The Whale Belly

I’m planning to start posting daily notes on my writing practice, my evolving personal theory of writing, and my aesthetic values. I hope they’ll stimulate some dialogue about writing with others, in turn deepening my understanding. These notes will not be polished; they’ll have a more conversational style and form.

I write a lot throughout the day, but it’s not material intended for publication. It’s merely my thoughts on paper. Writing like this is enjoyable and helps me organize my perspective and thinking. But whenever I sit down with the intent of creating something to be read by others, I freeze up. My mind starts avoiding the task and seeks a myriad of distractions.

Overcoming this requires learning to tolerate the discomfort. It’s akin to beginning any activity that’s ultimately beneficial for me — like eating better, exercising, or learning a foreign language. I need to start small and gradually build up. I mistakenly thought that because I spent so much time doing freewriting, I was ready to handle writing for publication. I’ve come to realize, however, that these are entirely different activities, at least as perceived by my mind.

Therefore, I decided to set an extremely low bar for success. I’ll dedicate just fifteen minutes a day to writing fiction. I don’t necessarily need to write during these fifteen minutes, but I’m not allowed to do anything else.

It’s been only two days since I started this practice, but the results are already encouraging. In those thirty total minutes, I completed a “zero draft” of a short story. In other words, I established the plot, though with minimal dialogue and detail.

The short time limit prevented me from getting mired in details prematurely, before I had fully figured out the general shape of the story. I wrote it as if someone were telling an anecdote during a conversation. Now, I’m eager to delve back into the story to develop the characters and scenes further.

This excitement is another advantage of working within this brief timeframe. Despite still grappling with considerable anxiety and apprehension, it’s bearable in this short span. And the more positivity I gain from enduring this discomfort, the more inclined my mind will be to withstand longer sessions. It’s strange to think like this, but it feels as if my mind is a separate entity from myself, and I need to patiently guide and discipline it, much like a child.

As for the story itself, I chose to write it after my wife shared a funny anecdote about her sister’s family. My initial approach was to record it as I imagined it happening to the actual individuals in the anecdote. And yet, as I wrote, I found myself contemplating ways this story could be made funnier, which led me to realize that significant changes, including those to the characters, were necessary.

This was a two-fold realization. First, I identified what I wanted to achieve with this story: to make people laugh. From this understanding, I deduced that my job wasn’t to precisely mirror reality. Instead, the decisions I made, including characterization, setting, and details, needed to contribute to the ultimate goal of eliciting laughter.

Interestingly, this story began to take shape in my mind as a short film by Joel Haver. If you’re not familiar, Haver has a popular YouTube channel where he posts humorous skits and films. This revelation led me to speculate that maybe this is what it means to learn to write through imitation — envisaging a story as told in the style and form of someone else whom I admire and who has already successfully accomplished the goal I’ve set for myself.

Anyway, that’s what I was thinking about this morning. What do you think? Any thoughts are greatly appreciated!