncertain yeses — the ones that give me cold sweats — that have been the most interesting and rewarding. For example: when I was pitching some workshop ideas to a local artistic collective, the wonderful organiser nudged me to do something Shakespeare-related. I found myself shrinking away, unsure, intimidated by the idea. It’d been a looong time since I ‘officially’ studied Shakespeare as an academic and I felt like an imposter.
I muttered a few self-deprecating excuses, reiterated some of the other ideas we’d already discussed, and then this woman looked me dead in the eye and said: “Ok, but that one scares you the most, so that’s the one you should do.”
Uh. Yes, ma’am.
And so, I committed to the bit, and ran a series of three very nerdy, very fun, very enthusiastic Shakespeare workshops over the summer. It turned out to be one of the most enjoyable and passionately authentic things I’ve done this year. Sharing something I love with other people who — get this — turned out to be even more scared of doing Shakespeare than I was about teaching it.
We all took a minute to be scared together, and then we got over ourselves and committed to the bit. Because reticence and half-arsery is far more embarrassing than trying wholeheartedly and failing (and learning).
Same goes for writing.
You wanna write a thing? What are you waiting for? Don’t think you’re good enough? Fuck that noise. Try. Commit to the attempt. Because once you get started, you’ll naturally start to find your way — or seek out whatever it is you need to get there.
Otherwise, you’re just sitting still. You’re waiting in the middle of the wilderness for a way out to magically appear.
Over the last decade, I’ve worked with many, many writers who have actively stopped themselves from moving forward with their writing — simply because they don’t think they’re ready, or they don’t know enough, or they should be doing things a particular way, or they’re not qualified, or it feels safer to keep the story safe in their imagination instead of putting it on the page where it might get messy. Because they’re too scared of messing it up. Which makes them too scared to commit in the first place. Which means they don’t even start.
Once again: fuck that noise.
There’s no arbitrary point you need to reach in order to write the thing you want to write. You don’t need permission.
Follow the fun.
Don’t wait.
Commit.
Let it be shit.
It’s ok to be scared along the way.
Failure is fine.
Just try.
Do the exciting thing.
Question:
What ‘thing’ are you excited/scared to try right now?
And how could you commit to the bit and just go for it?
Share below and make it real:
Lesson #2: Unlearning comes before learning
Another thing I’ve done a lot of this past year is unlearning shit that doesn’t work for me. Imaginary ‘rules’ I’ve made up for myself, for my writing, for my work, for my life, that clearly aren’t working. Beliefs I’ve taken on by osmosis, instructions I’ve been given by others, and all the ‘shoulds’ and ‘musts’ and ‘have tos’ that inevitably translate into nothing but guilt and stress and pressure.
And this crosses over into my work with other writers, too. Whether I’m editing a manuscript or giving feedback or helping an author develop their story or break through a blockage.
The first step is always unpicking what’s not working. But a lot of us get stuck there. We identify the problem but then what? Perhaps we assume we’re the problem. After all, we’re doing what we’re ‘supposed’ to be doing but it’s still not right.
So the next step is figuring out what we need to unlearn. Maybe a certain method isn’t working because our brains process things in a different way. Maybe a particular ‘rule’ makes sense in theory but doesn’t fit with our personal writing approach. Maybe we’ve been banging our heads against the same damn walls for years, wondering why our head hurts. Maybe we’re not the problem — we just need to rediscover what actually works for us.
This was the whole premise of my Unfuck Your Writing workshop a few weeks ago, which seemed to rally the cry for a lot of writers who were feeling stuck and ready to embark on a journey of unlearning…
And it was a kind of culmination of all the above — all the stuff I’ve been unlearning and relearning myself over the past year. It was very sweary, kinda silly, and a lot of fun, and I’m hoping to run the workshop again in early 2025.
I’ll also be sharing more unlearning theory on here more regularly, because it’s such an antidote to the commodified, FOMO-fuelled, pressure-driven hustle culture that a lot of online writing spaces seem to cultivate these days.
And that feels like the foundation for finding more joy in the act of fixing your fiction (fixion). Natch.
Question:
What unhelpful rules, concepts or methods could you unlearn when it comes to your writing?
Or, if you’re not sure, what’s making you feel stuck right now?
Share below and maybe we can brainstorm some solutions:
Lesson #3: Finding your flow means being really fucking honest
So, where does all this lead: committing to the bit, trying scary things, doing the exciting thing, unlearning shit that doesn’t serve us?
For me, the past year, it’s been a process of brutal honesty.
When I came to do this life/creative audit, my lovely friend (and excellent coach) Audrey suggested one of the main criteria I should use was ‘authenticity’.
Does this thing I’m doing/writing feel honest?
Does what I’m doing/writing feel true?
Does what I’m doing/writing really feel like me?
Honestly, I’m still trying to figure that out. Still trying to find my voice on here — and in my work — to unpick years of working for other people, cultivating words for other people, creating a professional ‘voice’ for a company or a brand or a job that wasn’t really mine.
All of this is a work-in progress, clearly — but I can say with certainty that finding my flow goes hand in hand with that feeling of authenticity.
The writing flows better when I’m following the fun.
The work feels easier when I can put my genuine self behind it.
Being honest about what’s working and what’s not makes everything clearer — even if I don’t have a solution yet.
And being honest about what I really want to do/write and why, means I can start to find my way there.
Obligatory reminder of next week’s Write What You Know workshop, which is also about starting from a place of truth and authenticity — but also about trusting your own innate knowledge about what it is to be a human. Because that’s what all great writing is about, deep down, right?
So I may still be working out what The Joy of Fixion is really all about. I may still be throwing creative spaghetti at the wall. I may not be where I imagined myself a year ago. But I’m gonna keep following this flow and see where it takes me.
Question:
When does your writing feel most authentic? A certain genre? A certain style? A certain character? A certain setting?
Why do you think that is, or where does that authenticity come from?
Share your (honest) thoughts below :)
One year on: what’s next?
Although the end of October marks my freelancing anniversary, I only started this Substack in January 2024, so I still have another few months until The Joy of Fixion is one year old — and this has been a whole ‘nother journey of discovery.
This little stack was another ‘say yes’ experiment, but it has grown into something that continually fuels my curiosity, requires my commitment, and demands authenticity. Which fits pretty nicely into my holy trinity of lessons.
I’m so grateful to everyone who’s subscribed so far, and I have some I have some exciting stuff in the pipeline for November and beyond that I’ll be sharing shortly… (But gonna save that for another post because this one is already a hefty one!)
So if you’re not signed up yet, cross my palm with your email for updates:
More soon.
In the meantime, I hope to see some of you at next Saturday’s Write What You Know workshop over at Write or Die:
Thanks for reading.
And happy writing :)